Hello, this has been overwhelming, how shall I… let me count the ways… I’ve started working full-time in a theatre company, and it’s a physical, construction job (you know, the usual: painting, sculpting, chuxing, flossing, burning, cable-tying, drilling, metal-sawing, rigging, etc.) that involves no sitting down in front of a computer, let alone being bored enough to sneak off and read emails (or LJs, or porns). Extremely, supremely fun—I don’t regret it one bit that I rejected an offer from a better-paying, ‘posh’ air-conditioned webdesign company for this garage of a workshop—having once been a tree-hugger with an eager naivety for CoFA’s promises and ready to cynically smirk at almost anything, I found myself overcome by call it a tenderness I’d never go quite to the back of lest I got bogged. At the moment we’re doing an absolutely massive, humongous dragon prop for The Magic Flute for the Opera House in February (free tickets to see fat ladies singing in German, yay!), but starting the next following week we’d be starting on something else entirely.

Anyway, how’re you all? Tell me, tell me! Say something! I get home pretty late most of the time, sometimes working seven days a week, to then squeeze in freelance works in the wee hours and not neglecting my boxing training, so I don’t have much urge to go online and exercise my neglected ego-inflation a.k.a. blogging. And judging by my half-arsed attempts you should’ve guessed that I’ve lost the urge ages ago, doing it only for the sake of it. But hey, since the excuse for a month of drink, exchanging presents, getting fat and merry and all unhealthy excesses is coming, why don’t you peeps mail me your postal address (k.azali at gmail dot com) if you’re interested in getting a DVD of random movies that I think you’ll like. Or if anyone wants a copy of BEE’s American Psycho, I’ll gladly ship my copy to the first person who yelled out, “ME! Pick ME!” (or anything, really. I just want to get rid of it). Let’s see, what else can I dump into my Santa’s sack… anyone wants the Japanese tankoubon of GetBackers 34, DN Angel 1-3, and Love Mode 11 perhaps? (Now, one item per person, k?)

As for wishlist, I don’t really trust it (not being self-deprecating, but you gotta wonder what kind of a person would bother buying something for a mad, annoying, uncaring person such as yours truly, but since that’d probably make said party mad by default, and hey, the world’s populated by mad, mad people, one can only hope, so… I digress), here’s mine:

Just like before, I’m completely OK with the trashiest, dog-ear-est copy, so bar one that has slipped down the toilet bowl during one of your nature calls, be assured that I’d treasure, scribble, snuggle and sleep with it. Dearest You-Know-Who, I swear I’ll bomb you with pieces of Bernal’s arse if you dare blowing your cash on me. This is not meant for you, you’ve got me so much stuff, so do me a favour and don’t make me feel like I’m taking advantage of young innocent little girls.

Tyas, I am sending City of God, Coffee & Cigarettes, Metropolis, Mysterious Skin and Solyaris for you, plus some MP3s that I’ve promised for ever this Monday. Ephi, I need your postal address to send you yours, and Shun, I still haven’t managed to get to that toy I told you about, so…

From January 7 to 26, there Sydney Festival 2006. It’s another year soon, 2005 has been the most overwhelming, surreal year of joy and utterly satanic bullshit mixed together. Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, ho-ho-ho, and a kiss to brave through the headache of a season.