Untitled. For Now.

OHAI

2011-02-22T17:33:00.000+08:00

I'm still here.

I've just been busy churning out words and raising a puppy.

Today, her toys were subjected to a much-needed spin in the washing machine (exactly like what my mother used to do to my teddy bears when I was little) and they spent the rest of the afternoon basking in the afternoon sun. I even flipped them over halfway, so they would get an even tan.

So very odd to be writing this down.

WHAT CONSTITUTES A SPECIAL MOMENT

2010-12-29T21:22:00.000+08:00

Is when you're sitting alone at home, and very suddenly, you hear an eruption of cheers, whistles, fireworks, and hoots. And you know, very certainly, that people are on their feet, hugging, and punching their fists in the air.

It's made me smile.

1-0 to Malaysia in the AFF Suzuki Cup finals.

I SHOULD

2010-12-06T10:40:00.001+08:00

really make more of an effort to keep this blog active.

POOR BLOG

2010-09-27T10:46:00.000+08:00

And its million and one reincarnations. I need a designer. Pronto.

STUNNING

2010-07-08T17:21:00.003+08:00

Countryside.

Isn't it just?

OUCH

2010-04-25T17:51:00.001+08:00

That was a very difficult email to write.

ON DAYS LIKE THESE

2010-02-23T12:13:00.001+08:00

I wonder, "Where did that girl go?"

DEAR SANTA

2009-12-16T16:50:00.003+08:00

For Christmas this year, I would like some elves to help me:

1. clean my flat

2. meet all these deadlines

3. cook comfort food

Thank you so much.

X

RIGHT NOW

2009-11-09T17:07:00.001+08:00

I am so bleeding happy.

SO LONG RETROGRADE

2009-09-30T22:13:00.002+08:00

The books! The books! I've come back to the books!

In exceedingly good spirits, as I am surrounded by books and a confusion of stationary around me.

AUSTER CALLED TO ME

2009-09-09T23:43:00.003+08:00

Today, I picked up a book by Paul Auster - my first at the bookstore - and it flipped open to page 103, where I instantly saw my name and the sentence read:

"No matter how badly I had offended her, I found it inconceivable that Rachel wouldn't respond to what I had written."

I walked to the checkout with the book, and another by the same author, tucked firmly underneath my arm.

FLAKES

2009-08-10T05:02:00.003+08:00

I picked out some lines from the very beautiful song by the Mystery Jets:

They don't teach these things in school...
Cause when you're in pieces and you pick up the bits and nothing fits and the wind blows you away....
Oh the wind blows you away...
Oh the wind blows you away...

But the trouble with dreams is they're not what they seem cause when you're awake they fall through your fingers and flake...
They fall through your fingers and flake...
They fall through your fingers and flake...

---

So very pretty.

SNUBBING ROYALTY, FEELING STRANGE

2009-02-16T20:15:00.003+08:00

I won an award from the government for the writings I have done on Malaysian art.

The ceremony is in two days and I've asked my dad - who I knew would be supremely chuffed - to receive it on my behalf, as I am thousands of miles away. It turns out they won't let him receive it from the King.

THE KING?

Ah shucks.

I HEART ART & THE GIGANTIC MOUND OF PAPER

2008-12-09T16:21:00.004+08:00

I deleted my last post (about being the biggest moron of dreamers) because I was whinging and I think 'to whine / whinge' will be out of fashion by 2009 - here's to happier times!

And, here's to being a better archivist when it comes to recording links to online copies of my texts:

Sept 21 - Review of Samsudin Wahab's solo-exhibition at Galerie Taksu - MISERABLY sub-edited; Gina Fairley, I know you don't live in KL anymore (that was not my doing), and respected readers and friends, some of those sentences deserve to be binned and I will be the first to burn them in a wastepaper basket. I will post the raw text when I have some time on my hands.

Nov 30 - Review of Lim Kok Yoong's digital-installation, When You Are Not In Your Body, for VWFA's Project Room & the Bombay Sapphire Arts Projects '08 - an excellent exploration of new media practices. (Note to self: I've just recalled the semblance between the soundtracks to Bill Viola's video pieces and the thunderous sonic art provided by Dinesh de Silva & Dean Linguey)

Dec 7 - Review of Puah Chin Kok's photographic installation, art as photography as art at 12(art space) gallery - easily one of the more challenging pieces of art I have seen in KL this year.

Which brings me up to date. As indicated by my previous posts, I've been buried under mounds of work - still am - and gasp for breath at irregular intervals, but in states that are truly not my own. Paper and word documents sure are socially crippling.

Ah what the heck: one more whinge to round off the year...

Somerset House Ice Rink

Boy, do I miss that place. My seminar rooms, lecture hall, and library lies on the other side of this photograph - where you are sitting - and I'd trade my wish list to Santa to be sitting in the dimly lit library in the basement, listening to Christmas carols with my nose buried in books, again.

KEEP YEARNING KIDDO

2008-11-19T15:19:00.006+08:00

Marsha has been working non-stop for the last eight months. So, Marsha booked herself a flight to snow-capped mountains to meet the magic polar bear with the pink mohawk, so she can ask him the secrets of life. Marsha took on a job and the eventuality of meeting aforementioned bear does not seem so eventual anymore. Marsha can barely (or should it be bearly) string a sentence together.

Sigh.

Where is my holiday?

WORDS CLOSE TO MIDNIGHT

2008-10-23T23:49:00.003+08:00

I am watching the clock tick and edge closer to the turn of another year. Odd feelings, calculating accomplishments and experiences, containing it within years of a life lived and measuring it against the unpredictability of the future.

Odd also how the words flow so easily sometimes, and then at others, stay buried within. Odd odd odd.

I wish I was Jack Kerouac. I wish I was outdoors staring at the stars.

I am watching the clock tick and edge even closer to the turn of another year. Odd feelings, letting dreams battle with reality, letting roars turn into whispers and mingle with the strings from a song by The Pogues.

Odd also how whiskey doesn't taste as nice with warm water as it does with cold. Odd odd odd.

I wish I was Walter Benjamin. I wish I was in a library hidden amongst books.

It's midnight. It's time I blew out the candles and went to bed.

THE WORLD IS ONE BIG GIANT SHITBAG

2008-10-09T13:50:00.002+08:00

A few minutes ago, someone buzzed the office intercom and asked if there were any jobs going, any job at all. He is going door-to-door trying to gain employment and I had to turn him away. I feel like a right shitbag.

I don't understand the world sometimes. Correction: I understand it perfectly well and this is why I feel shit.

---

Very busy. I should resurface sometime mid/end-October.

THE DEPRESSING STATE OF MALAYSIAN AFFAIRS

2008-09-13T11:25:00.003+08:00

I'm at the end of my tether with how the nation's political landscape is shaping up. Does history repeat itself? Yes. However, it would be in bad faith to allow it to do so, to let the same mistakes be carried out.

Grow up. The twenty-first century cannot be defined by colour, creed, or the labels that separate us on our kad pengenalan (identity cards). Nor can we resort to draconian tactics and the imprisonment of individuals without lawful trial. It's incredulous that a government can flaunt pillars of human rights and expect to rally support for its equally inane scare tactics.

I urge you to read this article. Vive le Revolution.

SUPER SUPER WANDERLUST

2008-09-07T01:05:00.001+08:00

She saw a balloon and wanted to fly,
tied the string to her fingers and reached for the sky,
the wind came along and whispered her name,
and said, 'better luck next time, get a seat on the plane."

BAH HUMBUG

NADIAH BAMADHAJ: SURVEILLANCE AT VWFA

2008-09-02T23:29:00.003+08:00

Edit (11/09/08): Not sure how the article ended up here, but I'm quite chuffed nonetheless.

A little late in posting this up, but read my review of Nadiah Bamadhaj's show at VWFA, which ended recently.

---

Three weeks into a new full-time job, which sees me surrounded by art and all things beautiful. For example, this beautiful wooden chair, which keeps threatening to throw me off.

In desperate need of a holiday and flu tablets.

THE SALMON & THE COMPLIMENT

2008-08-18T23:40:00.003+08:00

The departure from my last job coincided with Chinese New Year and over a company dinner of yee sang, I found myself explaining impending career plans to my (then) boss: I said I hoped to propagate art writing that helped us better understand ourselves, and, to act as a mediator for visual languages that could be translated on societal terms. Ie: to boost the argument that art does much more than beautify walls.

I received loaded whispers and saw a pair of eyes roll at this suggestion. An imaginary catfight erupted in my head and, as tempting as its physical manifestation was, I uncurled my fists and dug for more raw salmon from the dish in the centre.

Yesterday, this was published in The Star. It has taken me a few months to get here, but to the owner of those freewheeling eyes, UP YOURS!

MARSHA LOVES THIS PAINTING

2008-07-30T21:38:00.004+08:00

Edit: The write-up for The Star went up a week later than expected. Read the (oddly uncredited) article here.

---

I have seen some incredibly beautiful and poignant contemporary Malaysian art recently. This is one that won my heart over the weekend:

Eng Hwee Chu's 'Loneliness' (2007)

Beautiful, isn't it? Reminds me of when I first fell into the deep crevices of the Renaissance period and tales by the Brothers Grimm. More beguiling pieces by Eng (and her husband, Tan Chin Kuan) at 12 Art Space in Setapak - a gallery run by the artist Shooshie Sulaiman. The exhibition - the first installment of the annual Archive series - runs until September 15 and is certainly worthy of a visit.

My review / write-up of the exhibition will appear in StarMag this Sunday.

MARSHA LEARNS TO LAUGH AGAIN

2008-07-22T00:06:00.002+08:00

It's been awhile since I rattled off one of these silly posts. Lately, it's just been work, work, and more work, which - on some levels - has its merits, but when you look into the mirror and forget to laugh at yourself, then fingers ought to be poised above panic buttons.

I type this with only nine fingers; my left pinkie is hovering close to the "esc" button. Steve Jobs may disagree with the telenovella use of said key, but there's necessity in precaution sometimes.

Below are some random bits of news and thoughts - not listed in any particular order of significance.

---

Today, Marsha Holly saw some of the most beautiful art pieces in the country. She's really lucky and luckier that there are people out there that care to share.

She's luckier that her livelihood doesn't depend on rhyming or poetry.

Today, Marsha Holly felt like a messenger girl that got sent to face the queen's army. They flashed Prada and Miu Miu handbags at dusk.

For comfort, Marsha hugged the faux designer bag her parents towed back from Shenzhen.

Today, Marsha Holly cleaned up dog poo.

That wasn't great.

KAKISENI ON HIATUS

2008-07-18T22:21:00.002+08:00

Some truly heart-wrenching news here. If you are the proud owner of large sums of money in a bank, I do urge you to make the most generous of philanthropic gestures to Kakiseni. The arts website has been informing, educating, and entertaining readers - both Malaysian and foreign - since July 2001, but has been forced to cease new publications until (the always elusive) financial support avails itself. It's always the arts that get hit hardest.

There's presently a big gaping hole in my heart, which I'm trying - superficially - to fill with whiskey.

Godspeed Kakiseni. Marsha Holly loves you long time and thank you for giving me the space to "come out".

MULTHALIB MUSA: SCULPTOR

2008-07-17T17:50:00.004+08:00

Multhalib recently exhibited a series of sculptures titled 'Twist' at Wei-Ling gallery. Here is my write-up for The Star.

More sculptural goodness here at kakiseni.

And - completely unrelated to the topic above - a sculptor-goddess (Louise Bourgeois) once said, "It is difficult to be a woman and be likeable. This desire to be likeable is a pain in the neck."

MARSHA MARSHA MARSHA

2008-06-23T14:37:00.001+08:00

- is tired

- is not fully recovered

- needs a break

- would like to not think for once

- has excessive deadlines and work

- would like to shutdown and disappear

THE STAR: RAJINDER SINGH AT PACE GALLERY

2008-06-22T12:21:00.004+08:00

You've gotta love people from Ipoh.

Here's my review of Ipoh-born artist Rajinder Singh's show at Pace Gallery in PJ for The Star.

All that mythical talk of clear water doesn't just equate good skin.

DAD'S DAY

2008-06-15T22:54:00.002+08:00

The 'To Do' list is looking less frightful, but still plenty to do before a trip to Penang on Tuesday, where I'll be holed up at the recently renovated Rasa Sayang. Work-trip, but I'm definitely allocating two comatose hours for lounging by the pool. Rasa Sayang (Feel Love)? Absolutely.

---

And, of course, a big 'Happy Fathers' Day' wish to my dad: my hero and my guiding star. He's taking piano lessons now and the teacher told my mum she wished all her students were like him. Bless.

MARSHA'S FLAILING, BUT READ ON

2008-06-14T20:16:00.005+08:00

Desperately trying to recover from a nasty bout of dengue fever. So much work has piled up and it's been plain crap trying to ignore the spells of lethargy. 'Deadline' is presently a scarier word than 'dengue'.

And, because the internet is far-reaching, I want the world to know how much I love my family and friends, particularly Lainie and Josie - who were there from the word 'fever' - collectively suffering my excessive, and hormonal-like, demands for various foods and intolerance to needles.

Two more of my articles available online: a review of 'Faith & Power' at the IAMM over at kakiseni, and, this month's art feature for Time Out KL on the NAG / Balai Seni Lukis turning 50 this year.

This month's issue of TOKL also carries my feature on food history. Can't seem to find it online, so you'll just have to pick up a copy of the magazine at local newstands - lots of interesting reads inside, so absolutely worth the RM4.90 price-tag.

End of plugging, back to work.

THE STAR: ANTHONY CHAN, LANGKAWI GEOPARK SERIES

2008-05-26T11:01:00.003+08:00

Hoping to archive all my published work, so they don't get lost in cyberspace. Here's one from yesterday's copy of The Star: read my review of Anthony Chan's exhibition at NN Gallery here.

Otherwise, still very busy. Desk is piled with a threatening amount of paper that doesn't seem to want to organize itself.

Will return to my usual comical self soon - when I get my next cheque.

DRAT

2008-05-19T21:59:00.002+08:00

Edit: Rauschenberg is also a Scorlibran. Interesting.

---

Who's gutted? I am.

Damn, damn, damn.

ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG, 1925-2008

2008-05-14T20:35:00.005+08:00

I have just read of the passing of one of Pop Art's great heroes, Robert Rauschenberg. He was 82 and born on Oct 22, 1925. That makes him a Libra and though I'm not an authority on astrology and the arts, I believe Librans to be the best possible artists - an absolutely groundless comment, but simply a Scor-libran hunch. However, his famous 'combines' are somewhat telling of the sun sign's quintessential characteristics: balance, chiefly; Why favour one medium over another when you can use them all?

Rauschenberg isn't my favourite Pop artist, but of late, I have been thinking about him a lot. His work hangs at Malaysia's National Art Gallery - did you know that? I saw it for the first time a few weeks ago. It's a huge work with all our state flags crisscrossing in his signatory silkscreen style. Not to diminish the importance of the other works on display, but there is something very remarkable about being in front of a piece by one of Pop Art's pioneers, all in my own backyard - aura-filled, to say the least.

It's no wonder many local artists seem to pay homage to Rauschenberg in their works: boys from the Matahati group, Ivan Lam, Fadzul Yusri, and surely, many young artists, as they pore through monographs or the Internet looking for inspiration.

Will end with, Monograph (1959), the first Rauschenberg I ever saw:

Image Source: Brittanica

SOME OLD, SOME NEW

2008-05-13T21:14:00.002+08:00

In my absence from this blog, there's been some old and new:

Went for my first Cammie's on Sunday. My last awards ceremony was the Anugerah Industri Muzik (AIM), which was held at a stadium in Shah Alam, so the Mandarin Oriental's Emerald Room proved rather exciting. By 11.00pm, what became more exciting was the prospect of free beer and copious amounts of dancing - both of which I sufficiently indulged in.

Whilst an entirely new experience, the many faces at the event were blasts from the past, when I dabbled in theatre. It was blissful. I don't know what possessed me to stay away from the arts for as long as I did upon returning from England.

More 'old' in the form of a yoga class today. Again, I don't entirely know how I stayed away for as long as I did. Well, I suppose I do know: my membership had expired and I was too broke to renew it. I'm still very broke, but sun salutations and headstands miss me. I miss them too.

And yet more 'old', as I finally caved in at the supermarket to the packet of Nestum that was calling for me. I ignored the cries of another packet at the supermarket near my flat, but after an hour of yoga, I was simply too weak to protest and Namaste Nestum it was.

'New' is the task of having to teach students at the end of the month. I've signed on to teach two classes at a local college, though I'm feeling rather shaky about one of the courses. A (second) phone call tomorrow ought to present an outcome of sorts and I'm hoping it's in my favour.

Otherwise, still typing away and not sleeping or eating enough. But hey, what's new?

ON OLD PASTURES

2008-04-29T16:36:00.002+08:00

Sunday marked a return from a seven-year hiatus from The Star. Read here.

--

Brought myself out to my secret cafe, where iced lattes are like liquid gold. Thought I'd get a change of scenery, so I'd be able to get some work done, but no luck there. I'm going to give up, go home, and try harder.

Plus, it'd be teetering on plain BAD if I ordered another cup of coffee.

MUTATING CATS

2008-04-24T19:22:00.002+08:00

A friend sent me a link for 'The tailor of a cat CAT PRIN'.

I wish I wasn't allergic to cats because I would have so much fun transforming them into other animals or 'the costume play of a masterpiece', Anne of Green Gables.

Every cat dreams of being a frog

It is cruel, but I cannot seem to stop laughing.

LOVE AT THE NEWSAGENTS

2008-04-23T22:45:00.002+08:00

London loved it. I love London right back.

Hitting newstands in the Klang Valley soon.

THE GREAT UNKNOWN

2008-04-16T21:12:00.003+08:00

Busy, busy, busy. But, I cannot complain seeing, for the first time in yonks, I am doing something I love insurmountably.

No, I lie. I solo-karaoke in front of the computer almost daily and this activity remains my #1 joy in life.

Tomorrow, a big first - a visit to Balai Seni Lukis Negara to quietly celebrate their 50th birthday, purchase some back catalogues, and to evaluate their new hanging. Exciting stuff, I can't wait to enter the great unknown.

---

Read my "shot" at The Painting Show here. I had to cap it at 800 words, which meant having to restrain myself a bit (not a bad thing) and omitting a few more interesting things about the exhibition.

But, busy, busy, busy. Hoping to squeeze in a few moments later in the week to write about it.

Otherwise, still unattractively glued to this chair and entertained by a great video by Hot Chip.

UNTERSCHAETZT...

2008-04-11T22:38:00.000+08:00

with an umlaut, which I cannot find on this keyboard.

The end.

Wanderlust.

CHANG FEE MING: EXPLORING THE SOURCE

2008-04-05T22:10:00.002+08:00

My second article with kakiseni is up!

By the time you read this, the exhibition at VWFA will be over, but Chang's works are available for viewing online. Click here for information on his exhibition, Mekong, and here for the sequel, Mekong - Exploring the Source.

KINDER MISSING ROUSSEAU

2008-04-03T15:04:00.004+08:00

Hello April,

March was great. Will you be nice to me too?

Love,

Marsha Holly

xoxo

---

No words today. They've rightly run away from my excessive demands.

So, some pictures:

Wishing I could squeeze myself into the plastic eggshell of a Kinder Surprise.

And, I miss you so much:

I wish you didn't live at the National Gallery, but with me instead.

DO, DON'T / DID, DIDN'T

2008-03-31T22:25:00.005+08:00

This is a 10-point piece about "I did" and "I didn't"s:

Today, I did:

1. Submit an article.
2. Doodle.
3. Collect my laundry.
4. Speak to my mum.
5. Waste time.

Today, I didn't:

1. Do a headstand.
2. Make herbal chicken soup.
3. Give my doodle away.
4. Make progress with my next piece.
5. Feel very clever.

---

I've hit the proverbial "writers' block" on what is feeling like a very empty godforsaken road somewhere in the middle of the Nevada desert with nothing but broken toe-nails and a dinky torch light to guide me.

So, I'm trying to fool my brain into submission by writing a blog entry, but personal history suggests that my mind has a mind of it's very own and persists as more stubborn and persuasive that the rest of me.

How I come to this conclusion? I find I keep telling myself, "It'll all be ok."

Such seemingly profound thoughts, but really, all I'm hinting at is the basic desire to just give up for the day and to flop into bed, bury my face in the pillows and sleep, dream, wake up, and hope that the words materialize in the morning.

And "HAH!" goes the mind, which reminds me that this hasn't worked before and it's unlikely to work tomorrow.

Oh God. I'm beginning to sound like a Charlie Kaufman movie. This not good.

Perhaps I'll eat some tofu tomorrow, for y'know, clarity and wisdom. Failing that, it looks to be a neurotic day fueled by copious amounts of caffeine.

MY EYES, MY SOUL: MATAHATI AT KAKISENI

2008-03-27T10:30:00.003+08:00

Post-holiday, the only exercises I've being doing are typing, gentle stretches and walking to the kitchen to make myself another cup of tea.

My ass is definitely getting larger and aches from prolonged sessions on a not-so-comfortable wooden chair; the reflection in the mirror is also a tad unforgiving.

But, it's all worth it. Click here - www.kakiseni.com have just published my first article on the Matahati exhibition at Galeri Petronas.

A few more articles and I should be able to buy myself a new chair. Yay!

VISUAL DISTRACTIONS BY MARSHA HOLLY

2008-03-25T21:45:00.004+08:00

My first digital camera was a Nikon Coolpix5400: a little gem of a camera, housed in a sleek black case, 5.1MP, 4x wideangle zoom, and not forgetting, a rotatable screen - a spiffy feature that resulted in a good number of vanity shots.

The little sweetheart fell victim to theft a couple of years ago and I don't think I ever fully recovered from the incident... until now:

Such joy to be taking photographs again. The Canon G7 is finally getting some love from its hitherto unaffectionate owner.

In fact, more joy to speak of, but I know I really shouldn't be blogging - this was a quick digression from work.

STRAWBERRY-BROWN INTELLIGENCE

2008-03-24T12:46:00.002+08:00

Marsha Holly returned from her holiday with saccharine yellow hair, so made a mad dash to the hair salon to rectify the unfortunate disaster. From the ceiling-mounted mirrors, it was discovered that she had also grown 2inches of roots in three weeks - that's progress for you.

Her shade is now dark strawberry-brown.

---

I'm doing research for an article I'm writing and found the following to be quite amusing:

"Two cardinal rules of intelligent art collecting, by the way, are never to buy art at night and never to buy it under the influence of drugs or alcohol."

Well, duh.

TSK TSK... SHE TRAVELS

2008-03-12T20:31:00.006+08:00

Oh dear, this comes a little late, but perhaps the Malaysian government should hire a better copywriter for its English handouts.

*I grade this a C minus.

I picked this up from BN's headquarters on Jalan Telawi and, being a little tyrant when it comes to grammar, gave up reading past page two. What a shame... I could've learnt so much about the Welfare State Concept.

---

Tomorrow, I will be airborne and off to rediscover a brilliant city where I will eat, explore and reunite with old friends. Back next week!

THREE & A HALF HOURS LATER...

2008-03-07T18:30:00.005+08:00

By popular demand, here's a silly photograph of the mop that presently crowns my head.

For over a year, I denied myself the great fun of changing hair colour to give my hair a "rest". Little did I know that - in this cruel city heat and subject to horrible pollution - this abstinence would result in excessive sebum production, causing the false (but effective) appearance of a dirty little skank ho that hasn't had a shower in weeks.

A little epiphany and a high degree of restlessness resulted in a highly exciting trip to the hair salon whereby I emerged looking like a cartoon superhero(ine).

That was last week.

The weeks before, I have to admit to having my head up in the clouds and not thinking lucidly. In describing this feeling to friends, I painted the picture of a helium-filled balloon hovering delicately about two feet over my head; it felt like my head could not physically accommodate the thoughts I had.

I blame the sebum; wretched thing it is, blocking up the follicles and disallowing ample oxygen to filter into the brain for optimum cranial activity. Well, that's my theory at least.

But, more importantly, now that my hair is dry and emitting fire-like radiance, I can safely say I've yanked that balloon down and placed all my thoughts in a safer location.

Zero hour: I'm back!

THIS IS FOR YOU, ROB RYAN!

2008-03-03T16:17:00.010+08:00

I often seek recluse in a bookstore, poring through things I cannot afford and expanding my ever-growing wish list. And this is how, some Sundays ago, I discovered Rob Ryan.

His book, This Is For You, was nestled in between an array of tacky gift books - the sort that extol friendship, motherhood, fatherhood, pets, golfing, etc. - though for what reason, I cannot fathom; it's poor classification, if you ask me, as Ryan's book is a world apart from the ill-matched neighbours lining the shelf.

The book features a series of intricate papercuts, executed with utmost precision and care. Each page is unique and tells a love story that will make you weep silently for its beauty (if you are the sort, of course).

*Art galleries do strange things to people

Ryan has had work commissioned by Paul Smith, Vogue UK (do look up the fantastic monochrome papercut dress!), and, he even designed the collar of Tatty Devine's wedding dress.

Words fail me when I look at Ryan's work; they evoke an incredibly warm, fuzzy feeling much like the the emotions spurred by riding a bicycle, mismatched socks, a hot cup of tea, or, sunshine. In fact, to continue blubbering would only do injustice to these lovely works of art. So, I'll just end with this:

*Aww...

This Is For You has found a place in my wish list, and Ryan's papercuts, a little place in my heart. Visit his blog here.

NEUE / RENAISSANCE

2008-02-28T23:59:00.002+08:00

Marsha Holly's locks have been hacked off and dyed a bright copper. You won't miss her, so wave and say hi!

Woo hoo. Loving it.

THESE BUTTERFLIES MAKE ME FLY

2008-02-25T20:29:00.003+08:00

Sat in my inbox this morning was an e-mail that I have anticipated for almost a week and its content* has released a flight of proverbial butterflies in my tummy. Despite suffering from Lepidopterophobia, I can assure you, there's no greater feeling in the world.

*I'm going to play the mystery card (alright, alright - I'm superstitious!) and not reveal too much. However, the repercussions of said e-mail could result in a scale-defying tectonic shift in my life. I have all my fingers and toes crossed for this one.

MOONRIVER, TRY A LITTLE TENDERNESS

2008-02-20T23:05:00.008+08:00

Tonight is the perfect night to reminisce with some brilliant tunes, so I've dug up two much-loved songs from the movies. First, Audrey Hepburn singing Moon River:

The opening clip of this video jogs my memory back to an evening almost five years ago, when I sat on a Circle Line tube to Bayswater. I had just moved into a flat in East London and I was on a hunt for a KFC dinner and - being an absolute stranger to the city - could only recall this particular outlet in West London. The entire journey took me more than 90 minutes. A week later (as is with all life's ironies), I discovered a KFC much closer to my flat - about a 5 minute walk to be precise.

Anyway, how this little anecdote relates to the video is that I was kept company during that arduous fast-food hunt by Truman Capote's wonderful Breakfast at Tiffany's.

And, this could quite possibly be my all-time favourite scene from a movie. Jon Cryer performing to Try A Little Tenderness gets to me each time; my feet start tapping, my head starts swaying, my fingers start snapping, and, the only thing stopping me from twirling around the room is the short earphone wires that glue me to the spot.

I love Duckie. I love the 80's. I love Otis Redding.

But somehow, I've gone off KFC...

FOUR BOXES & A BONK EYE LATER

2008-02-19T21:17:00.004+08:00

Marhsa Holly has been reunited with four boxes of her past. The contents of the boxes lay strewn all over the flat, making for a rather alarming sight to the untrained eye!

---

It would appear that I have been referencing The Guardian a lot lately, and while I'd like this not to become habitual, Nick Coleman's reflections of life as an unwilling Monophonic is too poignant to ignore. Read his article here.

I have a lot of empathy for Coleman, a music critic who lost his hearing quite suddenly one day, and can relate on many levels. Whilst my hearing often results in many a faux pas, its condition is nowhere as grave as Coleman's - it's my eyesight I constantly worry about.

Born with a "lazy" left eye, or, Amblyopia, I've run a bizarre list of humiliations and restrictions growing up:

1. Wearing spectacles with lens of very unequal thickness. Most memorable are a pair of round frames and I have dismal photographic evidence of this fashion disaster. My family - bless their hearts - comforted me with constant references to John Lennon, but I was convinced I merely looked "special"...

2. Being told I look like Thom Yorke. This comparison doesn't sit well with me. At all.

3. Disallowed from playing any racquet sport for fear of injuring my "good" eye. This rule was, of course, flaunted during P.E. lessons at school, where I indulged in the occasional game of badminton, though my pitiful adroitness is surely testament to this stunt in my early childhood development.

*I swear I had an absolutely normal childhood, if a little eccentric.

The list extends, but of late, I've become more concerned with restrictions of a medical nature. Long-hours straining my eyes in front of the computer and the unforgiving sun is doing little for my health; migraines occur far too often and are worrying indeed.

So, I've made an appointment to see an Opthamologist (A&Z must be elated!) - let's hope he is kind and forgives me for wearing spectacles and contact lenses of different dioptres.

I know, I deserve to hurt for being so careless.

But, back to Coleman's article. I found his comparison of music and architecture especially beautiful. He extols the three-dimensional nature of music and his exploration of its qualities remind me of a flaneur traipsing across a city, exploring its architectural inhabitants:

These forms had 'floors', 'walls', 'roofs', 'windows', 'cellars'. They expressed volume. Music to me has always been a handsome three-dimensional container, a vessel, as real in its way as a Scout hut or a cathedral or a ship, with an inside and an outside and subdivided internal spaces.

His are especially beautiful accounts of an art-form, which I am unlikely to forget soon, along with the account of his loss and search to uncover its neuroscientific justifications.

I once asked a close friend if he'd rather lose his sight or hearing. He - a Sonic Art student, then - predictably answered that he'd prefer a lifetime of being blind, whilst it is no one's guess what my answer was to my own question; to lose my sight completely would give me insurmountable grief.

Are we all so easily divided into two groups? The visual-oriented and musically-inclined? Ultimately, I would wage a guess that this has everything to do with one's right and left brain, but I haven't watched enough documentaries on The Discovery Channel to verify this. Enlighten me, perhaps?

Until then, here's to fixing my bonk eye and a little alteration to my life as a Monoscope.

THINK THEN SHOOT!

2008-02-11T17:25:00.001+08:00

Of late, the subject of the autonomous individual / thought has been an enigma. How - with so many varying strands of influences - does one make an independent decision, free from any exterior influence or body informing it?

I'm facing a problem and I'm driving myself nuts trying to decide on the best course of action. Gut feeling is always an option, but rationality set in and has resulted in a huge tussle between neuroscience, societal norms, gender differences, etc. etc.

And, if I were to subtract the auxiliary strands mentioned, I'd then have to choose between the head and the heart.

What a nightmare. I (truly) drive myself nuts. I need a break, a kit kat, a stiff drink, a bicycle, and a pretty new dress.

---

On a completely separate note, here's an interesting read from Germaine Greer. The article is on corporeal mutilation in art and examples are drawn from the body (chuckle) of Western performance art; Chris Burden's legendary Shoot! (1971) is mentioned, along with the drama that ensued in the decades that followed. And, of course, no piece on performing the body and mutilation is complete without pointing out the Viennese Actionists.

I once did a presentation on Burden's work - highly fascinating. I have a soft spot for Burden's work, which I find incredibly poetic despite the violent and visceral nature of most of them. However, I think my feelings are largely formed by the distance I have with the work; I have only watched grainy videos and studied still photographs - I believe the experience of watching them "live" would result in a different opinion altogether.

Alright. I can hear my colleagues gambling - time to recuperate this morning's loss!

GONG XI FA CAI!

2008-02-06T17:33:00.000+08:00

Marsha laments over yet another example of unnecessary packaging: plastic covers for mandarin oranges - simply more waste for the planet. It looks like she'll just have to eat her way through as many as she can to double recycling efforts this month.

Thankfully, I really do love mandarin oranges. My record is (an astonishing) eight in one sitting, after a full meal. I'm just thankful my palms didn't turn bright orange like when I OD'd on papayas. True story! I had orange palms for weeks... not a look to be sporting in your teens.

Anyway, here's wishing you a gloriously & prosperously amazing Chinese New Year!

ON ONE'S COURSE OF LIFE

2008-02-02T00:46:00.000+08:00

Etymology for the curious: did you know that curriculum vitae translates as "course of life"? Its origin is of the early twentieth-century.

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On the cusp of being unemployed again, I find myself plagued with the daunting task of having to update my CV. Whilst mandatory, I reckon it's one of the most cumbersome chores known to man, unless, of course, one is fluent in the language of curriculum vitae (read: dexterous lying).

I don't think I'm particularly apt at lauding my professional achievements, or, dexterous lying for that matter. Recalling dates is hard enough, and - for this - the ability to count backwards is a joy!

But, surely CVs fall short of being accurate representations of its subjects? I, personally, find them to be rigid documents; prescribed formats and little choice of Conqueror paper leaves little room for individuality.

So, my real - or fantasy - CV would read:

MARSHA HOLLY

Personal profile:
A minute personage of mammoth character with over two decades of vital life experience that is seeking employment in any field where the equilibrium of testosterone and oestrogen is present. Having read History of Art, she is in possession of acute analytical skills and the ability to confuse and confound. Proactive, methodical, diligent and bears an unspeakable intolerance to subterfuge.

Previous employment:

Failed to accommodate her many talents

Skills:

Listening
Right-hook, upper-cut and front-kick
Crawling into small spaces
Ordering food in six different languages
Writing
Creative cooking
Quiet contemplation
Typing 85wpm
Recycling

I'm most proud of my typing speed. In fact, it will be the combination of this well-honed skill and the warm-yellow paper that I plan to use, which is going to make all other applications pale in comparison - literally!

Some sleep will do me good, I think... G'nite!

THAT HOT FEELING OF IGNITION

2008-01-30T22:54:00.000+08:00

Have you seen Marsha Holly lately? She's wearing the biggest grin on her face and it looks to be a permanent facial feature from February '08!

---

Tomorrow's a big day for me: I will be submitting a letter to inform my present employer that the ball & chain will have to come off in a month because I'm destined for bigger, better things. But, more in this later - my cheeks hurt too much from smiling and there are fluffy dream clouds waiting by my bed.

But first, a quick deviation: I found the link for my old deviantart page, where lovely old photographs like this reside:

Taken when my Pentax was an extended limb.

The nineteen year old dribble on the opening page is cringe-worthy, but I have very fond memories of all the photographs; strange how differently we react to text and image.

Again, more on this later - those clouds are whispering my name.

UN SPETTACOLO

2008-01-28T23:52:00.001+08:00

Guess where I landed on Sunday night?

---

Tucked away with my heart's secret desires is a little capitalist imp that ardently wishes to bring Bill - my recently (and ironically) named iBook - out to mingle with fellow instruments at the local Starbucks.

But, of late, poor Bill hasn't been in the pink of health and one suspects he may not fare well without his life support machine. I think Bill may need to see the equivalent of a cardiologist in the world of Macs...

So, when you're better, Bill, we'll take that long-awaited trip to the coffee giant and I'll share my iced latte with you.

OK?

OK.

TEMPERAMENTAL ELECTRONICS IN 2008

2008-01-21T23:25:00.000+08:00

Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome 2008!

I've put off writing in this blog for a rather trivial reason: I cannot figure out why the spacing in my last post & the one preceding it is so different. Anyone with a solution for this problem has a mug of beer (or his / her drink-of-choice) with their name on it.

Update: One (worryingly) obsessive hour later & the problem has been rectified - joy!

---

I daresay my apartment is sulking with me, but for what precise reason, I cannot even begin to fathom. I love it to bits, having taken great care in the last year to restore it to some semblance of its former glory (minus the hideous chandelier, of course).

Today, however, I was greeted by some rather peculiar behaviour from the apartment: it denied me a hot shower, yet granted me light to view my icy expression and goosebumps in the mirror; it allowed the kitchen to bask in fluorescent light, but nullified any chance of me heating up my dinner;

satellite tv, but no hairdryer;

internet access, but two pots of luxurious ski yoghurt, which are going to be inedible in the morning...

In all, enough to ruffle some feathers, but I remained pragmatic and decided the best point-of-action would be to go to bed and call my contractor, Mr. Fix-It, in the morning.

And then, the clincher: I discover the air-conditioning in the bedroom doesn't work! Arghhhhh

My mediocre skill of standing on tip-toes and flicking all the fuses on and off hasn't amounted to very much, sadly, so it looks to be one very, very hot and uncomfortable night.

Bah.

THOUGHTS IN BLACK & WHITE

2007-11-25T00:04:00.000+08:00

Marsha Holly is wearing sunglasses indoors to shield her precious eyes from the glaring sun. She misses living by night.

---

Sheesh. So, light's the new dark? I can't put my finger on why, but it don't seem right.

Weegee

I've been thinking in black and white a lot recently. This shift from the chromatic was somewhat spurred by a splendid discovery of the work of Weegee - an American photographer whose oeuvre I seem to have overlooked over the course of my fascination with photography.

His work - in black and white, naturally - is contemporaneous to that of the interwar French photographers of whom I hold close to heart. Indeed, it is interesting to view his images, which I believe bear striking similarities, though captured across the Atlantic.

Owing to a lack of reading & visual material, I will - regretfully - not be contextualizing his images against the social backdrop of America, or, compare it to hia European contemporaries and the perplexing social changes wrought by war. Instead, I will be framing his work in darkness, exploring the formal qualities of his work; like Brassai (one of my favourite photographers), Weegee worked predominantly at night, capturing the underbelly of New York society. Unlike Brassai, however, Weegee had a penchant for sensationalist and voyeuristic subject matter, which ultimately provided visual fodder for the American tabloids.

Described by the NY Times as a "photographer noir", Weegee prowled the streets of New York armed with his camera, developing equipment, notebook and police radio; much like a hunter, this is an interesting illustration of the nascent period of photojournalism in the first half of the twentieth-century.

There is much to garner from Weegee's images: showgirls, lovers embracing, a dead body on the road, children looking quizzically at you - the viewer - probing, across the confines of the frame, for an answer or explanation for the disastrous scene before them.

To borrow a cliche, Weegee's photographs "speak to you". Well, they speak to me at least, revving my mind's cogwheels into motion to recount Henri Cartier-Bresson, the concept of "objective chance" (it is interesting to note that Weegee is pronounced "ouija"), Kertesz, Doisneau, Diane Arbus and her catalogue of "freaks", Andy Warhol, and the list goes on...

Weegee's photographs successfully document the city and its denizens. Unlike the Surrealist photographers, the essence of the oneiric isn't immediately present in his photographs, though one could easily make critical arguments along the trajectory of the great American Dream.

And - whilst I'm on the subject of dreams - I shall conclude my musings by highlighting William Kentridge's beautiful film, Journey to the Moon:

So, for now, my dreams and thoughts shall remain in black and white; I believe they erase much of the confusion I face beleaguered by colour.

WHISKY & BARGIRLS

2007-09-28T10:24:00.000+08:00

Lately, Marsha Holly has just found herself in a rather atypical predicament: the upper-half of her body turns a striking shade of crimson, whilst her lower half is covered in alarming red patches. Evidently, Marsha is suffering from a severe form of derma-disfigurement, and all due to consumption of Yamazaki Single Malt whisky. The skin condition, whilst highly comical, is not permanent.

Thank God.

---

I have an earnest desire to blog more frequently, though I have failed to do so in the last month primarily because I have been job-seeking and then, settling into a new job that sees me commuting to the heart of the city on a daily basis.

The best thing about the journey is that I now have time to catch up on my reading. I’ve eased myself back into process by indulging in “light” reading, most prominently with Warren Olson’s hilarious anecdotes about being a private eye in Bangkok. Men are easily duped, as indicated by the many examples in the book.

For entertainment value, I highly recommend it, though one can easily pick up a few tips on the do’s and don’ts in acquiring a relationship with a Thai bargirl; indeed, this book transcends into being educational literature as well!

I, for one, have learnt that I am clearly in the wrong profession. My measly salary is nothing compared to the average monthly takings of a bargirl in Bangkok; 100,000 baht, excluding income from steady “sponsors” abroad, definitely tops the comparably pathetic wages for my 9-6pm.

Anyway, to enlist Mr. Olson’s services, click here

ON BOOKS & CIGARETTES

2007-08-03T11:21:00.000+08:00

To coincide with the UK's blanket ban on smoking in public places (which took effect on July 7), the wonderful folk at Tank published a nifty series of classics designed to mimic cigarette packets.

click

I’ve had a long-standing love affair with Tank publications, but this series blows me away! The designs – which conjure images of old men, unremitting chess games and tiny cups of espresso – befit the contents of the literary selection.

If only it were as simple to digest these texts as it is to smoke a cigarette.

Imagine lighting the first cigarette of twenty, resting back in your chair and ingesting Hemingway’s introduction. And, by the time you reach your last one, you would savour each drag in anticipation of Hemingway’s final words; perhaps, even, stubbing that closing cigarette would be equivocal to the satisfaction garnered when physically closing a book.

The rather dismal conclusion to Harry Potter 7, for example, would leave a rather bad taste in your mouth – much like the one that creeps up on you unsuspectingly when you are unaware that your last cigarette has gotten wet.

These words could only have come from a smoker, or ex-smoker, in my case. Like Tank, I coincided my momentous decision to quit smoking preliminary to the smoking ban, though – of course – not in anticipation of.

I have cheated a few times, though simply to recall the once habitual feeling of having something in between my fingers whilst chatting with friends. Admittedly, the flavours aren’t doing anything for me and all yearning is purely physical, much like a regretful love affair – all shell and no substance.

Anyway, if my book were to appear as a cigarette packet like Tank’s, it’d be titled, ‘June 7 and Counting’, to commemorate the date I finally ended my long love affair.

HOW TO DIGEST A BOOK

2007-08-01T11:45:00.000+08:00

Nicked off this excellent review:

Makeup and beauty

Every girl needs a little help from time to time to snare the man of her dreams. Be wary, though, of garish colours: only oiks find these attractive, and use blusher to conceal your jaw, as chinlessness is a sure sign of inbreeding. Whatever you do, though, you must remember to remove your mascara before going to bed. Otherwise you might be seen as a slut and a disgrace to your family.

Snigger snigger.

John Crace's digested read for the concluding Harry Potter is also a must!

WHEN I GROW UP...

2007-07-31T15:16:00.000+08:00

As I am once again ‘unemployed’ and ‘actively seeking work’, I’ve decided to evaluate a few of my previous career ambitions.

Below - in no particular order - are some of them:

Prime Minister of Malaysia

In Std. 6 / sixth grade, we were instructed to write an essay on our ambitions and, without hesitation, I scrawled a two-page manifesto detailing my desire to becoming Malaysia’s first female, non-Muslim PM.

In retrospect, I am grateful that my teacher did not belittle these rather far-fetched goals, but instead, allowed a little stretch of the imagination and creative license.

Suffice to say, I have not become the PM of Malaysia.

Principal dancer for the English Royal Ballet

I was a bit of a tomboy as a child and, even now, the grace and fluidity of the ballerina is somewhat amiss in descriptions of my nature.

However, I attended ballet lessons regularly for almost a decade. My forte lay in the Allegro and jete; I enjoyed the strength imbued in these steps and, each time, challenged my little self to jump higher than my previous attempt.

My heroine was Margot Fonteyn and I wished to emulate her – on pointe - by becoming a principal dancer for the English Royal Ballet.

In my mid-teens, I sent for brochures on art schools in England and set my eyes on enrolling at the Tring School in Hertfordshire.

This dream was unfortunately quelled by my father’s proclamation one day that his daughter did indeed possess a fine brain, which ought to be put to better use. And so, I abandoned this dream and, for the next two years, fooled myself into chasing more cerebral goals.

A shame, really. I have an incredibly soft spot for this dance and truly regret not making it (even once) to the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden – fearing the opening of old wounds and the emotional spectacle that I would cause watching Darcy Bussell as the dying swan. Being hit on the head by opera glasses and causing strife amongst season-ticket holders would most certainly bar me from other performances, so I figured best to err on the right side and stay away from such classy establishments until I had perfected my grace and social decorum.

In fact, it’s probably time I considered dancing ballet again.

Doctor

I never chose a speciality (probably an unconscious recognition that this was never to be), but for most of my time as a sixteen year old, I truly believed I wanted to be a doctor.

My dad – an anaesthetist – was over the moon.

He used to leave me inspirational notes – written on what else but free post-its from pharmaceutical companies – reminding me I had to work hard to become a doctor, often listing the traits necessary to achieve this goal.

He even took me to the hospital to witness a C-section. The miracle of birth, however, was surpassed by the amount of blood, the rancid smell of flesh being lasered and a bloody baby being carried off by a nurse for removal of the fallopian tube. In hindsight, I am thankful for not witnessing a natural birth; it would have undoubtedly scarred me for life, and, it is quite likely I would not even have been fit to write this text.

Also, it should be noted that this was not my dad’s first attempt at introducing me to the medical world. Aged ten, I was allowed to sit atop a barstool in an operation theatre to observe the process of removing an appendix. Upon witnessing – and yes, this would have been my first time – the comatose patient’s phallus, I was overcome with profound embarrassment, spun the stool around, and spent the next hour staring at a white-washed wall instead.

Indeed, all the signs pointed the other way: on paper, I couldn’t distinguish my left aorta from my right, had a terrible time trying to figure out the functions of each organ, still shudder at the thought of needles and, when admitted into hospital two years ago, cried like a baby.

I was never cut out for the profession – it’s meant for those with braver hearts, less shaky hands, and, utter selflessness.

Auctioneer

For the longest time, I was fascinated with the idea of using a gavel. I loved the ferocity in the sound of the gavel coming into contact with wood. Coupled with the cry “sold!” (to the gentleman in the back picking his nose), I was completely bowled over.

For all that, I had absolutely no idea what an auctioneer actually did. I was told – by one of my sisters, I believe – that study in the history of art was necessary in this profession. I set my sights on working for Christies or Sotheby’s someday, but truth be told, the likes of David Dickinson and the Antiques Roadshow have somewhat killed this fantasy of mine.

*Note: Dickinson, Christies & Sotheby's are completely autonomous and unrelated subjects.

Judge

This is merely an extension of my pre-teen gavel obsession. I quickly abandoned this idea upon discovery that most people did not become judges until they were old and grey.

And, that the grey wig worn in court caused one’s scalp to itch like crazy.

Photographer for the National Geographic

My mother subscribed to this seminal publication and I spent many hours poring through its contents. I never read the texts, but only paid attention to the accompanying photographs; to me, the texts accompanied the photographs and it was never the other way around.

I flicked especially fast over the pages with macro-details of bugs and other icky creatures, but paid special attention to the amazing portraits and anthropological studies.

Steve McCurry’s 1985 cover-image of Sharbat Gula (and I’m sure the same is true for so many others) remains one of my all-time favourite portraits:

Inspired, I remember proclaiming – to anyone that would listen – that I was going to be a photographer for the National Geographic when I grew up. My downfall – I always knew – would be in my strange abhorrence towards grass and bugs, and, I knew deep down inside, that it was a long shot to only be given assignments that were far away from rainforests or deep in the heart of virgin forests.

Today, it is safe to say that my odd self-inflicted aversion to grass has not come in between this ambition and I. Rather, it is simply because I never spent enough time developing photographic skills or pushing this dear hobby that one step further.

Oh well, it’s never too late.

Art historian

Thank God for that gavel obsession!

In my early teens, I earnestly collected Great Artists – a weekly magazine peddled off at my local newsagents. Once again – and I am now trying to make up for this terrible habit - I paid less heed to the magazines’ text than I did the free postcards of 'masterpieces'.

These ‘masterpieces’ were limited to paintings – oil paintings even – and, of course, ten years later I spot this disparaging definition of the word ‘masterpiece’ and selection of ‘great artists’; Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Monet, Manet, and a few of other usual suspects were in included in the list.

There was almost no mention of contemporary artists (twentieth-century, specifically), which was a shame. It was only when I was in sixth form that I was introduced to this most beguiling of periods; I studied architecture from Le Corbusier to Frank Lloyd Wright, and - for the first time – gazed upon Picasso’s Les Desmoiselles D’Avignon and the work of Willem de Kooning.

It strikes me as somewhat odd that I had not seen Les Demoiselles D’Avignon until the year I turned nineteen, although, I am certain that there will be far more pieces to discover in the years to come. Indeed, this would apply to others as well.

Anyway, I digress.

Last night, whilst reading on the subject of aesthetics, I came across a striking observation that aesthetics was the opposite of anaesthesia – the inability to sense or the absence of sensation. I guess – on a personal note - this somewhat clarifies why the medical profession was never meant for me.

I seek beauty. All of us inherently do, argues contemporary philosopher Alain de Botton, though our individual definitions of this trait are not as lucid.

And, apart from all the ambitions I’ve listed, this one reeks least of the Napoleonic Complex (I am 5” tall, so it is pretty obvious why I would come to this sort of conclusion!).

It does, however, encompass a different set of power issues, chiefly that of the desire for knowledge: always wanting to know more, absorb more, see more, think more, argue more, analyse more, more, more, more.

I am currently reading on debates and principles on art in relation to the intellectual and it is all very fascinating, though – most times - I must admit to possessing a far more base appreciation and approach to art: it simply makes me happy.

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At time of this text's completion of this text, I remain unemployed.

---

And, for my first-ever tag, I attack:

Syat
Josie
Trish
Kim

You're not, of course, required to write as lengthy a post as I did - I kinda lost track of things!

THE WHINY WIZARD

2007-07-25T22:48:00.000+08:00

harry potter: *whinge whinge whinge whinge whinge* me, me, me, me, me, poor me, me, me *whine whine whine whine whine*

marsha: argh wind yer neck in, i'm having a bad day too. *slams book shut*

---

Evidently I am not making as much progress with the book as I thought I would.

2007-07-23T14:54:00.000+08:00

on a temporary hiatus as marsha holly is harry pottering.

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it has been nothing short of an exasperating ordeal trying to get an internet connection in the flat; it has taken many visits to the local internet service provider, two police reports, witness of illegal practice within the local law enforcement, receipt of one anonymous phone call, and frazzled nerves, which occasioned an argument that could have easily been avoided.

nevertheless it is good to know that i will have some semblance of a social life return with my connection to the "world" and, also, a fresh leap at job-seeking.

saw this video today and it reminded me of a dear friend and her floppy-eared "kids"; all four of them would surely love this song too:

DA, DA, DA

2007-06-29T06:40:00.000+08:00

I absolutely heart Trio's Da Da Da. It makes me want to - one day - command all the patrons in a German pub to stand up and groove to my beats:

Ich lieb' dich nicht, du liebst mich nicht, aha
Ich lieb' dich nicht, du liebst mich nicht, aha
Ich lieb' dich nicht, du liebst mich nicht, aha
Ich lieb' dich nicht, du liebst mich nicht,
da da da
da da da
da da da
da da da

2007-06-25T12:20:00.000+08:00

i've just uncovered the answer to one of my main culinary conundrums: oxalic acid is what causes the fuzzy after-effect of consuming spinach.

today, i will be walking with more spring in my step.

2007-06-22T15:57:00.001+08:00

Next week – after six months of 9-to-6-ing, Marsha Holly is to reassume the title “unemployed”.

Why could it not be today?

---

The past half of the year has flown by in a tick with – regrettably - very little to show for in terms of blog postings. This problem will be rectified with my marvelous list of “things to do” (see below), which will – if enacted upon – see my flat furnished with an internet connection (#8). But, of course, this is only effective if I act upon #6.

Tragically, the long list below can be summarized into a singular term: “financial ruin”.

So, I started the list with a cost-saving strategy, which – based on the deplorable calculation to follow – should save me RM148 per month.

[1.5 days = RM7.40; 3 days = RM14.80; 30 days = RM148]

As it has only been 16 days since I quit smoking, we’ll have to wait to see how much I actually save for the other items on the list. Sadly, I foresee some extravagant purchases to satiate the void that #1 has left behind; yes, I am no longer as quirky or fun as I once was (see #11 for a possible reason why).

1. ~~quit smoking~~
2. ~~get digital camera~~
3. fix digital camera
4. take more photographs
5. renovate flat
6. decorate flat
7. recycle trash
8. fix laptop
9. compile reading list
10. sign-up for broadband
11. ~~get yoga mat~~
12. compile travel wishlist

…

I’ve just reread what I’ve written out – it reads like I suffer from Asperger’s Syndrome.

Anyway, back to "work". I wonder what my boss makes of me listening to Technotronic's 'Pump Up the Jam'. Ah! It is Friday - enjoy everyone.

2007-01-11T09:46:00.000+08:00

This post is a week old - thought it deserved to be posted, instead of laying dormant in "My Documents".

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03/01/07

New Year Greetings from Ms Holly, who is gently immersing herself into life's harsh routine: work.

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After getting paid last Thursday, Marsha decided that a weekend in Thailand would surmise as the best end to 2006, and, a jolly good start to '07! After a frantic rush at Pudu Bus Station and miraculously obtaining tickets off someone else's cancellation (tough!), Holly packed her bag and took the overnight coach to Thailand after work on Friday.

Two coaches, two motorcycles and fifteen hours later, Marsha arrives in Phuket, where speedos plague the beach, and where, in Patong, there are more people having sex per square-foot than possibly anywhere else in the world.

Notable sights include a gigantic ginger cat on a leash on the beach (does this top Dr Seuss?), whilst notable sounds came from beyond the partition at a massage centre called Greenpeace where Marsha spent a truly traumatizing one hour pretending to be asleep and trying to erase visions of erectile dysfunction and old men from her thoughts.

Coincidentally, down the road, one can easily obtain Viagra & Viagra gel from room service at the Viking Hotel.

Marsha's preperation to usher in the New Year included showering in the communal loos by the beach for 100Bht, and, agreeing to sleep on the floor of Nancy Best Guesthouse because all the rooms in Patong were fully booked on New Year's Eve.

After dinner, Marsha looked up at the sky and saw what looked like a million stars flying ever so slowly towards the moon. The lights were coming from the beach and Marsha ran as fast as her little legs could carry her and there, she saw hundreds of people - both tourists and locals - letting off these amazing floating lanterns into the night.

And of course - being New Year's Eve & all that - the night's romantic mood took a downward turn when Marsha puked out the contents of her stomach: 3 bottles of beer, 1 tequila shot, &, 1 vodka-lemonade.

Ah... Marsha heart Thailand very much.

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYBODY!

2006-12-21T15:24:00.000+08:00

Marsha Holly has found herself a little nook in the corner of a Public Relations Office in Bukit Damansara, Kuala Lumpur. She now sends out emails with the signatory "PR Executive", but is yet to adjust to early starts & the artic air-conditioning. It remains imperative that she purchases suitable office attire, as leggings are - apparently - just not de rigeur.

---

Two weeks ago, I lost the privilege of carrying the title "unemployed" for I acquired employment and now fiddle with the term "Executive" instead. Admittedly, it is quite a leap forward, and, needless to say, my dad is grinning from ear to ear.

I have yet to get completely settled in this job, but I have put effort in claiming this cubicle space as my own: a black & white Christopher Makos photograph of Andy Warhol sits by my telephone, reminding me that I have not yet claimed my fifteen minutes of fame; a Christmas card from a colleague,and, a torn-out page from Malaysian Tatler with an image of Singaporean artist Lim Tzay Chuen's contribution to the 2005 Venice Biennale, 'I WANTED TO BRING MIKE OVER', which I shall send to my friend, Mike.

Thailand will have to wait...

2006-12-05T12:07:00.000+08:00

So, the last two weeks have been pretty exciting with my personal highlight (and favourite) being the punctured front-tyre at the end of the LDP highway, just before the exit to TTDI. Great stuff for at 11am on Monday, I got to moonlight as a traffic warden till the highway patrol men came to my rescue to help me change the flat.

Employment dilemma ensues; had to turn down the gallery job in KL because they weren't offering enough money and am still waiting for confirmation / information for the university job that may seem me back in Blighty. All this waiting is proving to be one heck of a bore, as I can't make other commitments.

Obviously, my brain is refusing to cooperate with me, as I have an interview in KL tomorrow and I am still sitting in front of my telly in a sleepy town two-hours away, whilst all I really want to do is pack up and run away to Thailand for the obligatory twenty-something year old soul-searching, which I desperately need.

Sigh. Should stop going on friendster, facebook or myspace - it's too depressing :(

2006-11-27T17:36:00.000+08:00

More has happened in the last couple of days than in the twenty-four preceding it, which I tragically spent in Ipoh. I have just returned from an impromptu weekend excursion to Cameron Highlands and my leg muscles are aching from the long jungle trek and uphill trudge to the Boh Tea Plantation. Lonely Planet rated the trek (9A) an easy one, but I say, THEY ARE FUCKING LIARS. Otherwise, had a wicked time: good music and conversation provided by Ferg - Cheers!

Will be in KL again on Wednesday for a job interview and on Thursday, I will be shooting a programme for Channel [V], which should be great fun. It's going to be a double-date with VJs Dominic & Sarah, but more on that later.

On an entirely separate note, I wish I had my camera's USB thingamajig, so I could put up photos. Reckon it's in London along with the rest of my heart - boo!

2006-11-18T23:34:00.000+08:00

Marsha has spent eighteen days in her hometown. In those eighteen days, Marsha has detoxed, recycled, been to the garage to get her car fixed (errant driver - not Marsha), had her lucious locks chopped off (unintentionally - pitfall of not speaking Cantonese in Ipoh) and learnt how to knit.

On the eighteenth day, Marsha received an job offer via email. Should Marsha tease her biological clock and become an au pair in Essex? Stay tuned.

*The money is fantastic; the children must be monstrous.

2006-11-05T18:46:00.000+08:00

I ought to feel even the slightest tinge of embarassment with the admission that my best ideas spring to mind when I am seated upon my throne - the ceramic one that flushes.

Sadly, I'm more embarassed by the fact that the wireless connection in my house is lousy and that its supersonic radars do not transmit as far as my bathroom. And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the sad fact owing to my lack of entries.

I vow, however, to be more diligent and to drag myself to that corporate-giant-of-caffeine-and-sugary-goodness (Starbucks) to use their wifi connection, which I put more faith into to not freeze and keel over, unlike the poor connection at home.

Ah, what joy it is to be in Ipoh. Since I've been home, I've perfected the art of doing nothing, but have yet to eat a single tauge (beansprout). This minor setback will, however, be overcome in due time.

Till my frapuccino and a few cigarettes later - toodles.

2006-10-25T21:20:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, I turned 23 and into a beautiful woman named Marsha Holly. Here's to me!

Your 1950s Name is:

Marsha Holly

What's your 1950s Name?

Also, here's to having a less tempestuous relationship with blogs.

ON CLOUD-TOFU

2006-09-22T11:35:00.000+08:00

i just google-imaged "tofu". god save me.

2006-09-15T01:30:00.000+08:00

Aside from the obvious deprivation of internet access that I've been experiencing in the last few months, I've realised why I haven't been posting on this site - I forgot my password! Today, miraculously, my brain has proved to be a force to reckon with.

From my macs dictionary: fickle changing frequently, esp. with regards to one's loyalties, interests, or affection. "Web patrons are a notoriously fickle lot, bouncing from one site to another on a whim"

How apt. Last week, in a moment of despair, I created a new blog at another host. I only made three entries and have resoluted to destroy and return to old pastures - this one.
I'm fickle, fickle, fickle.

Quick update from my last entry here:

1. I've graduated

2. I'm unemployed

3. I'm actively seeking employment in London

4. I'm panicking

I read cosmo yesterday and I've decided to follow mainstream female-friendly advice and blow a load of cash (that I don't have) on an image overhaul.

Appointment booked at hairdressers for tomorrow morning - yes, morning, because I don't have a job. Anyway, good news is that I've found a few jobs that interest me and am in the process of updating my cv to make myself sound like a colossal office-goddess.

2006-03-26T02:36:00.000+08:00

spork signals

---

there is a thoroughly valid (and unfortunate) reason for my absence - we've lost the miraculous wireless connection to tweak any technological response in my room, i have to:

(i) place my laptop atop my dictionary (5inches thick), and four other books
(ii) place the pseudo-sculpture right by the window
(iii) shift the laptop side-to-side until i see ONE miserable bar light up on the wireless connection icon.

yep, it's just marvellous. i'm on easter break, so i've re-adopted the television set in my bedroom as my new best friend. unfortunately, reception is terrible and i'm reduced to dancing about the t.v., aerial-in-hand, trying to get the clearest pictures.

looks like signals are failing in every sphere of my life.

---

on a much more trivial note, i'm eating fruits with a 'spork'. i'm not quite sure where i stand with the utensil (my all-time favourite being chopsticks - i can eat crabs with wooden-disposable chopsticks!), but the kitsch value and utter ridiculous-ness of the damn thing is chalking up brownie points in my books:

my sides are splitting:
an unofficial 'spork' homepage
wikipedia

2006-02-27T13:51:00.000+08:00

holy crappers - today, i flew back years.

was chating on msn to Pierra, an old friend from boarding school. one or two links later, and i am flipped back to the threatening halls of girls' boarding; i even saw my old bedroom in one of the pictures... sigh. all the girls junior to me have grown up, so needless to say, i feel pretty damn old right now.

would love to reminisce for another few hours, but have a presentation on tuesday; i will be discussing the work of nick waplington, richard billingham, martin parr & gillian wearing. the image below (wearing's) exquisitely sums up my present state of mind:

yep. it's that nice. toodles~

2006-02-23T12:52:00.000+08:00

my desk and i are inseparable. i have spent every evening with it for the past two months. we get along really well, but he does not like it when i spill ash all over him. the end.

---

i keep attempting to write a more intimate entry, but fail each time. maybe i have too much on my mind - like playing poker on-line and deciding what to have for breakfast. oh yeh, and the ridiculous amount of work that i have in front of me; presentation next week, i can't wait.

---

note to self: take more pictures!note to lainie: adopt this blog!

2006-02-21T03:21:00.000+08:00

oh so ben stiller

---

a little anecdote from the weekend:

i went to a cypriot restaurant in camden called andy's. it was next to daphne's, but we went to the former, as one of the waiters took the effort to come out and entice us. there was a guy smoking outside the restaurant who said he'd organise free coffee after our meal. sweet! so we enter, take a seat, and i read my menu with much excitement...

what do i eat? swordfish? calamari?

owen: rach...

lamb?

owen: rach!! your menu is on fire!!!

yeh. i didn't see the bloody tea-light candle on the table. romantic, huh?

anyhoo... plenty of work to do, but the wind is howling and all i want to do is crawl back into bed.

2006-02-16T02:40:00.000+08:00

i spent valentines day with some dead russian photographers and a bunch of dead marxists - what about you?

check this out - car ad. it is only 16 seconds long, but it left me crying... like a child. i'm a chicken that way. anyhoo, enjoy enjoy. i take no responsibility for any medical problems that may result from viewing.

2006-02-09T14:22:00.000+08:00

full house on memory lane

---

oh my god... first, a warning - cringe factor: incredibly high

i wasn't feeling too well, so i took a break from work to hunt down videos of 'full house'. i present the following:

Steph's Bday Party - i remember scrunchies! i remember leggings and matching t-shirts! i remember stupid hairstyles! and most importantly, i remember tommy page!!!! shrieekkkk

the wedding uncle jesse & michelle - uncle jesse!!!
i cried watching the intro (also found on youtube.com). i feel really, really old... and no!

jodie sweetin had a meth problem! shitttt

i don't think i've used so many exclaimation marks in my life.

2006-02-02T15:16:00.000+08:00

the great gene pool

---

i got this message from a friend today:

hi, don't panic, but i am in hospital. i poisoned myself; i ate what i thought was an onion - it was a daffodil bulb. doctors say i will be out in spring.

i panicked. called her and left get-well-soon wishes on voicemail.the reply:

rach, i'm not in hospital. read the text slowly...

i pleaded battle fatigue - temporary lapse of coherence. an hour later, i get the same message from my sister & i told her about my huge blunder. her reply?

i know... i asked her which hospital she was in

my dad must be so proud of us...

2006-02-02T08:55:00.000+08:00

feed me books

---

this is pretty desperate, but heck! my amazon wish list is eleven books long and GROWING DAILY - help feed a starving student

thanks.your attention is much appreciated, but i assure you, i will appreciate the books much, much more. amazon.co.uk

i repeat, amazon.co.uk

2006-01-31T04:49:00.000+08:00

The 'Feed Lindsay Lohan' Game - I want apple pie and a puppy more than ever.

2006-01-26T09:26:00.001+08:00

techno & the intelligentsia

---

waarate, waarate, waarate...sumairu, sumairu, sumairu...

arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

the scream was a response to the red-hair poking out from the side of my door. it was a mistake to leave the door open - chica caught me indulging in my favourite activity while writing essays: solo-karaoke-ing to kitsch songs. today, i was singing and bopping my head around to a techno version of puffy's 'circuit no musume'.

and now, the world knows where i get my academic spirit from.

2006-01-26T09:26:00.000+08:00

techno & the intelligentsia

---

waarate, waarate, waarate...sumairu, sumairu, sumairu...

arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

and now, the world knows where i get my academic spirit from.

2006-01-23T17:02:00.000+08:00

mouse in the house!

we have a little friend in the house! i have named him mickey, because it is an easy name for a mouse that i will not forget soon. in the last house, we had a mouse and i gave it a french name, which i have now forgotten. chica is terrified and the three of us sat on the table & kitchen worktop to see if mickey would appear again, but he didn't. i tried leaving it some cereal, but the girls wouldn't let me. i left five small pieces of cheese for the french mouse and the next day, i found that it had eaten three pieces!

so yeh, my work has been interrupted by adventures of spider-murder, mouse-watching and the facial game. chica sent me the link and i thought it was going to be rude, but i assure you, it is safe for work. more games at maggie market. i recommend 'Dai Pai Dong' and 'Kill Time in Office'. In fact, I may go play a game or two of 'Dai Pai Dong' before I call it a day.

Hey mickey, you're so fine, you're so fine...

2006-01-22T14:41:00.000+08:00

schoko bons!

---

i'm good i'm good. wicked day. worked five and a half hours at the reception desk WITHOUT a desk. i had to sit in the corner, by the radiator, and play security guard. i am 5'1", but i'm guessing the one inch sealed the deal. had an awful time trying to concentrate, but got to take home a bottle of sparkling water and red wine, neither of which i really drink, so it is sitting downstairs in the kitchen.

i should really try to make more effort and write something worthwhile in this blog, but my head is in a million pieces at the moment and i need to gather the pieces and chuck them into the essay bucket. it is due wednesday. i cannot find this bucket. shit.

was going to take a picture of why i think it is wonderful having swiss housemates, but as soon as i scattered all my kinder bueno 'schoko bons' on the table, i realised my camera was across the room and couldn't be bothered to get it.

lalala lovely day, lovely day.

2006-01-12T14:40:00.000+08:00

the best things happened today:

1. i got a jem & the holograms t-shirt from nathalie

2. i found a dvd box set of doctor snuggles - a cartoon i used to watch as a child but whose title i could not remember today until i saw the dvds!

3. free sample of anti-ageing moisturiser

i am twelve years younger today. it feels grr-eat.

2006-01-11T16:28:00.000+08:00

ho hum

---

i missed the MA deadlines. i suppose i avoided the application process deliberately - i didn't feel confident enough to face a year of intense study, with the little that i know. i'm going to take a year to research at my own pace, and perhaps join the young british workforce. great. will apply for 2007-08 instead.

i will be staying on this side of the world for another year. it punctures my heart in so many spots, but the convenience of the libraries/lectures/galleries is too much to give up as well. its just occurred to me that the only connection i have with malaysia are the weekly phone calls from home, the blogs i read, and the cupboard full of instant noodles/coffee/tea/bak-kut-teh/curry/i-could-go-on-for-a-long-time downstairs in the kitchen.

boo. no fun.

2006-01-08T12:41:00.000+08:00

on mh004, the passenger next to me said, "take a good look at the sun, because that's the last you'll see of it for a long, long time."

he's right. the british weather leaves much to be desired...

but when it does shine, everything is perfect. below, a picture taken after the notting hill carnival last august. missing owen, mike & mr. sun.

2006-01-08T12:12:00.000+08:00

flying solo

---

mh004 yesterday was not the best flight i've had. for some reason or another, Malaysia Airlines no longer have menus. instead, i had to rely on the very masculine voice of a stewardess that bore striking resemblance to a ladyboy. i barely deciphered what she said, so i settled for a safe bet and ordered chicken and got ~~some awful flour like substance~~ dehydrated chicken breast. it was covered in tomatoes, so i stuck to the potatoes and dessert. made mental note that i would never again order their occidental concoction, because they generally suck.

had lovely chat with the afghanistani taxi-driver. his brother owns a restaurant near my flat, so maybe i will pop by someday to speak to the man with the blue eyes and hope for bigger portions.

in the flat, i was greeted by three weeks of piled up dust. by noon today, i had:

1. swept & mopped the bathroom floor

2. cleaned the tub, sink & throne

3. swept & mopped the kitchen

4. swept & mopped my room

5. done two loads of laundry

6. unpacked i even managed to squeeze in a 'walk' to bond street to check out the post-xmas sales.

i'm sure i've done more, but jetlag has caught up with me and my screen is just one bright white light. i wish nat & chica were back... it's really lonely here at the moment.

2006-01-06T09:43:00.000+08:00

fighting crime, trying to save the world...

---

hmm... earlier at the supermarket, in a state of obvious delirium, i allowed my cousin to put boxes of tissue paper into the shopping trolley.

four boxes featuring the powerpuff girls: three individual mug shots and a group image. i thought it would be cute to have bubbles in my room, buttercup in nat's, blossom in chica's & the 'group' box in the kitchen. the idea worked perfectly in my head (and evidently my male cousin's as well) but the boxes don't fit very perfectly in my suitcase.

ah well. i'm going to blame this one on humidity and heartbreak as i leave malaysia yet another time. humidity will be the same excuse for my purchase of a pair of jeans that i can barely buckle.

risha had to watch me lay flat on the floor - laughing and trying to hold my breath in at the same time, so i could unbuckle myself from the sausage machine jeans. the first time i've had more trouble taking something off than putting it on.

i should be packing. a londra~!

2006-01-06T08:50:00.000+08:00

2006002

i start the new year with exactly the same entry content as my last one for 2005: procrastination. at time of typing, i have not packed a single item and there is a little hill by the suitcase made up of instant noodles, gifts, books, clothes and other random objects.

saw risha earlier. she came to watch me pack, but we both just sat around and talked for a few hours. god knows when i will see her next.

will be uploading photos of my holiday once i'm back in london.

ending with the same note i started with - did not finish that essay i was meant to write. sempre il stesso.

2005-12-12T17:52:00.000+08:00

old dog... old tricks

---

in four and a half hours, the taxi will arrive. at time of writing, i still have an essay to finish and packing to complete.

amazing - i must subconsciously love torturing myself.at least i have crummy nasi lemak to look forward to eating on the plane. super news, owen is coming. we'll see you in m'sia on tuesday.

2005-12-10T10:31:00.000+08:00

homeward bound - my cold dark matter

---

my heart breaks - i wish i could change my flight...

COURTAULD INSTITUTE OF ART RESEARCH FORUM

Frank Davis Memorial Lecture SeriesAutumn 2005

Sponsored by the F M Kirby Foundation

Viewing time: artists on art and temporality

Lectures will be held at 5.30pm in the Kenneth Clark Lecture Theatre

All welcome. No registration required.

Tuesday 13 December

Cornelia Parker

when i first saw Cold Dark Matter two years ago, i was literally blown away - no pun intended. unfortunately, tuesday will see be battling with heat and jet-lag instead. owen is having trouble with his sculpture and i worry that he will not make it to m'sia for the holidays. i worry indeed.

to amuse myself:this year's christmas list

1. a digital SLR

2. a puppy

3. more time

i don't know who reads my blog because i haven't figured out the logging (tracker?) function and so i am under the impression that only you read my blog and whilst i have demanded you give me a present (though with less authoritarian success than josie, i'm sure) i think the above three are a tad bit silly. i will settle for a beaoootifool dinner instead

2005-12-08T13:50:00.000+08:00

'the unborn bastard child'

my classmate finished his essay a few days ago and said it was like giving birth to a twelve-ton baby. why won't my brain comply with my body's request to just GIVE BIRTH TO THIS BASTARD CHILD OF AN ESSAY? groan. another sleepless night ahead of me.

2005-12-08T04:26:00.000+08:00

this morning, i woke up to a heap of wonderful emails and i can safely say that this has made my day.

one from daph, who eats toast off the floor; lainie-all-nighter-yes-i-will-come-to-black-tie-with-you-next-thursday; miguel, who i hope to visit in barcelona next year; and my favourite, my lecturer, this amazing woman who is being tremendously supportive of my work.

sun is shining outside too i'm in a little bubble of joy.i think a lot of this has to do with the fact that i have eliminated the (problematic) joseph beuys from my essay. focus is on yayoi kusama and if the stars are aligned with jupiter tonight, i should be done by tomorrow.

happy days, happy days...

2005-12-05T05:50:00.000+08:00

had a presentation last week on gina pane and orlan, super-fabulous performance artist. whilst describing orlan's piece, 'baiser de l'artiste', i tried explaining the plurality of the word 'baiser':

rach: in french, 'baiser' can mean 'to kiss' or 'to fuck'

class: ...

rach: no wait, 'to screw'...

class: ...

rach: shit.

my classmates laughed and so did my housemates, who both speak french and have confirmed that 'to fuck' is the correct translation. truly a case of 'pardon my french'.

went for a diane arbus seminar at the V&A yesterday, but had to leave after the lunch break to sort out personal issues. sucks not having the time to handle both, especially with only eight days left in london, christmas shopping to sort out, post-grad applications, and another essay to write.

last week, i was under so much stress that i didn't want to go home. i wanted to be isolated in london, suffering from siberian winds and studying instead.

bah humbug. spirits up again. but i may be confusing optimism with intense cravings for chicken rice and laksa tee hee - arriving at KLIA next tuesday!