Al Gore expresses his views on the Bush administra…

Al Gore expresses his views on the Bush administration. Something that’s needed to be done for a long time.

Chocolate Cake and American Idol

Put three women and a recipe together in a kitchen and you inevitably get a cake. Which is exactly what happened last night. A cake is all well and good of course. It’s the process of baking that’s a pain. And, as if three bashing, mixing and cleaning females weren’t enough, my sister had to go accost the only unfortunate guy present, me, to stir some stuff “till creamy”. Preposterous. Severe retaliation was in order and there would be hell to pay before I would be caught with a big mixing bowl in my lap. Hence, I stuck out my lower lip… and mixed. And I’d like to think I did a damn good job of mixing “till creamy”. At least I was watching manly stuff on TV like the Mosconi Cup.

After the menial work, thinking the worst was over, I flicked on the PS2 not knowing that it was American Idol night. Again. This is one of those shows whose popularity boggles me. Ok, so the first few episodes are entertaining. You get more than your fair share of screechy, fat, ugly, tone deaf, can’t sing-can’t dance-and-proud-of-it buffoons slugging it out in front of three less-than-receptive judges. But even this sole saving grace wears thin after 2 or 3 episodes. There comes a point when you’ve simply had enough of bad singers and hopeless dancers and screaming Dions and you start wondering why people like that have been allowed to live this long instead of being aborted upon conception. As if watching Americans embarrass themselves wasn’t bad enough, next month will see the debut of (shock shock horror horror) Singapore Idol… I wonder how many Malay rappers will try their luck. Maybe we’ll be treated to a few pock-faced 5566/F4 wannabe ah bengs. Or the ah pek selling rojak downstairs may decide that Elvis hasn’t yet left the building. The possibilities terrify me.

Anyway, my mom demanded that I let them watch the accursed program in the living room since it was the final and all, even though there’s a TV in my sis’s room. Needless to say, I grunted my disapproval. After all, they already knew who the winner would be. To this, I was subtly informed that I was a grouch (“You’re such a grouch”). The purpose of watching the show now was not to find out who the winner would be, but to observe the “reactions” all round. Yes, the unabashed joy of a fame hungry person fulfilling her fame hungry desires and the congratulatory die-you-bitch hug from the unfortunate runner-up. We love this stuff, don’t we?

Six days ago, I was stricken with the mother of al…

Six days ago, I was stricken with the mother of all flu viruses. Six days later, having thrown the wife, the mother, the kitchen sink and most of my immune system at it, the bitch still won’t go away. And so it is that I’m sitting at my desk making sounds often associated with weed smokers i.e. snitching, snorting and spurting. Most unpleasant for myself and all my unfortunate colleagues.

I found out that the GP at the clinic nearby is a professional songwriter, which was rather surprising. I’d never thought of him as anything other than a doctor. He claims to have written songs for Andy Lau and a few other HK singers, whose names I didn’t recognise. To be fair, he was also surprised to hear that I, Mr. Only Sick Once a Year, had recently become a copywriter. However, despite the fact that we both relied on our creative impulses and I was in a life or death battle with a gazillion micro-organisms, I got only a day’s MC. So much for camaraderie! (Of course, I went back the next day and got another day off)

It’s Friday again. Another week gone with nary a t…

It’s Friday again. Another week gone with nary a thing for me to do. I’ve written probably one paragraph of copy for some online shit in the past 5 days and summarised some health product write-up. Otherwise, it’s been reading, surfing and taking way too many walks around Shenton Way. If only there was a library nearby…

Still fretting over the damn insurance ad ideas. Being forced to work with those visuals is like being told to swim with your hands and feet bound to your neck. And so, after exactly a week of half-hearted and thus half-brained “brainstorming”, I have produced exactly nothing. I wish I could just tell the short one that he’s been thinking with his ass, which isn’t too far from the truth since his head isn’t all that far from his behind. Corny… who cares?

Spotted 4 bottles/cans of a certain beer in the pantry. Alas, they’re all expired. On the bright side, that could only mean one thing. Pitch. At least I hope it means that. Sure beats writing newsletters and proofing datasheets. Haven’t had a proper brainstorming session since my first 2 weeks here, which is ridiculous. Still, my hopes aren’t all that high. What I’m dreading is the brief or, more accurately, having to decipher the many weird and wonderful interpretations which can be gathered from the inevitable cut and paste job that will be proudly mailed to us complete with broken English and, shall we say, eccentric spelling among many other irregularities. Accompanying this written brief will, of course, be a verbal one. Trying to hold one’s laughter during this session is a feat of almost impossible proportions often requiring a combination of self-torture, self-distraction and self-mutilation to accomplish. And we try. Oh how we try. Or at least I do. Clenching my toes. Glaring at innocent plastic plants. Biting my lips (carefully of course). Thankfully, all these have worked so far or I might already be out of a job. I must write down all the boo-boos I hear next time which will probably be soon. Sheesh.

In a fit of motherly indulgence (toward her cat, I…

In a fit of motherly indulgence (toward her cat, I might add), my sister purchased an array of toys supposedly designed for felines. This included a few sparkly balls, a rubber mouse, a ball of fluff which resembled a hamster and (this is the best one of all) a “high tech maus”. Yes maus. German I presume. This space age invention consists of a clamp, which you affix to any low hanging beam, from which hangs a furry maus on a string. Plus, the damn thing squeaks when it’s so much as jerked. Brilliant!

The cat, however, didn’t find it that cool or even remotely below room temperature. Even after repeated demonstrations by me, which involved getting down on all fours and pawing the maus and then lifting HIM up and putting HIS paws on the maus, he looked at what I felt to be God’s gift to cats with a sullen lack of interest, much to my dismay. Of course, I should have expected this after the scratching post debacle which involved the same sequence of events but never mind.

I don’t know how much that piece of precise German engineering cost but I couldn’t very well let it go to waste. Goodness no. And so it came to pass that Pat and myself, two grown, intelligent human beings, were spied trying to kick the furry thing at each other with as much force as possible, emitting high pitched squeals amidst the squeaking of the maus in the process. It was an epic battle between two determined (For Honour!! HIARRRRR!!) warriors but after 20 minutes or so of intense physical exertion, I admitted defeat. Pat kicked that thing like she’d been kicking mice her whole life (which is kind of disturbing) and I had no answer to it. Plus, risking a maus to the gonads wasn’t all that worth it even if one’s honour was at stake. So in a sense, I let her win. Of course I did.

=== "Done-ness, you say? I like mine ‘RARE’" ===

Life is, quite simply, complicated.

We all want enjoy it, but we don’t want to get consumed by it. Not that my current job would allow me to be consumed by joy. But you get where I’m going.

I’m back from what feels like a an entire week of outfield. Trust me, it was a mess -at least on my side. There’s a running joke that I’ve been making that my career in the military is condemned, largely because I keep getting into sticky situations where it is usually not my fault. My nickname is “Murphy”, after the “Law” that governs my career and existence. It has become so chronic that it actually funny.

I’m pressed for time now, and I’m very sleepy. In spite of that, I’ve got to do one of those things an officer has to do – ensure safety. I’ve got to plan for it, see; I’ve been made to do safety “officer-ing” so often that its painful. I think piss-shivering would be infintely more interesting than this.

Well.

~A

Before my life is done, I would like to be enlight…

Before my life is done, I would like to be enlightened on the following things:

1. What is the meaning of life? (of course)

2. What the hell causes the phenomenon known affectionately to us males as piss shiver??

That is all.

I don’t know. I just found this copy on the back o…

I don’t know. I just found this copy on the back of Boddingtons cans amusing. For those finding it awkward teaching their sons about the birds and the bees or simply how to have a good time by themselves, perhaps this might be of some metaphorical help.

“Since 1778, the Boddingtons Brewery in the Strageways district of Manchester has been famous for its unique, pale-gold ale.

In English pubs, Boddingtons is served using the traditional hand pulled method, producing a distinctive creamy head and smooth body, with little gassiness. Ordinary packaged beer cannot match this quality but the new DRAUGHTFLOW SYSTEM does.

DRAUGHTFLOW cans give the creamy head and authentic fresh taste of Boddingtons Pub Ale.”

For award-winning copy, press 1. For not-so-good-b…

For award-winning copy, press 1. For not-so-good-but-I’ll-take-it-anyway copy, press 2. For asswipe copy, press anything else.

Staring at a visual of a bloody leg in a cast for 2 hours has produced a sum total of nothing. No lines. Zero. Not one.

That’s the thing about being a copywriter in this agency. I don’t know whether to feel thankful for the job or just downright pissed off sometimes. I don’t get proper briefs for one. Most of the time they’re verbal and when they finally do come in hardcopy, they’re inevitably hopelessly vague leaving us, creatives, to flounder around in the mud and crack our skulls on hidden rocks. What’s worse is when someone or other gets some stroke of inspiration. For example, “I think it’s a good idea if you could come up with award-winning lines for these visuals”. (Proceeds to get ridiculously excited over some stinking visuals, one of which is said leg in cast, splattering the left side of my body with spit in the process) No brief, no nothing! Just an order for award-winning lines. Gah…

Had my chest prodded by Anita and Suyi today which…

Had my chest prodded by Anita and Suyi today which left me feeling somewhat defiled.

[Anita: They're bigger than mine. (I don't know if she was insulting me or herself. Hmmm...)]

I need to scrub myself with some industrial grade detergent now.