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Project A
Jenna was doodling on her layout pad. She smells of Tommy Girl. I was making small circles with my index finger round my temples. I reek of minyak cap kapak.
"Got anything?" I asked finally.
She showed me her doodles.
"Nice," I said, "Maybe we can sell them to client. The approach is modern, abstract, unknowable."
"Gosh, this is hard," she moaned and slumped over the pad.
"Welcome to my world, babeh."
We've been at this campaign for the last 3 days and it hasn't been great. A lot is working against us ...
> It's our first campaign as a team (I miss Heng!)
> No coffee (I miss coffee!)
> I hate the product (I miss my conscience!)
One of the top 10 questions non-advertising people asks me is, "What happens when you have no idea?" I always answer, "You always have ideas. It's just whether they are good or bad."
In this case, we've loads of the latter.
*sigh*
Pencil chewed at 3:45:00 pm //
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How can I live without you?
Coffee.
Look at those 6 letters. Aren't they beautiful? Say it. Coffee. The word rolls off your tongue, after a warm swirl in your mouth. Listen to it. Coffee. It sounds aromatic, rich, sexy.
But I am trying to wean myself off it - for stupid reasons like my health. And an even 'stupider' reason I'll get to later.
First - my health.
I am having an awful cough that won't go away. I've been hacking for the last 2 weeks, till my chest hurts. That quickly brought on the finger-wagging-tsk-tsk-tsk whenever I twist open the coffee bottle. This sudden flood of compassion amazed me. I used to think that no one would discover me if I slumped over and died on my desk, till 3 days later. Or stank. Whichever came earlier.
Today is Day 1. And it's a massive bodily shut down. My blood has dried in my veins, my brain dehydrated, my tongue bland, my eyes glazed. And the headaches ... did I tell you about the headaches?
"It's withdrawal symptoms," Messy croaked when she caught me swallowing Panadol. "Good to cut down, you know." She said lighting her cigarette and blowing smoke in my face. How come she doesn't have to give up on her vices?
Second - the Evil Evian Drinker.
"Did you see the doctor?" Matt asked.
"Yes, mom."
"You still drinking coffee?"
"Y-e-a-h," I said tentatively.
He looked at me sternly. I felt like a kid chastised.
"Hey, research says that one to two cups a day is actually good for health," I said, chirpily.
"And how many do you have?"
"Er ... two..."
"By lunch. And probably another 2 by 5pm. And if you work late, it'll be..."
"Alright, alright... many cups," I said, emphasizing 'many'. "But, it's an occupational hazard."
"You can't give it up, can you?" he taunted. "You can live without food, without sleep, without money even ... but no, not coffee." There was this evil gleam in his eyes.
"I can if I want to," I said.
He laughed this evil muahahahaha cackle.
That was when I heard myself say the unthinkable, "Let's bet on it."
He stopped, an evil smile playing on his lips. (Sorry 'bout the recurring 'evil' adjective. Can he be anything else but evil luring me into this hellish state of coffeelessness?)
"Okay," he said.
"I'll give it up for a month," I said, "Just to prove that I can stop whenever I want to."
"Two," he said.
"What? That's evil."
"A month is too quick to prove anything."
"6 weeks."
"Okay."
"And what will I win?"
"Win? You're getting nothing. LOSER!" I spat.
"A kiss."
"You are pathetic. Highly unoriginal. Horrendously corny. Humungous ..."
"So, are we on?"
We shook on it. And now I suffer.
Pencil chewed at 6:12:00 pm //
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Monday blahs
I hate Mondays.
Is there anyone here who doesn't?
Give me one good reason why I shouldn't.
Pencil chewed at 12:23:00 pm //
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Clash of the Advertising titans
Our own home grown dogfight.
Ala Pepsi vs Coke. Avis vs Hertz.
On your left, the big bro, Maxis, weighing in at a coupla billion bucks. On your right, the nimble Digi in yellow pants.
Maxis charges ahead with a programme that allows you to switch between SMS and Talk plans. If you SMS more than talk, then save on SMS. If you talk more, then switch to the Talk Plan. I didn't do the math, so I don't know whether it actually works.
And before you can dial 122, Digi swings back with advertising that unveils an all in 1 plan - dirt cheap SMS and Talk rates. Nya nya nya nyaa nyaaaaah.
Hotlink gets hit below the belt again. Again? Yup, back when Hotlink launched its Activ5, Digi came back with 6. Probably didn't make a big diff to users, but it sure rattled Hotlink.
Will Hotlink hit back? Being the market leader (at least positioning wise, not too sure about subscriber base) - Hotlink may not want to dirty its hands by acknowledging Digi's attack. "Fight? What fight?" Hotlink shrugs its shoulders and swats the irritating yellow gnat.
This makes interesting advertising watch. In the long run, Digi will not benefit from its undercutting strategy. Its brand equity is eroding. It stands for cheap and little else. Sure, it tried some "pretty pictures" brand advertising but did it achieve anything? You tell me.
I feel that pricing will switch some penny pinchers. But those who have the perception that Hotlink is better, more hip or whatever will stay with Hotlink. A few cents' savings won't sway them. Though I must say Hotlink needs to buck up on their print advertising - sometimes it is just one big red mess. On TV, they are still true to their done-to-death "lifestyle" & "BGR" platform. Yawn.
Let's see if Hotlink will turn the other cheek.
(Rabbit trail: The series of ads done quite a few months ago, featuring the Kopitiam cast [10 sen per 012 to 012 SMS] was awesome. An initiative by Maxis' agency, I heard. Hey, if you're the CD of the piece of advertising gem, let it be on record that I loved the campaign. Now, hire me.)
Pencil chewed at 6:49:00 pm //
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Handling indigestion
After the very bad dinner with Matt, I felt guilty as hell. In all honesty, my mean streak really springs from curiosity. I'm just curious to see how people react to situations, emotions, and the unusual. Fine. My research isn't exactly healthy. But it makes interesting blogs. ;)
So I drove over and picked him up for lunch.
He was still sulking. You're punishing me, aren't you? I thought.
I swallowed hard and mumbled, "I'm sorry."
He smiled like a little boy who finally got his candy.
Hey, that wasn't so difficult, I thought.
"It's alright," he said, "I was bad company."
Oh wow! This is getting good. It's now his fault.
"Yeah," I said.
"Don't push it," he said.
"So, what's eating you?"
He sighed, "I feel like I'm hitting dead end everywhere."
"Classic!" I gasped.
"What?" he said, startled at my sudden eureka!
"Classic mid-life crisis symptoms."
"Gimme a break."
"C'mon, let's examine your case. You have accomplished all that you wanted to - the job, the car, the house and erm ... I'm still not too sure but let's just state it for argument sake ... the girl. You're done. It's game over."
His jaws drop slightly, which is my cue to continue ... in a lulling whisper.
"You're wondering what's the next big dream. What would make your pulse race again ... You want ... you want ...," I paused for dramatic effect, "significance!" I ended, with aplomb.
"Gee... you almost got me convinced."
"What almost?"
He laughed, "I can't see myself going on like this. It's just so ... so ... "
"Unfulfilling?" I offered.
"There has to be more. Maybe I should just quit, be a hobo ... go to some secluded mountain for some soul searching."
I pictured him stubbled, with matted hair. "Nah, not very becoming. Besides, you won't survive without the Internet?"
He shrugs.
"What do you want?" I asked.
He paused. "I don't know," he finally answered. He turned and looked at me with lost puppy eyes.
"It's okay," I said with the gentlest, most sympathetic voice I could muster, "It's okay to be lost some times." I reached out and squeezed his hand lightly.
He has this strange, stupid grin on his face.
"What?" I narrowed my eyes and asked, "is so funny?"
"Ah ... nothing," he laughed.
"I'm not going to ask again but ... what?"
"So," he said, "I got the girl, huh?"
I frozed and looked down intently at the menu, "Waiter!"
Some one, kick me.
Pencil chewed at 3:15:00 pm //
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Mad Matt
Matt called yesterday. There was a tinge of sadness in his voice - like he really need to talk. So I suggested dinner.
We ate quietly, which was unusual.
No stories of the networks he SAP-ed today.
No download on the Iraqi situation.
No update on Bush's chances of re-election.
Quiet.
"Are you ok?" I finally asked.
He shrugged.
I imitated his move, "What does that mean?"
"Nothing."
A sulky fella. Eww ... how unbecoming.
"I thought only women do that," I said. The pitiful thing about is that I hate cajoling. "You want to talk about it?" I asked.
He shook his head slightly, "Just a lot on my mind."
"Okay, suit yourself," I said and turned to my cendol.
He sighed. I ate.
"This cendol is good, man," I chirped, "Almost beat the one on Penang Road."
"I'm uncertain ... " he started.
"Maybe we should try the rojak too," I said.
"You know ... where I'm going, what I want."
"You want the rojak or not?"
He stared at me, his pupils dilated. "I'm trying to talk here."
"Oh!" I said, "I thought you didn't want to."
"What do you think I was doing?"
"Okay," I said and put down my spoon, "Speak. What is it?"
"Oh, forget it," he said and asked for the bill.
"So fast? Finished?" I said.
So Professor Higgins of My Fair Lady was wrong. Men don't want women to be more like men after all.
I've never seen him so frustrated. But for some strange reason, I found it comical.
I know. I know. I'm girlfriend from hell.
Pencil chewed at 2:35:00 pm //
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Hey Mr Postman
Letter boxes are for letters. Sadly, letters are going the way of the dinosaurs. So what purpose does that square box that I still diligently check every evening serve?
Bills
The number 1 nuisance of life. A formal letter or invoice telling you how much you've wasted last month's salary.
Credit card solicitations
I know they are junk mail (the politically correct term being Direct Marketing) and I know I won't sign up for them but I will still open them up. Curiosity. And to pick up "How not to write a DM" tips.
Insurance DMs
They are very concerned for me and my loved ones. They regularly question my cholesterol levels, give me free*** health check-ups. And of course, whether I've made plans to die wealthy.
***For a list of disclaimers please contact them.
Your neighbour's bills
Dear Mr Postman, please have your eyes checked. If I can cash in all the times I've received my neighbours' mails, I will really die wealthy - without having to sign up for insurance.
Plumbers namecards
You don't see a plumber's leaflet or brochure, do you? I think it's an unwritten plumbers association regulation. Only namecards. And it is always those thin but cannot-be-ripped namecards in spot colour. Shoot! I should have kept all for an entry in the Malaysian Book of Records.
Pencil chewed at 12:15:00 pm //
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Heart gym-nastics
Every Saturday, I drag myself to the gym. It's the one good thing I do to my body, after heaps of abuse throughout the last 5 days - sleep deprivation, mugs of caffeine and couch potato-ing. Then again, shouldn't running, pumping and cycling like a Royal London Circus acrobat for 2 hours be classified as abuse too?
Anyhoo, while I was huffing on the treadmill with no interesting body to look at, a certain article I read months ago came back to me.
A researcher's scientific justification for men's favourite pastime goes something like this (and I paraphrase): It is good for men to stare at women's breasts for, say, 10 minutes a day. It seems that it quickens a man's heart rate, blah, blah, blah, and without even getting out of his chair, his heart gets a mild form of workout. And the reward for his vigorous eye workout is an extension of his life expectancy for, like, another 10 years. Heck, he could probably live forever if not for the dimming of his eyes.
That explains why a lot of men go to the gym, then mill around the cafe section, drinking 100+ with a slightly faraway look in their eyes.
I wonder whether the theory works for women.
Hmm...
Pencil chewed at 1:33:00 pm //
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The strange partnerships of my life
Okay. I admit, though I hate to. Somehow Matt has become somewhat of a fixture. Nevertheless, somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind and consciousness, I still deny that we're an item.
This is how I explain it to myself: we are friends who see each other on a regular basis. Delusion is powerful. And necessary for sanity.
Thankfully, we've not had a conversation that runs along the lines of where-are-we-now? I won't know how to answer that. I don't think I want to answer that. And he's smart enough not to ask.
At dinner yesterday, I was spitting venom about my new partner. He ate his Marinara and sniggered.
"What's so funny?" I asked.
"So drama," he laughed.
"You should have seen her," I defended, "You are like, you know ... so experienced!" I did a pretty good impersonation of Jenna, complete with chirpy voice.
"She's young. Take it as an opportunity to train her."
I slapped my forehead, "Why is everyone on her side? Can't you see? Heng and I are the victims here."
"Move on, girl. That's just how life is. It ain't always fair."
"You mean I should just sit quietly and let them do this to me."
"They are not doing anything to you. It is a business call. Heng screwed up, that's it. A company will protect its bottomline."
"Yeah, covering their ass," I hissed, "Then they should consider who I partner with. Some freshie is not gonna cut it. Especially not on this account."
"You have not even given the partnership a shot. She might surprise you," he continued.
Unfortunately, I know he's right. And I know I've been uncommonly childish about this whole episode, wailing like some toddler whose pacifier has been snatched away. I held my tongue and forked my fettuccine vigorously.
"Yes, mom," I slid in, sulkily.
"Now, stop playing with your food and eat up."
Pencil chewed at 2:44:00 pm //
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A little bit of Jenna
"Jenna," I said, "Heard that we're gonna be partners."
"Oh yes!" chirped the fresh-faced, bubbly, halter-necker Art Director.
How can anyone be so cheerie at 10am? I tried hard to keep my eyeballs from rolling.
"I'm so excited," she gushed and looped her arm in mine.
What? I thought. When did we become best friends? Okay. Be nice. Be nice.
"It will be interesting," I managed.
"Oh wow, imagine that account and you!" she exclaimed.
"Me?" I said.
"Yeah, you. You're like so, you know, experienced."
"Aaah," I sighed, "that's bull. False advertising."
She laughed. Her perfect set of teeth gleaming. Ah, the perfect talent for a Darlie ad. Licking her teeth, just before she dashes out to save the world.
"It's really Heng that makes me look good," I said and unhooked her arm.
She paused. So did I.
"Let's see how it goes."
Pencil chewed at 3:29:00 pm //
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