Help! Friends! A guinea pig tricked me!

My biggest achievement yesterday, 29th July 2005, was meeting Harith Iskandar while wandering around the backstage areas of Pentas 1. He looked thoroughly normal and I could have easily mistaken him for one of the tech guys who all seem to hover around that XL ++ size. Hahaha. He was smoking his nerves away, or perhaps just smoking. You meet comedians and you expect them to be funny all the time, but I guess being funny must be quite tiring 'cos he just looked rather sober and tired.

A Small Strange World.

A friend (and i mean this in the loosest term possible) once commented that he no longer wants to date Singaporean girls because he didn't fancy swapping saliva with his mates. Because the Singaporean community, more precisely the upper middle class rung of Singaporean society, is so small that everyone has dated someone's ex or friend or relative. Sometimes it's downright incestuous, with guys making the rounds among a group of girlfriends, or a girl dating the boy and his brother and his cousin. Which is perhaps one of the reasons why some girls prefer to venture outside this very limited dating scene (come on, there are only so many eligible guys), and sample the exclusive delights of other races (heh heh).

ANYWAY, yesterday I realised the KL scene is just as tiny and just as disconcerting. Not the dating scene per se, but more the fact that everyone knows everyone. Even I, girl from the crime-ridden hick town of Johor Bahru, bump into more people than I care to. As I sit down to watch Harith Iskandar at the Pentas 1 in the KLPac, I hear a voice calling softly 'Sarah!'. Now, this has happened before, and whenever I react, it's wildly - like I've been accused of some heinous crime. Of course, most of the time either someone is calling for the million other Sarahs walking around town, or I'm hearing voices again. Most of the time, I end up looking like I HAVE been hearing voices - really, if you want to agitate me and make me spin round in circles on the spot for a good few seconds, just yell my name. I guarantee instant looney. However, because I am in a place of culture filled with famous people (Yah, Harith's whole crew came to watch), I decide to ignore the voice. Then, someone taps me on the shoulder to confirm he wasn't just a wraith in my head, and I whirl around to see the grinning boyfriend of my friend in Warwick University. To his right was the brother of my ex-boyfriend's friend, and to his left was someone who claimed to have met me while I was manning some booth in Warwick. If you count the 2 friends I invited and the people they brought along, plus my KLPac colleagues, I pretty much knew everyone in the RM35 seat section. Also, because the theatre was not very full lah.

Later, I made my way down to Zouk because someone obviously wants me so bad that he has to drag me out in the middle of the working week. He brought 2 friends - British Tal (no relation to British David) and Sri Lankan Sanjeev (if you guys are reading this, hello!) who wanted to have a good time in Malaysia, what with the favourable exchange and 'easy asian chicks'. As we settled in the Members area, courtesy of Squib's bullshitting abilities and gratuitious flashing of his Zouk card, British Tal thought he recognised someone. It turned out that someone knew him too - they were classmates a good 7 or 8 years back in the UK. Small world! And then he saw another vaguely familiar face, and indeed it was - a fellow law student from London...who was sitting right next to the old, old classmate. Wow. Obviously everyone's a Zouk member.

And THEN, Squib and co. bump into this guy whose party they crashed the night before (shameless creatures that they are), and when I mention I'm from Warwick uni, his eyes light up and he says 'What're you studying? My girlfriend's going to Warwick this year!'. He pulls her over and indeed she was. Small, small world. I half expect some future Warwick undergrad to have seen me being salsa-ed to death on the Zouk dancefloor, and snarkily mention it to me when I get back to UK.

Just half an hour, I had an odd out-of-body experience. Sara and I were talking about deja vu the other night, and how it's like your mind suddenly clicks onto another plane for a few seconds, like it's shifting gears. Which reminds me of this old joke I've inflicted on friends in the past:

Vuja De: The strange feeling you've never been in this situation before.

Anyway, as I was saying, I had this strange sensation where my left ear got blocked up and then suddenly released, and I could hear the air flowing through my head while my surroundings blurred into this indistinct mass. I could feel my brain whirring and separating and reconnnecting. I sat still for a few seconds, and everything came back into focus. I don't know if it's because I'm extremely sleepy and bored, or I have some rare brain disease. Or maybe it's just one of those things.

Song(s) of the Day - for the people sitting in their cubicles and staring out the window into the sun:

Living Life, excellent cover of a Daniel Johnston song by The Eels.
Here's the original, which isn't as polished and the vocals are frankly quite jarring, but still definitely worth a listen.
And you'll also want the wonderful lyrics, because I find them so oddly touching.
Both songs are from the double album 'Discovered, Covered: The Late Great Daniel Johnston'.

Sarah is currently in KL.

Some people are morning people. They go to bed at respectable hours and wake up to fresh sunlight filtering through the fading night air. They look forward to a day pregnant with possibility, brimming with promise and new people to meet. They eat hearty breakfasts of organic foodstuffs prepared diligently the night before, while watching morning variety shows detailing the weather for the day and reading the newspapers. They go to work humming the song they woke up with; they breeze into the office with perky hellos.

I am not one of these people.

Common sense dictates that morning people and resolutely non-morning people should not mix, unless it be in the afternoon when the latter is just starting to wake up and the former is finally switching the gears down a notch. So I wake up this morning with a slight headache (because SOMEONE was shouting into my ear last night. S.A, this shall be your only mention because of 1. your bitchiness and 2. your indiscretion - YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN) and I mince out of the room only to see my housemate David swing open his room door with a dramatic flourish and trumpet: "HeLLO my dear! Going to work I see!" Naturally, I gave a polite grunt and slopped downstairs to make some coffee. Then my mobile rang and I had to semi-run upstairs again, only to hear another annoyingly chirpy voice jump out at me from the phone, asking me what time's work and what time should he fetch me. I said I start work at 10 and he can pick me up at 945 if he drives fast, but he said he'd pick me up at 930 because his brakes don't work. Great. It turned out his brakes DID work but he made a concerted effort not to use them, preferring to scare the hell out of me by weaving in and out of fast-moving traffic.

I have a car in KL. My parents brought it up from JB and now it belongs to me and me alone, where previously my mom would use it to run errands and my dad would use it to go to the nearby mamak stall. To call me a driver would be pushing it, because the Malaysian driving licence is one that should be taken very lightly indeed. I am merely the operator of machinery that could very well kill me should I deviate from my daily route. I have mapped out and memorised the route from Bangsar to Sentul (yes, KLPac is in Sentul, who the heck goes there?) and then I trace my way back. Occasionally I foray into the Bangsar area, and if someone dares place his life in my nervous sweaty hands, I visit the more prominent shopping centres littered around the KL wasteland. Seriously, Kuala Lumpur is mostly miles of glittery highways and acres of barren construction sites, landmarked by clusters of shops and malls the size of Minas Tirith.

I rented a room in a house in Bangsar, hence the merry housemates called British David and Indian Kevin. David goes to Bangkok very often on 'business'; Kevin goes to the gym ridiculously early because he is a morning person. When they are both home at the same time, they will be watching soccer/football (I've gotten into one too many arguments over which word to use) in the living room. I'm paying a ridiculous low rent of 350 ringgit a MONTH because I'm sharing the room with my namesake minus the H, who is interning at Ogilvy & Mather and doing muchmuchmore than I am. 350 ringgit is less than 50 pounds, and this is for ONE MONTH. In Bangsar! The only problem is the hot water for the shower does not work, so I use the traditional bucket and tap method with cold cold water. The floors feel slightly sticky due to no one giving a shit. There is no microwave and the washing machine looks slightly dodgy...but thank god there is airconditioning. Also, there were no curtains for the first 3 or 4 days, so we took our chances and changed behind the closet door.

Yes, I know I haven't been blogging in AGES, not because I've been terribly busy with work but because I'm way too free. Does that make sense? It's like I have so much time, too much time, stretched out before me in empty 1 hour blocks. I tend to put all my time into blocks, a throwback to my regimented primary and secondary school days. It makes you quite numb, so you stare at the computer screen in a confused daze and figure out what pointless activity to do next. I made some flyers to fax to the music schools for the upcoming HSBC Piano Festival from the 9th to the 14th of June. If you're in Malaysia and you're interested, it'll be held at the KLPac and there'll be tons of renowned pianists. The flyers are here and here for the schedule. If you go, you might catch me wandering around the place looking dazed and confused.

Today's song:
Wild Horses, a slower take on the Rolling Stones' classic by the Flying Burrito Brothers.

quick i was

I'm getting bored once again in the office, so since this is supposed to be a creative place with a creative atmosphere, I shall try and take advantage of that.

quick i was

quick i was
yet not as quick as he
tongues rear like rattlesnakes
clicking furiously in poisoned syllables

quick i was
yet not as quick as he
eyes dart like fighting fish
rippling the surface scattering fire

quick i was
yet not as quick as he
hands raised like gunshot gestures
punctuating the air with warlike intent

quick he was
yet not as quick as me
backs twist in unison
but he saw mine first.

Introduction and Variations in B flat major on an original theme Op. 82 No.2???

They want me to research backgrounds and descriptions of composers and featured classical piano pieces for the programme notes we're preparing for the upcoming HSBC Piano Festival. I have precisely zilch knowledge of classical music, and am incredibly unfamiliar with the piano, given the last time I actually bothered with one was when my piano tutor rapped my knuckles in primary school.

What it has come to, then, is a frenzied scramble of googling, cutting and pasting. Notes about Schubert's affair with the Countess? Ravel's connection with his childhood? Dvorak's love for Czech folk music? Throw them in!

I am precariously close to falling asleep in this hollow, airconditioned office. Even munching my way through 2 tubes of orange chewwies doesn't perk me up. 3 days into work and I am a listless automaton.

What I've been singing (below a whisper) in the office:

Don't Go To Strangers, a cover by Nancy Wilson

Stuff On My Cat - A very literal site!

Dionne Warwick's Cosmic Peephole - If you really have nothing better to do.

The Perception Laboratory's Face Transformer - What you'd look like as a member of the opposite sex or of another race, or as a manga character.

When Can I Go Back?

Someone asked me how I was going to relate my Melbourne experience.

I can say that the environment is vastly superior to the UK's - better winter, better food, lower cost of living, safer and cleaner streets, great hospitality. The city is bursting to the seams with restaurants and cafes, which is entirely to my liking. The fashion is slightly backwards, like it's one season behind the rest of the world. There are mountains should I want to climb them. There are friends should I need company. There are so many Asian faces that you don't feel alien. The roads are wide enough. The city is the right size.

To that someone: See! Succinctly summarised. I should add that I left something back there, but I guess you can keep it.

More music after such a bloody long time:

I Wanna Be With You by the Raspberries
I Only Have Eyes For You by the Flamingos

A Most Punishing Schedule

Just called the KLPAC regarding my internship, and they insist I start on the day that I put forward 2 weeks ago in an email - on the 18th of July. Which means I will be touching down at Changi airport around 930pm on the 17th, then I have to get myself across the causeway, pack all my belongings, and then leave in the wee hours of the morning from JB so I can make it to KLPAC at 10am. The lady (who sounded nice but with a tinge of iron in her voice) said they started a little later than most companies THANK CHRIST, but I should be willing to stick to my schedule of 18th July til end of Sept in order to continue with the internship. It's a PR/marketing stint, so it should be fun.

To all my friends in KL: Can you email/text me your mobile phone numbers?? Mine's in my MSN nick. Will catch up with you guys soon!

Also, does anyone know how to get to KLPAC from Bangsar using public transport? I refuse to spend exorbitant amounts on cabs, and I'm terrified of driving in KL. Also, does anyone know of rooms for rent around the KL city area?

It Was Going To Happen Sooner Or Later

Heading to Melbourne from Changi airport today at 1130pm - looking forward to duty-free shopping and airplane food (I am one of those curious souls). My sister - the other one, not the one who looks like a korean horror actress - is going to study at RMIT, so I'm supposed to go to settle her in. It is more likely that she will settle herself in and I will occupy myself roaming the streets and meeting friends. I am expecting my skin to suffer another major breakout, as it always does when it experiences a change in climate, and I've gone from Winter to UK Summer to M'sian temperatures and now back to Winter again. I am also expecting to get slightly bored by the 3rd day, so I will bring my laptop along and perhaps do a bit o' blogging.

I'm not going to give my thoughts or feelings of horror/disgust/sympathy re. London bombings because every other person has been blogging about it like we all live in some kind of news vacuum and we need bloggers to tell us what's going on. Also, what's with people rabbiting on about how they might have been killed if they had done this and that and this. If you had actually experienced the bombings, as one M'sian woman did at very close quarters (being on the Tavistock bus), or if you at least witnessed the chaos in London Central, then by all means relate your experience without just quoting news articles. If you were possibly in some obscure part of England and only got the news the same time as the rest of the world, or you had returned home to M'sia like 2 weeks ago, please. Spare us. The web does not need one more sensationalist sob story about your theoratical death. That said, I received the news fairly late and felt pangs of worry for friends still in London, but that was alleviated by the certainty that NONE of them could possibly be awake at that time, let alone travelling. Thank god for laziness.

I was fairly amused at the cover of the very tabloid-ish S'porean newspaper called The New Paper - it read '7/7: The Day London Stopped' and 'Screams! Smoke! Blood!'... something along those lines.

Also, in a slightly insensitive change of topic, thanks to all who wished me happy birthday. I am now looking at the world thru 21-year-old eyes. It is not pretty.

Meeting Neil Gaiman

As promised, I'm back in Starbucks with photos to upload. My cheeks are burning because I committed the cardinal fashion sin and forgot to tear off the price-tag from my t-shirt, resulting in one of the staff coming up next to me and whispering conspirationally - why he had to do that is beyond me because there were a WHOLE LOT of 'em standing behind and probably sniggering away. But, like I was telling a friend recently, my threshold for shame has sunk to hitherto unimaginable levels, so I laughed lightly and flipped the price-tag back into my shirt and thanked them. Then I held my chin high and tried as hard as possible not to slink back to my seat. Oy, not a good way to start the day.

Anyhoo, Neil Gaiman. We went in with high hopes, Rachel and I, thinking we'd have a cosy tete-a-tete with Mr Sandman himself, but twas not meant to be when we had to line up 2 hours before the book-signing. Thank Christ we did, because the line wrapped around Kinokuniya (the bookstore), and they didn't allow any more photo-taking after the first 15 people (!!!). We weren't part of the 15 lucky few, but once again I exploited my decreasing lack of dignity by literally begging the lady to let us take a few shots. The signing itself was carried out with assembly-line precision and zero opportunity to strike up anything that could resemble a conversation (a conversation with Neil Gaiman!), so we frantically tried to say ANYTHING that would make him remember us. It resulted in me looking like a giggling loon, and Rachel an immature ignoramus. If you guys read my sister's account of the event, yes, I did remark that he bore more than a passing resemblance to David Schwimmer. He didn't look pleased, but I saved myself (barely) by adding 'not so much in person' (cue breaking out in psychotic giggles).

(Click to enlarge; pictures edited by Photoshop to look more interesting)

That's me and Neil. He didn't look up at the camera because the lady was rushing Rachel to take a picture. Why!!!

Rachel's picture ended up looking ALOT better, because I yelped 'Rachel! Rachel! Here!!' and Neil probably glanced up to see who was in labour.

Two whole hours sitting in the same spot at the DVD section, watching passersby and inspecting the merchandise (a Japanese serial called 'Wet Dreams'?). We got our kicks bitching about the group of girls further down the line, dressed as (I assume) Dream, Death and Delirium. One of them had a skirt so short I thought I could see her cooter, if it weren't hidden by the folds of her voluminous thighs. The one dressed as Death had long black hair that hadn't seen the friendly end of hairdresser's scissors in a long time. The one dressed as Delirium could have been transported from some particularly embarrasing period in the 80s, what with the coloured string in her hair and decidedly dated clothes. Was that the whole point? I guess I missed it.

Our view from where we were sitting.

There were a few Channel NewsAsia reporters going up and down the line, bunching up around the costumed girls (probably transfixed by the cooter) and conducting interviews. As they passed us with their cameras, we struck a pose. Yes! Fuck you, Channel NewsAsia!

The guys in front of us were discussing various comic books (oh, sorry, graphic novels), one with a faux American accent, one with a genuine Singlish accent. As we turned a corner, I asked Rachel if there were any security officers around Neil, and if not, maybe I could attack him and get his attention. Then, Faux American started laughing and turned around and said 'I think you should do that - I wouldn't mind seeing that.' That was fine. That was alright. Then I (in a lower tone) wondered if I should flash Neil, to which Faux American whipped around again and said 'I would stay for that too'. HEY! Stop listening in on our conversation, number one. No. 2, even so, stop indicating that you are! No. 3, lose the accent, dude. And get some exercise!

So, here we are with our signed books. Not the best pictures we've taken, but mmm autographed books. He told me to dream, he told Rachel to dream dangerously. I guess he didn't like my David Schwimmer comment.

We had dinner at Sakae Sushi, the one at Wheelock.

Doesn't Rachel look familiar???

Uncanny!