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Making the shortlist
Heng stormed in to my cubicle. He was not his usual stony, icy self. He had a wide grin. Delirious. Almost giggly.
"What happened?" I asked suspiciously, suspecting an alien invasion of his body.
"We've been shortlisted," he said breathlessly.
My jaw dropped and I squealed. I could have hugged him, if not for my steely self-restraint.
"It's down to us and [that other hot-shot agency which I shall not name here]."
I squealed some more.
"We have to go in for a second round - to tighten some stuff. They'll brief us tomorrow."
"Oh man!" I sighed, "Please, please God, please let us win it."
It's still a tough competition. The other agency is good. I hope we'll be better. But till we're outta the race, I shall walk with my chest out and head held high.
Pencil chewed at 8:02:00 pm //
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Breaking up is hard to do
Lunch was about done. But I did not taste any of it. By now, the butterflies in my stomach were flapping around like hummingbirds. (By the way, 1Utama on a public holiday is the worst break up venue. Trust me. Been there. Done that.)
"Matt," I started, "I ... I've something to say." I swallowed hard and tried to recall the speech I rehearsed.
He looked at me and I could see that he could see what I was about to do. I quickly looked away.
"Don't," he said, "don't say it. Why say it when I know what you want to say."
My eyes widened. What? Not make the speech I took an hour to prepare.
"We've known each other for like - what? - a month? I know, we started on the wrong footing - that meeting with Trish was terrible," he said and then added with a chuckle, "I saw you roll your eyes at my every sentence. I thought that was really cute."
"Well, I was ... not impressed." I began shifting in my seat. I didn't like the way this was going. I was supposed to be dealing the cards.
"You probably thought I was this pig-headed ..."
Bingo.
"... obnoxious ..."
Bingo.
"... self-absorbed braggart who doesn't know what he's talking about."
Bingo. Bingo. And Bingo.
He paused. I started again, "Matt ... it's not you ..."
"Don't say it. Not now," he said with a tender pleading in his voice, "Get to know me better and down the road, if you still think I'm a bastard, I'll hear it."
I was baffled. Amazed at the same time. How did the tables get turned on me? Is he really as smart as Trish makes him out to be? Or am I dumber than I think?
I suspect that is how some women end up marrying men they swore on their mother's grave that they would not. They just couldn't say it.
It's the worst break-up I never had.
Pencil chewed at 11:54:00 am //
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So crap, it's funny
Advertising writers in Florida want to use Johnny Cash's classic song, Ring of Fire, for a haemorrhoid-relief product commercial. The song aptly has the lyrics "burns, burns, burns." But of course, the family will not hear about it.
Read more at S-I-C it.
Gosh, I hope I never do an ad like that.
Pencil chewed at 2:41:00 am //
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Decisions. Decisions.
I've made up my mind.
We're meeting up for lunch at 1Utama on Monday and I'm going to tell him.
Tell him that I'm not right for him.
Tell him he's not right for me.
Tell him that there cannot be a "we".
Wish me luck.
Pencil chewed at 6:55:00 pm //
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The best ads from 1999 - 2004
Want to see the best of Malaysian advertising for the last five years? Ham of Adoi Magazine, who has singh-glehandedly raised the profile of local advertising, is compiling a Portfolio of best works.
Introductory price is at RM120 for this tome. I dunno what's the usual price after the intro. So get it quick before the whole demand-supply thing pushes the price up.
Email Sledgehammer Communications to book your copy. Or fax 7710 0522.
There. Did my bit for the industry. Ham, you should be proud of me.
Pencil chewed at 4:37:00 pm //
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Pitch perfect
Last day to get our act together for the pitch. I'm already rubbing my hands with glee at the thought of bagging this account. I want it bad, so bad.
Surprisingly our creatives are all done. There won't be an overnighter tonight. That's way cool. Heng, Tomas, Susan and I plan to head down to Sri Hartamas. For some drinks, to chill. Tomas says there is no better way to prepare for a pitch than to get totally pissed drunk. He's not on the pitch team, but he'll be drunk by 11pm. And I'll probably have to drive him home.
Anyhoo, the pitch's set for tomorrow afternoon. Dry run coming up. Then, partee!
Pencil chewed at 4:29:00 pm //
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Do I have masochistic tendencies?
June and Mila were already there when I made it to Coffee Bean. The only way to redeem myself, they said, is if I told them everything. Everything. That's the problem with girlfriends - they don't let you off the hook easy.
"So?" they asked. The interrogation started as soon as I settled on the chair. I was prepared for June to slam a gun on the table and for Mila to pull my hair back to get me to confess. The only thing missing was the lamp shining into my eyes.
"It was okay," I shrugged, trying to downplay the whole episode.
"What do you mean 'okay'?" June gets into form, "The guy blows bucks on a fully decorated tank and you say it is 'okay'?"
"Hey, cool it," I said and checked her belt to see whether she really has a gun.
"Don't you dare leave out details or we're through, baby!" Mila chipped in.
Did I mention that they are my best friends? How did that ever happen?
"I don't know what to say!" I defended myself, "We ate, we talked. And that was it."
"Liar!" June muttered.
"You're in love, aren't you?"
"No. I'm not, really. Honest!" I said.
"Liar!" June repeated.
"He's nice but I just don't ... well, you know."
"No, we DON'T know," Mila jumped at me.
"I don't feel that we're right for each other. We have nothing in common. We talk about nothing but work, work, work."
"My God, are you mental?" June started, and slaps her hand on her forehead.
"Huh?"
"Where can you find such a nice guy? You like fish, he buys tank. You like Japanese, he takes you out for dinner. He'll give you the moon if you wanted," June concluded.
"But that's exactly the problem,"I said.
She throws her arms in the air and shakes her head.
"Why?" Mila starts her round.
"This attention ... it's overwhelming. He's ... he's ... trying too hard. It's not real, not ... er ... normal?"
"It isn't supposed to be NORMAL!" Mila screamed. "HE'S-IN-LOVE-WITH-YOU. Duh." Mila mouths it slow-mo for the benefit of a retard like me.
"The way I see it - it's just gonna go all the way downhill from here. In 10 years time, he probably won't even take the garbage out."
This time Mila shakes her head.
I'm a masochistic idiot, they think.
Pencil chewed at 12:15:00 pm //
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Busy bee vs guppies
It's 3 days since the tank moved in. Times like these I thank God that I work in advertising. It's easy to get busy, terribly busy. So busy that I have no time to look at guppies.
The pitch is set for this Friday. Things are going great guns. Heng and I love working with Susan, the Account Director on the job. She's on the ball. On strategy. No mincing of words. I feel confident that we can nail it. And I'll be one happy camper to have this coveted brand in my book.
I was making my 3rd cup of coffee at the pantry when Messy, my AV producer, came over.
"Eh," she said in her phelgmish voice. I shuddered. "Got new boyfriend ah?"
I knitted my brows and tried to look as ignorant as I could, "Excuse me?"
"You got this glow. Look different from usual."
"I ... what?" I almost shouted. Part from defiance, part from fear.
"Eh, aiya, big girl already. Got boyfriend very normal one. No need shy-shy."
"No-lah!" I huffed and almost ran out of the pantry screaming.
Pencil chewed at 3:05:00 pm //
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Can you get lost in 3-feet of space?
Woke up this morning, sauntered out of my room and made myself a cup of coffee. I then spent a few minutes looking at the new tank. I must admit - it is a nice tank. Nicely decorated with plants, rocks and seashells.
Where my guppies are? I peered into and and began scanning very plant and rock.
Oh, there they are, I sighed.
Minnie and Moe seem lost in the vast expanse of a 3-feet aquarium.
Pencil chewed at 4:31:00 pm //
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My one-foot plastic tank
I had it all planned out for Valentine's Day. An evening of ice-cream, Bailey's and "Love Actually" on DVD with 2 of my best single girlfriends - June, a copywriter from another agency and Mila, an old college mate. I pat myself on the back. Should Matt call, I didn't have to fib.
Happily I started getting my apartment ready for the evening. About 4pm, the doorbell rang.
"Matt!" I gasped as I looked through the peephole.
My first instinct was to pretend no one's home like how my sisters and I did back in the old days when we wanted to avoid door-to-door saleswomen who kept calling "Aunty! Aunty! AUNTY!" We'll squat below the window, hush ourselves till the coast is clear. But I'm all grown up now, I thought, I should tell him to his face that I'm not buying! So I opened the door - before I remembered that I was still holding a mop, dressed in a T-shirt that I've used to sleep in for the last 10 years. Sweaty, probably smelly, with my hair all over my face. Well, maybe it'll scare him off, I thought defiantly.
"Hi!" he said, a little taken aback that I wasn't his usual vision of beauty.
"Hi," I huffed, "What are you doing here?"
He beamed like a little boy, "I've a surprise for you."
"Er ... what?" I said in my please-don't-bother-me voice.
He stepped aside to reveal a trolley behind him. On it, a 3-feet long aquarium! Complete with pump, filter, water plants and even those algae eating fish a.k.a. DBKL fish.
"For your guppies," he announced triumphantly.
For 60 seconds, I stared. Breathe, gurl, breathe.
"You ... erm ... like it?" I could hear the nervousness in his voice. He began shifting his feet, like a boy waiting for approval.
"I ... I like it a lot," I managed a whisper. He sighed. Relieved.
We spent the next hour transferring Minnie and Moe to Matt's aquarium. I still cannot think of it as mine. "This is Minnie," I showed Matt the guppy with the orange tail and red body. "And Moe, it's this colourful fella with the black dot on his tail."
And how did he know I have guppies? I suspect a Trish-Matt conspiracy.
"They really like their new home," he said, then looked at me, "I'm glad their mistress like it too."
Please, I pleaded with my ears, please don't go red. They did. Traitors!
"Er ... I'm sure they like the space ... you know, no longer confined to this 1-foot plastic tank." I held my old aquarium to my chest - like a safety blanket. "But ... this is actually very good plastic - lasts for years. Not a scratch. See!" I heard myself speak and I cringed. Nervous energy has made me cuckoo. "Yeah, do you know that this is my fifth Minnie and seventh Moe. I'm just too lazy to think of new names. So it's like they live forever but they don't actually ... you know, like The Phantom? The comic strip - the Sunday Star - no?"
SHUT UP! I screamed in my mind.
Matt oh Matt why did you have to go and do this? What happened to you? You are supposed to be Matt the EgoManiac. Not Matt the Fish-Loving-Aquarium-Giving-Guy. Could I be wrong all along? Could he have a latent Guppy within him that I have to coax out with dried worms and fish flakes? How can complications grow from 10 sen to RM200 in 6 hours?
"Listen. I made reservations. Japanese okay with you?"
"I ... er ... I got er Love Actually, erm, my friends ... er ... I mean," I took a deep breath, "Actually I'd love to go."
Tell me, what could I have done? The man turns up at my doorstep - with a present that makes me go weak and now wants to feed me my favourite food.
"I'll go get ready."
I can still hear June and Mila screaming "Traitor!" over the phone as Matt whisked me away from Minnie, Moe and my 1-foot plastic tank.
Pencil chewed at 3:05:00 am //
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Uh-oh Day
Unless previous years where I can simply ignore it, this year I have this uneasily feeling. And I don't like it - this unknowing feeling - this twilight zone between yes's and no's.
My usual wakey time on a Saturday morning is 11am and when I get the full quota I'll feel spiffy - like I've finally treated myself good. But today, a loud beep-beep jolted me from bed and my dreams. An SMS.
A Valentine's greeting from ... uh-oh... Matt.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Sweets." (gosh, I hate that petname he gave me!)
I sat on the edge of my bed, phone cupped in my palm, still very dazed and sleepy eyed. Just sat there for over 30 minutes ... thinking as hard as I could on a Saturday morning whether to reply. And if I do how to reply. Or simply hit the delete button and roll back into bed for my last 1/2 hour?
Decisions, decisions. Why must my life be complicated by a 10 sen message?
Anyhoo ... I decided I couldn't deal with it so early in the day. I went back to bed and had strange dreams of being chased by a mobile phone with Matt's face plastered on the LCD screen. Talk about eerie.
Pencil chewed at 1:22:00 pm //
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Is he the right Matt-erial?
Some one asked me what are Matt the EgoManiac's good points. So that set me thinking and I decided to do a list of them - like how people used to make 'em old trusty pros and cons list before they arrive at a decision.
This list is in no way exhaustive ... I may add to them periodically as I find out more about him.
Let's start with the bad news.
1. Big swelling ego (Mr Know It All)
2. Talks too much (about himself)
3. Thinks he is funny when he's not
4. He mixes up "he" and "she" Eg. My mother is a housewife. He goes to the market everyday. It might seem small to others but to it grates me to the bone every time I hear him mix them up.
5. He still does not understand why I work 18-hour days
6. He lied about being the book-reading-type
7. Miserly - no poor beggar ever got a sen out of him
And the good news ...
1. Nice teeth (his one saving grace whenever I have to look at him talk)
2. Likes what I like in music
3. Good memory - he remembers everything I say
4. Ambitious (hmm... is this a good point?)
5. He cooks or so he says (I've not tried it though)
So far the odds are not looking so good.
Pencil chewed at 10:10:00 pm //
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Pitch Fever
One and a half more weeks to go before presentation day. That's a luxury.
Heng is back with a vengeance, as if to redeem himself for the botched BitterSweet campaign. He turned in some brilliant art direction. I am awed, again.
Big Billy is more hands on this time round. He seems passionate about the campaign. The BitterSweet fiasco may ultimately serve us well. Account management seem more on the ball this time too - solid strategy. Thank God Donna is not on this job or I may puke blood again.
Susan is the Account Director on it. She's no nonscence, no pussy-footer. She's got a good set on top of her shoulders. Cool. I like her. Not everyone though.
To the guys, she's a capital B.
I think they just can't stand the competition.
Pencil chewed at 9:50:00 pm //
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Tomas trouble
Tomas is in a sullen mood again. When I'm not scurrying around like a headless chicken trying to put the pitch together, I've noticed him looking at me. Almost begging. For 5 minutes. So I did what any woman with a conscience would - I stopped scurrying.
"Hey, Tomas," I said.
He does his blur-sotong, "What?" and continues to fiddle with his keyboard.
"Wanna talk?" I ask. I catch a flicker of indecision in his eyes. He looks up at me. I look back, consciously fixing my eye on him. Unflinching. He breaks the stare and mumbles "Alright!" Grabs him Marlboro and we're off to another kill-my-lungs session.
He rambles ... I cry.
That's pretty much how our sessions go. I don't know why I'm such an softie. Anyone peeking into the emergency stairway will think that I'm the problematic one.
"Why do you cry?" he asks, with a little laugh, when we're through.
That caught me. And for the first time, I became embarrassingly conscious of my deluge. That is true. Why this show of emotions - he is after all just a colleague. Our paths are confined to those hours in the office. We never hang out together. He doesn't know I have 2 pet guppies. Why the tears?
"I don't know," I said, suddenly feeling very stupid. Not at all like the counsellor I've positioned myself to be.
I looked at him and blinked the last of my tears away.
He hugs me. I thank God I don't wear mascara.
Pencil chewed at 9:28:00 pm //
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Getting into a dog fight
Things are getting crazy again. Essentially, that means I'm on a pitch team.
"Pitch" is advertising lingo for dog-fight-for-new-business.
Being in a pitch is like being on a roller coaster ride. You want in because it is exciting. Fast. Thrilling. But once you're on it, you wish you're down on the ground, pointing and laughing at those people screaming their heads off.
The project is sizable - money wise. But to a creative person, that means dodo. What makes me want this bad is the brand. One I would die for to get into my book.
And in some ways, I'm dying already. Four to five cups of cheap coffee a day. Even fewer hours of sleep. And endless rounds of rejection. How much more can a woman take?
Heng, my Art Director, is punishing to partner with. He's going strong, fueled by adrenaline. "Let's brainstorm some more" he says at 11pm. I am close to tears, thinking of my pillow.
More than anyone else in the agency, Heng pushes me. Relentlessly.
"Here's the headline," I once said.
"No," he said, after taking a cursory glance at it.
"Why not?"
"No," he repeated, continuing to mouse his Mac.
"It's okay what."
"That's the problem," Heng said, without looking up from his screen, "I want you to give me 'Great'."
Pencil chewed at 4:09:00 pm //
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Time and tide waits for no man
Timing.
Timing is everything. And Matt is hopeless at that.
He calls when I'm in meetings.
He calls when I have clay mask on my face.
He calls when I'm in the middle of a great headline, making me lose my thoughts.
He calls when I'm with Mom, making her think that she can finally get rid of me.
He calls a lot.
Pencil chewed at 4:10:00 pm //
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