Dreams Die Here

It seems that the more writing I have to do for work, the less I want to be doing it in my free time - if I have any, that is. Which is ironic, because the more I have to write at work, the more things I have to bitch about in my personal writing.

And so I'm not even blogging all that regularly now, much less write my own scripts. I apologize, faithful (or not so faithful) readers, but I'm tired.

I realize I haven't written about any movie I've seen in almost two months. That's not right.


The other day in the office a colleague of mine, who's prone to asking strange questions as a form of greeting, said this to me: "So, what are you up to? Pursuing your dreams?"

I looked at him with sad eyes.

"Don't be silly, this is [insert Evil Company name]. Dreams die here."

Happy Birthday

As the clock struck twelve, I was doing either one of the two things below:

1. Bleaching and putting my white T-shirt with the stubborn stain in the washing machine.

2. Taking a shower.

I'm not sure which it was.

I'd like to think it was the latter. Starting off a new year with a shower seems like a good sign. Hopefully all the bullshit of the past year can flow down the drain as well.

Actually there's been quite a lot of bullshit lately, but that's for another post.

It's barely 3 hours into my birthday, and I'm drunk already. Drunken blogging is fun.

Anyhoo, I intend on staying drunk the entire weekend. It's a worthwhile venture, methinks.

I'm now on the wrong side of 25. Welcome to the late 20's. Fucking hell. That's as good a reason to get drunk as any.

Happy birthday to me.

There's a Bare Metal Plate on the Wall...

where my air-conditioning unit used to be.

See, after we moved in, we realized that almost all the units in this house were faulty. Excessive condensation would occur, dripping onto whatever was down below. Sometimes, the water droplets would even be blown out like someone spitting a fine mist of water at you. There was no way of predicting when or under what circumstances the units would do these things, so every day was an adventure, particularly for me since I'd placed my bed directly beneath the unit in my room.

So we got pissed and made several angry phone calls, and got the Samsung guys in to fix it. Problem was, it was such a long and arduous process. I swear, the first time they were here, they didn't do anything at all. They kinda opened the units up, poked around, poured some water in, useless busy-looking bits like that. Nothing changed.

Turns out the units weren't levelled when they installed them, so water was flowing away from the drainage pipe instead of towards it. But that took several more visits to determine. Eventually they fixed every unit in the house, and we were satisfied. This took maybe two months or so from the time we moved in.

Then one day I was happily on the verge of falling asleep, when... *pffft!* the machine's colorless ejaculate hit my face, jolting me back into consciousness. Over the next few days, it occasionally dripped or spit water, and I was pissed as hell.

The Samsung guys came again, only to cheekily grin less than ten minutes later as they announced they'd come with a part meant for a different model. They promised to return soon.

One month later. Yesterday. They came, they had the wrong part again, they tried to laugh it off.

They took the entire fucking unit back with them.

I admit, I've gotten spoilt. I'm so used to working under climate-controlled conditions that I just can't deal with the heat and humidity while trying to create. It doesn't work anymore. So I got mad again and made some nasty phone calls.

They said it'd be here after 4 pm today. It's now 4.30 pm. Let's see what happens.


Addendum: 7 pm, and it's finally back.

London Phrases

5 years ago. 6 rolls of film. 1 shitty camera. 0 pictures.

Now, it's 2006.







There's the weight of history here. Also the weight of travels, of walking, showing, explaining, draining, tiring.











All I wanna do is sleep.

But no. Get up, go off, take the tube, tube breaks down, expensive food, all that bullshit.









Shakespeare's Globe Theatre and St. Paul's Cathedral are the only two tourist spots I actually pay to go in.















Buckingham Palace's Changing of the Guard - utterly pointless and boring. Once you've actually been in a military parade, you lose all desire to see one ever again.







Pigotts was a 3 hour nightmare journey, but at the end of it was peace, tranquility and an otherworldly calm. Ice cream in front of the TV with a cat in my lap. Mmm.











The final lunch. Pub food cravings lead to a huge burger: a greasy, fat, completely unhealthy orgasm of taste.





Old friends. 19 years. Here we are.



Hate KLM. Tiny weight limit of 20 kg means shipping most of my luggage by freight. Frantic re-packing at the left luggage counter. Let's see - all books out! Only light things in there, like DVDs and shit. What's that? Minimum charge is set at 25 kg? Ah fuck, all books back in again. No aerosols? Out come shaving foam and deodorant. 8 to 10 days, £175, fuck you very much.

Tiny seats, no legroom, bad food, ridiculous luggage restrictions. Hate KLM.

Back home. And the shit starts again.

Cathay Cares

I'd been very mad this past weekend because I saw that Cathay had yanked Good Night, and Good Luck from their screening schedules before I'd had a chance to see it. I scanned the papers on Thursday and Friday, and it was still showing, and that usually means that the movie will be sticking around for another week at least. So imagine my shock on Saturday when it was nowhere to be found in the listings. In fact, I was so pissed off that I made a little detour to the Cathay today to give them a piece of my mind.

I suppose it was lucky for them that I spoke nicely first and didn't try to fuck them upside down with my first sentence. After they explained things to me, I realized I'd been mad for nothing. Apparently the print they received was so bad that they decided to pull the plug on it prematurely, and was merely waiting for another print to arrive before they ran it again.

It's nice that they actually give a shit about the quality of the print and the projection and you know, actually keeping standards high. However, the least they could've done was to put out a notice in the theatre, on their website and in their ads in the papers mentioning the fact. Otherwise, you have a whole bunch of people pissed off about nothing. But hey, there's a corporation for you.

Here's hoping the print arrives soon.

Addendum: As of Thursday 8 June, it's back on screens. Kudos to Cathay.

Manchester Snippets

Industrial brick facades co-existing with shiny anonymous characterless metal and glass.







Walks around the city centre in beautiful, decidedly non-English weather.







Spotted on the back of a bus, an promo ad for a radio show: "Toolan in the Morning".





Malls, malls, malls. Seen one and you've seen 'em all.



Tales of war and relics from a past age come alive.

















Canals throbbing with dirt and shit and used condoms and drama.





Game Day at Old Trafford = closed musuem and tour. Bummer. So much for the pilgrimage-in-lieu.







Lovely free lunches, hotel breakfasts, meeting, greeting, making new friends.





Watching, digesting, debating, learning, thoroughly enjoying.



A screening with two paying customers and less than 10 audience members in all. They got us down here for this? Still, lovely chatting with your audience, no matter how few their numbers are.



Lots of namecard and email swapping - Canada, Africa, Singapore, White, Asian, Black, English, French, Singlish, African.



Fopp. Heaven on earth.



A hotel room that feels like a home, albeit one with £5-a-day internet access. Sounds from the bar downstairs and the street leak in. Cool calendar.









He stands on a street corner, his friend not far off. His hands are shoved deep in his flimsy windbreaker's pockets. Their eyes meet, and for an instant there is a connection. His eyes reveal that he's seen much more than his young age suggests. They are weary. Questioning. Hopeful? It lasts for just an instant, then it is broken. And life goes on.



Goodbyes. Here, there, everywhere. Scattered throughout the week. Will I see you again? I don't know.