This weekend:

Besides rushing my essay on Post-Neorealism in Italian Cinema that is due Monday, accompanied by a stack of readings sitting untouched on my table, I have a scene to reshoot:



And amongst hundreds of other things due next week.

Afternoon rant.

I need a day of seclusion to finish those damn video edits and move on with my life. I need my paychecks that are months overdue so that I can finally run my errands, get a haircut, pay back debts and fund my semestral short film. I need a talking organizer to keep track of dates - rehearsals, shoots, submissions, birthdays, departures. I need to be less sleepy after lunch.

Ok back to work.

Those boon times went bust.

I really need to sleep early cos the zits are popping out and my eyebags are getting heavier than my weight. But work is engulfing me and school has just started.





Eat My School Shorts is screening my first year short film at House, tonight 8:30pm (and again on 09.09.08). So drop by if you're having dinner or drinks at the Dempsey area!

If you're blue and you don't know where to go to,

I need to sleep. The week swam by with multiple deadlines and running around - literally running around. Fatigue set in last night when I caught a cold and a fever. It was awful. I kept waking up and hallucinated about things I cannot remember. My body still aches like holy fuck.

Spillovers!












KVLT launches today. Go read!

Rants.

It's not that I am batshit busy with work but I really want to run away right now.

A photoshoot for an online magazine (below are 2 spillovers), a series of campaign videos, a video for A Nation In Concert and Singapore Theatre Festival. Paychecks from my previous freelance jobs have yet to arrive, so I'm really surviving on my meagre reserve funds now. Maybe it's because I cannot afford smokes so I am a little cranky from having too little but hey, it's for the best. Inflation is a bitch. Still, I desperately need a new hard disk and a haircut and this beautiful cardigan to drown myself in this horrible humidity and paints for my room and a new pair of glasses and my year's supply of contact lens.

I was home early today. I laid on my bed, my muscles aching, going through some readings for the campaign video shoot tomorrow and out of the sudden I felt so fucken shitty I wanted to tear for awhile, just for awhile. Maybe then everything will be ok again. I wanted to run away from the world and back to my cave and hibernate till winter comes, yet I was hoping someone would listen to my rants and tell me it's ok to rant.

Sure Looks Good To Me

Some blocks of old HDB flats opposite my neighbourhood are slated to be tore down in 2 years time, to make way for 'plans to rejuvenate the estate' with a private one.

I can't wait. I hope they build another mall. Because really, this city needs another shopping mall. Hougang Mall is too overcrowded, and Hougang Green is too far away. And Starbucks. I cannot for my life, believe that there is not a single chain in Hougang that is riding on Americana. Oh yes, there is no cinema in Hougang. (There used to be one, but it closed down because the developer think it's a great idea to build a bowling alley above the theatre. I thought it was raining when I was watching Power Rangers: The Movie.) Build an entertainment hub. Have K-Box and Sakae Sushi, too. High-rising condominiums! There are simply too little condos in Hougang to make us less of a cheena Bronx and more of a Trying Too Hard To Be Upper East Side.

Spread those old fudgies all over the island. I mean, they are the least of concern. They are not fans of shopping malls and lifestyle hubs. They prefer to relish old kampung spirits, and honey - kampung spirits doesn't bring in the dough. I think there are some empty apartments in Ang Mo Kio and Bishan, just relocate them there. One year is more than enough time to move out. Two more years and there you go - the dream suburbia.

This is exactly how you bring in the votes.

How to feel miserable.

Maybe subconsciously, I want to give up, as much as I think I am contented enough. But sometimes it just gets so dreary, it had to go way beyond the threshold and I know I have to scream at someone. It's annoying really, how everything gets so uninspiring. Or maybe it's me. Perhaps I've been kidding myself all along and continued the pretence till even when the curtain had long gone down.

Shoot me, shootings, shoot, shoots, shot.

I simply adore this photo Cain shot during the Homecoming shoot.

School's been crazy. It's 4am on a Saturday night and I'm at home editing my directing assignment that is due Monday morning. My eyes are threatening to shut and I'm thirsty as hell. This Tuesday I have to submit all my pre-production and shoot details for my solo project this semester. I have an editing assignment on firemen that I really dread because I'm still trying to get the hang of FCP, and that's due Thursday night. Also due on Thursday is a deconstruction of a favourite film into 16 frames and to analyse them for a presentation. And on top of that, sourcing for Anthony Chen's new short film that we are shooting this coming weekend.

So shoot me now.

How 'bout a little me time, huh?

(I am having a fucking splitting headache. There's no hair for me to pull.)

(I think I've lost it, in every sense of the word, and I need to find my way out. After this, I shall begin making plans for Vietnam. Maybe I will feel better.)

(I really want to go home now and tug myself into bed. For once I really should sleep early.)

(I just want to sleep.)

Major rant post.

I am fucking pissed.

Cheers, darling.

I supposed when you're tied down with so many things there's really nothing vaguely pseudo-philosophical to talk about, which really is the general direction this site is going towards; to inspire everyone out there and unleash their inner Deepa Chopra like I've always done with my life.

But all I ask for is to be able to squeeze in a little me-time, so that I could watch Jennifer Hudson wail her way through the Oscars for Dreamgirls, so that I could show the world my inner Bono by talking on the Motorola Red Razr - if I finally get around to purchasing it, so that I could finally take some photos for my school application and so that ______(insert any other non-work related nonsense)__________________.

It's not that I am so horribly busy. It's just that I am so fuckingly horribly busy, what with a billion things that require my immediate attention. Because world annihilation would ensue if otherwise.

So give me a bloody pay rise. Or else.

Darn that dream.

We are halfway through the long weekend.
This is totally irrelevant but I feel extremely unproductive. I have yet to send out my resume, and I am extremely fussy about getting the job(s) I want, and I can't work full time until I return from Beijing/Hong Kong in mid November, and so many film internships are actually available - while I am in China!

Someone shoot me. Till then, I will be surviving on bread and water.

I was told to submit an art piece for an exhibition in late December by a youth organisation. The theme is, well, on youth. I couldn't recall anything I've done that's even vaguely youth-themed. She told me I can work on it now, and it will help with the given exposure and all. I'd love to, really. Not because of the exposure or anything like that but I miss working on a painting, experimenting with textures and all the endless possibilities of creations. But working on a piece takes time and alot of input. I don't know if I will have the energy to create something worth showcasing. And my energy now should be directed at finding a bloody job.

Not lazing around watching old indie DVDs and Family Guy.

*

On a sidenote, I had fun on Saturday night watching a performance at Theatreworks, Pichet Klunchun and Myself. It was a witty and humourous exchange between a French contemporary choreographer Jerome Bel and a Thai classical dancer Pichet, with dance demonstrations in between and all these supposed notions about contemporary dance. I couldn't help gushing at Jerome's striped sweater either, though this has got nothing to do with the performance or anything. But it was staring at me the whole time!

It's easy to smile.

You can try to analyse a situation, come up with solutions and yet knowing that the core of your problem will still remain the same.

We've always allowed emotions to fly high and might, which I think is only human and there is absolutely nothing wrong letting your honesty out. But how do we maintain the integrity of our artistry when we have no choice but to allow someone else to step on it. Do we compromise? Or do we remain headstrong? What is then, the line drawn between the professionalism of our artistry and of ourselves as performers?

After awhile, it's tiring to string together politically correct words just to prove a point.

In other words, our useless numskull of a boss is a fucking arsehole who is also a piece of shit that knows nothing about what we do and insist on changes that makes no fucking sense.

It's easy to say 'Hey, I gonna fuck off from here in two months so why should I give a shit anymore?' but deep down, we know we still care when we felt heart-aches looking at the deliberately dismal performance just so we can 'get back at him'. We shouldn't kill our passion like that.

Meanwhile, in other financial news updates, Mr/Miss Random Person has returned almost* all of the $2150 that I so stupidly gave away. I say 'almost' because two other guys can't confirm without updating their bankbook or otherwise. Till then, I will officially thank Mr/Miss Random Person.
There may be hope in this world after all.

*(update) Thank you to Mr/Miss Random Person for being so kind. I'm really relieved right now. Thank you to those who showed their concerns, too, especially those who passed me their contacts for sugardaddies. Will keep it for rainy days.

money my mortal enemy.

I supposed me being a traveller, and a seasoned one at that, may never set in, considering the mishaps that are happening now as I plan for a Taipei trip with my Mandopop-crazed bunkmates. But hey, let's be honest here because I'm not going to pretend like I travel out of the country alot on my own like Adrianna (whose recent entries about India I followed closely and enjoyed reading). In fact, this will be my maiden trip out of the country without my parents at the ripe old age of 20 going on 21.

Well, here it is. Purchasing air tickets online. Because none of us own a credit card, and that some of us had to pay more because of the airline's stupid promo system, I proposed we all transfer the cash to someone's bank card for convenience's sake. To cut the long story short, I gave the wrong account number (all because of one less fucken digit, no less.) and therefore some random person out there is $2150 richer. The bank's informed and the answer is 'not guranteed'. Who knows that person has now spend it on buying a lifetime supply of cat food for those void decks urchins, or bought a one way ticket to Iceland and never return.

All I hope for, is that whoever you are, Mr/Miss Random Person Who Is $2150 Richer Because Of Me, I hope you have a good heart. This money are hard-earned labour of gold from protecting this nation. I will call you beautiful, I will pray for the children in Somalia, I will kiss your toes. I know I've never cared much for money, and that I do have this pseudo-hippied-activist opinion about the corporate evilness of money, but this cash isn't mine. So now it's biting back at me. I promise I will talk nice about money from now onwards.

This has totally spoiled my weekend.
Amitabha, Guan Yin Bodhisattva, please save He Shu-Ming.

Ooh-la-la.

My laptop crashed last week and was internet-deprived for what seemed like a lifetime.

Which is good, really, because the computer can be quite draining, seeping the energy outta 'ya. Which also meant I broke the routine of everyday after-work nights glued to the computer screen after dinner. So instead, I went back to couch-potatoing. I think I could get used to watching TVB dramas and Taiwanese variety shows. My mandarin is improving leaps and bounds. And there is nothing Channel 8 can do to save their sorry assed mediocre stuff, by the way.

In other truly exciting news, my tummy is threatening to outgrow my 5month-pregnant cousin's.

So I found a fellow weight-watcher in my bunk, and we are looking into a revolutionary starving regime that Jessica and Nicole would approved of on Us Weekly. Known as the POW Diet, it mirrors the exact proportion of what prisoners-of-war would eat during their imprisonment. Except instead of goo, we are talking about food from the camp cookhouse which isn't much of a sacrifice to have so little anyway. We are looking into tree barks, too, so look out America! 'tis gonna be bigger than Zone and Atkins.

play/pause

I am looking for the rewind button.
The backspace key on my laptop doesn't work anymore, so I can't go back.

*

These are days when I just stare into the empty spaces on my Post-its notes, with hundred and one unchecked boxes in my mind and no determination to complete a single one of them. Some of them are disgustingly overdued.

These are days when I cannot be bothered to read new books, discover new obscure bands, watch films or write an entry that's even half as remotely interesting as the Yellow Pages.

These are days when I hate waking up to the smell of rain, and that same old thing called routine.

These are days when nothing excites me more than Honey Stars or Luncheon Meat with Fried Egg Sandwich.

These are days when I want to make replies - text messages, emails, letters - but I just don't know what I want to say.

These are days when I want to reorganise my wardrobe, my table, my mailbox, my playlists, my photos, my eating habits, my non-existent schedule, my every little damned thing in this my-so-called-fucking-life-with-the-capital-L. Throw everything out and put them back nicely and neatly just so I can feel a little satisfied.

These are days when I realised there are so much variations of jadedness, and I am sick of every single one of them.

*

I am looking for the forward button.
But I can't find it.

insert emo quote

I am so tired.

Tired from a cocktail of negative emotions, while trying to justify them with philosophical view points that really, are just a bunch of bullshit. I am so tired that moving an inch is a gargantuan task. One moment I'm convinced I'm manic depressive, the other moment I slap myself for wallowing in self-pity. I am so frustrated with the world and even more so with myself. Why do I even fucking care?

I can't cheer myself up.

Pet peeves.

For every dollar I get when an Ugly Singaporean shoved his/her way into the MRT door while I'm trying to get out, I will be able to afford a five-room HDB flat. Sometimes I imagined Ally Mcbealesque scenarios like turning into the Incredible Hulk and charging towards them, or like in a rugby match at the Singapore Sevens. Sometimes I fear they'd charge in before I could get out, and I'll miss my station and I'll get crushed and become The Boy That Was. You will never hear from me ever again. Sometimes I thought of holding a placard that says "Give Way For Passengers Getting Out Of The Train. By Law. Or Fined $1."

But I think signs are not working for fines-fearing, signs-abiding citizens. Either that, or they can't read English. Or maybe the signs are not big enough. Singaporeans are a myopic lot. Maybe we need neon signs and billboards to remind them to keep-fucking-left (maybe a reminder to have more sex, too. according to durex, we ain't gettin' enough love. but that's another story altogether.) on the escalator. Or maybe they can't tell the difference between left or right. They should have a line on the escalator that seperates left and right.

But then again, they do have yellow lines that tell you to make way for Passengers Getting Out Of The Train, or PGOOTT, since Singaporeans love acronyms. Oh wait. Those lines and arrows are just for decorative purposes, are they not? Surely they do not serve to remind us to be courteous citizens who give ways for others.

I've thought of doing up art installations around MRT stations all over Singapore with huge billboards, or just many, many many signs that says keep left on escalators and to give way for PGOOTT. I believe that is the solution for these numskulls to wake up and smell the coffee and make way for PGOOTT. There are simply not enough signs, we need many, many more. NAC should fund my idea, rather than having wasted it on Lee Tzay Chuen's empty space at the Venice Biennale.

Maybe I should really do this, and film it. Like some reality-documentary. Like Michael Moore. At the end of the series, viewers can guess if it's a no-go. People will be waiting at train stations wondering if the installations will be put up, the attention ensued will bring an island-wide courtesy wake-up call more fucking successful than that stupid retro-looking lion.

Don't steal my idea. (Writing this entry spontaneously churned out that last paragraph. I'm actually quite excited by the possibilities. Who knows?)

Kill me now.

• Why I am sick of Singapore #2917: Whywhywhywhy in the name of Guan Yin Ma do we need another retail and lifestyle development centre? I say progress is evil. (via wurh)

I am also sick of work, which is tiring me out with all that trainings, rehearsals and all the other crap. I want to tear my follicles out, stab myself with a straw and kill myself listening to K-Fed on repeat. I feel like a performing chipanzee on a trampoline at the Moscow Circus. With an evil boss who thinks we are mechanical beings who can master death-defying stunts in 5 seconds and show them to the world. He is the one who tried doing what we do for five minutes and said 'eeyer it's boring'.

Fuck the world. I am sick of it.

Where do I begin.

I've been feeling really tired these days, and all I ever want to do is have a day dedicated just for sleeping. In fact, I want to spend one weekend doing nothing but sleep, only to wake up for lunch, dinner and hydration. I'd switch off my phone, cut off my internet connection, ban television and have my room scented in lavender and vanilla, the lights lay low and the only sound around is the humming of the air-con.

I'm so sleepy constantly that I think it's an illness. I sleep on the train, the bus, after lunch, after dinner, at any given opportunity. But at night I'd be wide awake. I'm weirdly nocturnal. The first thing I think of when I wake up everyday is when I can sleep again. On the bus? The train? After lunch? Tonight? I try to stay awake but once my mind wanders off into the Realms of Nothingness, my eyes start to close. Coffee seems to have little or no effect on me. I can have a double shot expresso and still fall into slumber after forty winks. And weirdly enough, alcohol makes me sleepy (and itchy), instead of making me high. (I'm quite allergic to alcohol, unfortunately, which is why I order warm milk at the bar.)

This talk about sleeping is making me very sleepy. Maybe I shall make myself a glass of warm milk and go to sleep. And it's a Saturday night. I am such a senior citizen.