tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62673392011-04-22T11:47:31.499+08:00A copywriter on her quest for the elusive golden pencilMeinoreply@blogger.comBlogger1311100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1089618683180270572005-02-28T18:18:00.000+08:002005-02-28T18:30:11.426+08:00

An afternoon Matt-ineeI was making coffee. The instant type. Measuring spoonfuls of coffee powder, sugar, creamer. Waiting for the kettle to whistle.Matt was sitting on the sofa, by the window, leaving through this month's 'Women's Weekly'."Do you women really believe this stuff?" he said."How else can the cosmetics industry be a multi-billion dollar industry?" I said.Then I looked up from the

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1109141054547478712005-02-23T14:14:00.000+08:002005-02-23T14:53:39.396+08:00

And so the farewells beginI've been stuffing my face. Too many invitations to farewell lunches and dinners. I don't remember having a 24" waist anymore.Also the cards, gifts and messages.This week has been filled with a lot of love. Really.And I feel undeservingly blessed.Then, there is Messy. I don't spend a lot of time with her. But occasionally, she'll drop by my cube and unload her woes. I

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1107316653652775412005-02-16T13:46:00.000+08:002005-02-16T13:47:18.680+08:00

Irony in the faceStrange, I wanted to leave this agency so much, yet when I am on my way out, I feel so much affection for it.Affection.Trust me, it's irony at its purest.When I left my last job, I would wonder about the person occupying my cube."Does she have little post-its all over the monitor like I do?""Did she scrub off my pencil etchings from the side of the table?""Did they trade

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1107488230298990702005-02-04T11:01:00.000+08:002005-02-04T12:04:27.593+08:00

It ain't over till the cock crows If there is one thing I do not like about Chinese New Year is the spring cleaning. Ever since I could tell what a mop is, I have hated household chores with a vengeance. But Mom thought otherwise. It was character building. And, at the back of her mind, her way of equipping me for a blissful domestic life of crisp, soap smelling laundry and glossy floors that you

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1105701273630026302005-01-19T18:15:00.000+08:002005-01-19T18:15:34.783+08:00

Undoubtedly Tomas "Serious? You put in your letter?" Tomas asked over lunch. I nodded. He slowly clasped his palms together, looked up and said, "Hallelujah. Finally thou getteth riddeth of this thorn in mine flesh." "Not so fast. I'll be here till end Feb." "Damn." He pushed his plate of mamak mee goreng away and lit his Marlboro. "Anyway, I give you 3 weeks." "3 weeks for?" "For you to come

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1105444719359537022005-01-11T19:51:00.000+08:002005-01-14T18:51:36.516+08:00

The end of an affair I did it. I quit. Surprised? Big Billy was too. "Why? What's wrong?" he asked. "You!" I shrieked, "You freaking big bully who won't recognise my work just because I don't bring home metal!" *sigh* I wished I said. How swell if I could have laid it all down - my frustrations, my view on how things are at Creative. But I couldn't bring myself to it. A part of me didn't think

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1104146268671089182005-01-03T19:47:00.000+08:002005-01-03T19:43:22.276+08:00

Soap opera The turkey has been carved down to its bone, the gravy gone. Dinner safely in our tummies. Whatever said, Mom is a grand cook. She makes a mean Christmas meal, which makes coming home worth it all. Washing the dishes has always been my chore, while my younger brother does the drying. But since he married, he has relegated the task to my sister in law, Debbie. We were in the kitchen. I

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1103786546607349142004-12-23T14:28:00.000+08:002004-12-23T16:01:49.253+08:00

Meet My Parents "Do they have turkey and all that?" Matt asked. "Yeah, we have turkey." "With cranberry sauce?" "Yes, with cranberry sauce." "Oh boy!"His eyes shone. It has to happen some day - he meeting my folks. So might as well make it Christmas and hope that the season of giving would find them more forgiving. Earlier, I called Mom and asked her to set an extra place. She lets out a

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1103615998629974622004-12-21T15:19:00.000+08:002004-12-22T18:45:58.760+08:00

If you're happy and you know it ... ... clap you hair! (clap x2) (Everybody now!) If you're happy and you know it, clap your hair (clap x2) If you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it If you're happy and you know it, clap your hair (clap x2) I've never noticed men's hair styling products before but since Masahiro Motoki, the oh-so-yummy lead "actor" in the Gatsby commercials

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1103006282922797752004-12-14T14:22:00.000+08:002004-12-14T14:38:02.923+08:00

All he wants for Christmas is ...? "I got you your Christmas pressie already," Matt announces. A chorus of 'oh-nos' echoed through my mind. Honestly, I have totally forgotten to get him some thing. Yeah, I should be shot. Especially with this being our first Christmas together and all that romantic la-dee-da. But I'm just not very clued in on birthdays, anniversaries and the like. Who can keep

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1102561562392870262004-12-09T11:04:00.000+08:002004-12-09T11:38:25.760+08:00

Boxing with Big Billy "So, how was your year?" Big Billy asks. I'm in his office - on the settee - in the corner, next to the lamp. He moves from his desk to the armchair opposite me. He lights up, raises his right brow and gives me that smile. The smile that says "I have you cornered." This year-end evaluation is going to suck. By default, I hate evaluations because I always come out feeling

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1101293866658855692004-11-24T18:30:00.000+08:002004-11-29T21:04:23.043+08:00

108 degrees Fahrenheit So, okay, I admit, I'm a bit of an emotional retard. I've always found it hard to express myself, especially to men who matter. Nevermind that I can eloquently present my work, can write 150 words a minute and have a vocabulary large enough to never need to use the f*** word to tell off Account Management. Heck, all that is of no use when I'm with the male species. My only

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1100863099804677112004-11-19T18:13:00.000+08:002004-11-19T19:18:19.803+08:00

Off the wall Once there was a little Fly, perched on the wall, Gave her Flyboy a challenge, thought he didn't have the gall, And off she flew from her stall, she was going to have a ball. Flyboy was no sugar and spice, in fact, he was a little sly, No, no, no, he wanted to prove he was not some regular guy, Muahaha, his fingers tapped, he was gonna make her cry. Little Fly, innocent and

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1098944844056715342004-11-04T06:53:00.000+08:002004-11-04T19:37:19.746+08:00

My letter to Fly Dearest, It's taken me a long time to write this. As you know, I'm no writer. But I will try my best. Nicknames make it is easier to write, don't they? By the way, why Matt? I hope I have proven to you that I'm no EgoManiac. And thanks for the compliments on the pearly whites. (I did read the archives.) Firstly, I apologise for being upset. I have no right to be. This is your

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1099373014202571312004-11-02T13:16:00.000+08:002004-11-02T13:23:34.203+08:00

This blog waits for no man This is killing me. The wait. When is Matt going to get round to posting his entry? He says he's still working on it. "Good things come to those who wait," he added. Geez. Shakespeare would have completed Romeo & Juliet by now. I think I hafta give the man a deadline. And a brief.

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1099021976445034622004-10-29T11:38:00.000+08:002004-10-29T11:57:32.013+08:00

Copywriting workshop Always wanted to join the work-you-to-your-bone industry as a starving writer? Now, here's your chance to jumpstart your career and learn from an expert. There's a one day Copywriting Workshop on Nov 4 for copywriters and copywriter-wannabes. It's conducted by Edward Ong (I have no idea who he is! But from the profile, it seems Ong has worked with Neil French of

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1098872172364507032004-10-28T17:17:00.000+08:002004-10-28T19:58:32.786+08:00

Matt's debut Dinner is done. "Are we going to talk? My half a million blog readers are wanting to know what's the deal," I ask. It's the first time we meet since BloggerGate. He smiles a little and look at me with those sad brown eyes. He is quiet but not visibly upset. He honestly is quite good at torture. "Okay," he sighs. "So?" "Fine. It's your blog. Write whatever you want." "And?" "And what

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1098685863517943572004-10-25T13:50:00.000+08:002004-10-25T14:31:03.516+08:00

Tic. Tic. Tic. Matt is still upset. And that makes me upset. I feel horrible. But sadly, unrepentant. I'm still blogging. Maybe I'm a wicked person after all. He asks for some time. He needs to think things through. Bad sign. Matt doesn't normally need to "think things through". He's a firecracker. He makes a lot of noise. After that, I just sweep away the red bits and he's one happy puppy again

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1098427671058228872004-10-22T14:18:00.000+08:002004-10-22T14:47:51.056+08:00

Much ado about nothing Bummer. Matt found out about this blog. Well, I've told him before that I have a blog but I've never given him the url. I mean, are you nuts? His head would get so puffed up from reading all this great stuff I wrote about him. He's practically James Bond in here. Women (and some men) will want to date him, based solely on the strength of what I've written. So I've carefully

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1098262741519234232004-10-20T16:51:00.000+08:002004-10-20T17:03:19.750+08:00

Novel idea Blogger's NaNoBlogMo. Again, I'm tempted. Every year when I read about the NaNoWriMo, I think "Should I? Should I?". But every year, I can't get off my sorry ass to write 1,666 words a day for 30 days to finish a 50,000 word novel. Phew! That's a mighty load of words to string together. Of course, the discipline would be good. But discipline is sorely lacking in my veritable list of

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1096366106021270362004-09-30T15:07:00.000+08:002004-09-30T15:30:22.463+08:00

Kancil Night Safari Oct 1 at Sunway Lagoon Hotel & Resort Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to the Kancil Night Safari. If you've never visited the Kancil Night Safari, please join me on this virtual tour. Hop along now on our imaginary monorail and enter into the wonderful world of the advertising animals. May I remind you to not feed the animals and keep your hands on your mouse

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1096366010732528822004-09-28T17:14:00.000+08:002004-09-28T18:21:39.720+08:00

Mouldy ass Okay, I've finally decided to get off my sorry ass. I swear it was getting mouldy and wobbly from all that inactivity. With the cushion fabric permanently embossed on the cheeks. Anyway, enough update on my utterly unJ-Lo-esque butt. (Though, I do wish I had her butt. Or Beyonce's. Hmm... those are bon-bons, alright.) This is all I can manage today. The LAZ-Y virus has killed off a

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1095308749082036522004-09-16T13:18:00.000+08:002004-09-16T12:25:49.083+08:00

Virus attack The LAZ-Y virus has got me. Making my systems sluggish. My fingers lethargic. My mind uninspired. My 3-times a day dosage of caffeine does little to help. If symptoms persist, the doc might prescribe a big kick on the behind. Till then the virus makes blogging difficult. See you when I recover. Hopefully soon. Sorry.

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1094528095694675082004-09-07T10:24:00.000+08:002004-09-07T11:34:55.696+08:00

Blue, his name is Blue, he gave a shot way back* We went to Nando's. It was June's pick - she said, it must be some where not too formal, not too casual, not too romantic, not too expensive, not too whatever-whatever. Anyway, I said, fine, as long as you feel comfortable. June, Matt and I were sipping our ice lemon teas. Blue was late. Minus 10 points, I checked mentally. June was fidgety. "Oi,

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1094209715603111392004-09-03T18:05:00.000+08:002004-09-03T19:13:27.970+08:00

Fear factor "This Saturday?" I say to June over the phone. She wants Matt and I to double date with her and Blue. The usual - dinner, movie. "Are you sure? Don't you want to spend some time alone getting to know him?" I ask. "What if we have totally nothing in common? What if he bores me to tears or don't get my jokes. I need a security blanket." Blue is one of her matches. He called a few days

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1092995208736037932004-08-27T18:41:00.000+08:002004-09-01T14:14:25.726+08:00

Heng, Today, I watch you pack your years in this agency into 5 A4 Double A boxes. The naked lady hourglass I gave you two years ago for your birthday went into that one, the one with the dented corners. You put her away last. The last thing you took from you now empty desk. I will miss seeing her on top of your Mac. My muse, you used to say. And I'd say, I thought I was. To which, you never

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1093497265304582102004-08-26T13:11:00.000+08:002004-08-26T13:17:12.713+08:00

Speedy Saturday Continued ... continued from here "I ticked 8 ye-es." She says as soon as she slid into my car. "Wow! That many? Did you pick Mr Eurasian?" I ask breathlessly. "Did ya? Did ya?" "Well, yes, he's quite charming. Well traveled. Well read. You know, that sort." "How's Blue?" "He's nice. Quite funny. A little shy." "Ooo ... you like them a little shy, don't you?" She laughs. I steal

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1093255359541264722004-08-23T17:32:00.000+08:002004-08-23T18:02:39.540+08:00

Plastic Plastic I open the papers and what do I see: Barbie and Ken breaking up! Can you believe that? This has to be the epitome of disposable relationships. Till death do us part is obsolete. Happily ever afters don't apply anymore. Nothing's sacred, not even in la la land. I shudder to think who's next. Mickey and Minnie? Donald and Daisy? Goofy and Pluto? Barbie dumps Ken of 43 years for

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1093229475136520842004-08-23T10:47:00.000+08:002004-08-26T13:20:32.153+08:00

Speedy Saturday We arrive at the cafe. Candle light, soft music, lavender incense, booze. Storybook romance setting. Not surprisingly, I more jumpy than June the cool cat. June is dressed in this fitting dark blue spaghetti strap dress - lovely! June is one of the most excellent women I know - keen mind, sharp wit, earns oodles of money and makes a really mean lemak laksa. She's not bad in the

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1092801705008692912004-08-18T11:54:00.000+08:002004-08-18T14:21:19.466+08:00

Speed it up "Please, please do me a favour," June starts as soon as I plunk myself on the chair at the mamak* stall. "What's up?" I ask. "Come with me next Saturday night to this ... er ... event." "What event?" "Well, I signed up for ...," she glances around and lowers her voice, "speed dating." My eyes widen. " "June! Wow! I never ..." "If you let Mila know, I'll rip out your uterus with my

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1088763685545338372004-08-16T12:36:00.000+08:002004-08-17T14:06:08.640+08:00

Fish! We spend Saturday afternoon cleaning Minnie & Moe's fishtank. My guppies have made good on the world's oldest commandment 'Be fruitful and multiply'. I am a happy grandmother now. "Works great," Matt says as we stared at the tank. He has just installed a new 'get rid of goo' pump thingy in it. "Yeah, nice work," I say and gave him a hug. Did I mention that he always smells nice - like

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1092302681672440402004-08-12T16:38:00.000+08:002004-08-12T17:24:41.673+08:00

The woman mews "So, did you like it?" Matt asked as we filed out of the cinema. "So-so," I said. We caught Catwoman yesterday on cheap tickets night. "You?" No reply. I eyed him, he looked kinda dazed. Probably still rerunning scenes in his mind of the Berrylicious Halle. Granted Halle Berry is gorgeous. She and yummy muffin cake Benjamin Bratt are the only thing that saved the show. Halle is a

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1092198176800087932004-08-11T13:35:00.000+08:002004-08-11T16:30:46.536+08:00

Dream kicker Another one joins the reality show bandwagon. Nescafe Kick Start - a new show that helps 18 - 25 year olds achieve their dreams. The booty is RM30,000 if you make the Final 4 and the Grand Prize winner takes home RM150,000 to Kick Start his or her ambition. For the sake of entertainment, the career path chosen is not your run-of-the-mill paper shuffling vocation. "Be creative,

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1091614168725458452004-08-10T23:16:00.000+08:002004-08-10T11:18:40.713+08:00

The stars align Tomas and his Art Director, Zul, Jenna and I, along with Big Billy are in this big-big hush-hush meeting. Donna is there too. With Rahman, her Group Account Director. "What's the fuss?" I whisper to Tomas. "New business," he whispers back. True enough, Rahman announces the new client on our roster - a regional alignment thingy. That basically means a brand moves from one agency

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1091762474397314982004-08-06T10:50:00.000+08:002004-08-06T11:28:35.570+08:00

Kancil Ads The recent naked sex romp has garnered our local love bug its best PR blitz in years. If I'm the Brand Manager of Perodua I would have immediately taken out full page ads on its shag appeal. That's either top notch strategy or just my perverse sense of humour. Anyhoo, I did some ads for the fun of it. Enjoy! And lemme know what you think. And my 2 favourites. Seriously the

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1091444084042047422004-08-05T14:03:00.000+08:002004-08-05T14:04:58.206+08:00

Meet the Parents, Part IV "Wasn't so bad, was it?" Matt asked. We were in his car, parked outside my apartment. It was dark and quiet, so quiet the ringing stung our ears. He puts on his Coldplay CD. "Nah, wasn't bad at all. Your parents are cool. I like Marie. She's funny." "I think they like you too." I smile. "You think so?" "Yeh, baby." "You're gonna end up like your Dad. Talking and talking

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1091440127087936142004-08-04T13:44:00.000+08:002004-08-04T13:50:20.736+08:00

Meet the Parents, Part III We arrive at the restaurant around 7pm. I catch a glimpse of myself at the glass door, I look very different from 4 years ago. I'm smarter too. This time, I wear a dress. Heels. Make-up and perfume. My hair has grown to shoulder length and I've just had it layered. And they are all black. *sigh* My rebel days are truly gone. What is there to not like? I thought. Matt

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1091421806744211752004-08-03T11:14:00.000+08:002004-08-03T11:18:53.166+08:00

Meet the Parents, Part II Don't get me wrong, I do want to meet his parents. I'm just petrified. Meeting them for the first time is like getting an examination - they'll prod, probe, review my history and family chart before they decide whether I deserve their darling son. And Matt is the only son, after 3 sisters. He's Mommy's boy, Daddy's treasure. The one to carry on the family name. And did

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1091417632695045342004-08-02T15:59:00.000+08:002004-08-02T16:04:03.833+08:00

Meet the Parents, Part 1 "Hey, guess what?" Matt asked, more bubbly than usual. "What?" I asked as I stretched on the sofa. It was a lazy Saturday afternoon - the type where you don't want to do anything except get a back rub. Matt was sitting crossed legged on the floor, leaning against the sofa. "Dad and Mom are coming up ... for the Mega Sale thing." "Why? Ipoh no sale meh?" I said, my mean

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1091075656174898342004-07-29T11:43:00.000+08:002004-07-29T12:37:30.803+08:00

Car and I My Proton Saga of the first generation is in its last throes of life. Just last week, she stalled by the LDP highway. And do you know that nowadays, nobody comes to the aid of a damsel in distress? Perhaps I should have worn a shorter skirt. Thank God for AAM. She is my first car and whatever people may say about Protons, Car has been faithful. She hasn't been always been in tip top

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1090928589754811242004-07-27T19:07:00.000+08:002004-07-27T19:43:09.756+08:00

The fattened calf "I'm on a diet," I said to Matt. "Why?" he asked, pushing the slice of cheese cake towards me, "Eat." Not that I'm obese but I've put on 2 kgs over the last 2 months. And I blame him. All Matt Metabolism wants to do is eat. He is hungry all the time, eats all the time. He gobbles and the fats magically transmigrates to me. Atkins should get a load of this. "You look better

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1090818789289528282004-07-26T15:52:00.000+08:002004-07-26T16:34:27.483+08:00

Just chillin' "Isn't he amazing?" June groaned. I raked my brains for something polite to say but my mind drew blanks. I was dragged to Starbucks, Mid Valley, on a freaking hot Sunday afternoon because June says there's this musician I must listen to.   I eyed the man in question - tall, skinny, in jeans, dirty boots and crumpled pale blue cotton shirt which looked like he woke up in, half an

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1090565897294426332004-07-26T11:15:00.000+08:002005-02-16T13:45:15.803+08:00

Hoe-ly smoke!"That's really fine work. Very good," he said, looked into my eyes with his clear brown ones and shook my hand for a good 40 seconds. Soft warm hands with a strong, firm grip. Woo. I like.I managed a smile and tried not to look too much like an infatuated schoolgirl. I failed, I think. But of course, Susan had to barge in on our moment."Mr Hoe, we'll revert with the revised costings

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-109055627892502382004-07-23T14:25:00.000+08:002004-07-23T14:32:30.803+08:00

Hoe! Hoe! Hoe! Mr Hoe, my favourite client for my favourite brand is coming to the office today. The man is seriously brilliant. And did I mention that he has the clearest pair of dewy brown eyes that with one glance can magically tie up my tongue? I'm sitting here shitting in my pants. Cause we'll be presenting a new campaign at 3pm. And I'm having a hard time telling my tongue to not screw

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1090325172128494972004-07-20T19:11:00.000+08:002004-07-20T20:06:12.126+08:00

The dating doldrums One question I never fail to ask dating couples is: "What in the world do you all do every time you meet?"   "Er ... eat loh, watch movie loh," is the one of the 2 usual replies. The other, well, is better left undiscussed here.   Believe me, there is a dearth of things to do in the Klang Valley. How many dinners and movies can one go to? This dating routine will do me to

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1090299153323083252004-07-20T12:35:00.000+08:002004-07-20T12:56:18.216+08:00

Dave does it! I love these people who try so hard at being bad, they are good.    Dave Zobel (pix on left), 42, of California won top honors at the annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest celebrating bad writing. He writes: "She resolved to end the love affair with Ramon tonight ... summarily, like Martha Stewart ripping the sand vein out of a shrimp's tail ... though the term 'love affair'

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1089958124900395062004-07-16T13:39:00.000+08:002004-07-16T14:49:52.996+08:00

Damn Good Kisser "6 weeks, baby, and not a drop," I told him at the end of our coffee-bet. I was downright smug. "You sure?" he asked, corking his right eyebrow. "Of course," I said, "You calling me a liar?"  I didn't tell him I drank lots of tea as an alternative mind-altering stimulant. Or sat very close to Tomas' mugs of coffee for invigorating sniffs. But honestly, the whole coffee

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1089861860166113892004-07-15T11:24:00.000+08:002004-07-15T11:37:05.266+08:00

Place your bets The things we do to amuse ourselves. Matt and I have this silly bet going on. It's about me weaning off coffee, the one substance I'm addicted to, for 6 weeks. If I lose, I have to kiss him. Considering that we've never kissed (Horrors!), that's something. Yup, I'm conservative. And shy. ;P If he loses, well, I haven't thought about what I'll do to him. Maybe get him to kiss

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1088507319571330742004-07-13T00:34:00.000+08:002004-07-13T12:34:25.730+08:00

Am I a Jedi yet? I have taken Master Tomas' advice to heart and worked like a true padwan - calm, in control. Jenna is still my partner. But because of the strain in our relationship, there is no creative flow between us (not that there was heaps before anyway). That also means I bear the load of the work. I have to think through strategy and spend many late nights thinking up ideas, solo. Some

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1089615208444069072004-07-12T14:05:00.000+08:002004-07-12T15:19:30.650+08:00

Matt's School Reunion Pt 2 "Wong has 2 kids. His oldest is 8, can you beat that?" Matt went to his School Reunion last Sat. With Donna. "And Roslan is like this," Matt used his hands to indicate a barrel girth. "My gawd, he used to be the captain of the football team. I promise you I'll never get fat like that," he said. His fingers rubbing his sucked-in belly. "Vainpot," I muttered. "You sure

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1089277466186354982004-07-08T16:58:00.000+08:002004-07-08T17:09:27.600+08:00

The day after The storm has receded. But I still feel shitty. I hate arguing. It's never my thing. I feel cut to pieces. I walk about dragging a millstone round my neck. For reasons unknown to me, I avoid Donna. Round about lunch, the reception buzzed for me. I went out and there, a package awaited me. An ice-cream package, complete with ribbons and balloons. Oooh, I feel better already. A

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1089183379051678852004-07-07T14:53:00.000+08:002004-07-07T14:57:50.686+08:00

Of Men and Stupid Answers Question: "Why didn't you tell me that you were going to the reunion with Donna?" Answer: "What is there to tell?" To men out there who are not beyond redemption - read and learn: this is exactly the kind of answer that pisses women off. The best thing to do when you stupidly piss her off is to back off, tell her what a fool you are and kiss her feet. Unless you

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1088760270127728102004-07-02T17:16:00.000+08:002005-01-19T18:17:50.126+08:00

Time out Tomas was lying on the grass. Staring up into the sky between the leaves of the giant rainforest. I walked towards him and slumped down beside him, looking up at the same patch of blue he was. We chatted - silly stuff. Then, we started jabbing each other's sides and almost wrestled. We laughed like kids. Then I woke up. I felt strange. But strangely good too. It was nice - warm, fuzzy.

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1088508969064323702004-06-30T19:08:00.000+08:002004-06-30T18:24:13.046+08:00

Matt's school reunion Tomas and I were looking through some of the initiatives we were working on - helping each other fine-tune lines. Tomas is a great writer. If Adoi ever does an article on him, they'll use the cliche on him, "he knows how to turn a phrase". Which as a fellow writer, I covet. Yes, he knows I do. And rubs it in. "What do you think?" I asked. "Not bad," he said, his squinty

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1088502825769828012004-06-29T17:01:00.000+08:002004-06-29T18:29:14.773+08:00

Nerve wreaking pre-Kancil days The 4As and Big Billy will probably hate me for saying this but many (not all) ads that win Kancils (erm... the local advertising awards, not the car) are scam ads - the politically correct word being "initiatives". Most of these ads are agency initiated (hence the word) and may or may not flow with client's marketing objectives. Some are funded by clients,

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1088062626028706172004-06-24T15:32:00.000+08:002004-06-25T15:03:58.353+08:00

Pop the champagne Here is the list of creative people who have a reason to wake up tomorrow. Don't bother waking me though. *sigh* 2 Silvers & 1 Bronze Anyhoo, Malaysia had a fair showing in the One Show. JWT nabbed a Silver for its 'Missile Car' outdoor thingy. Another Silver goes to Sil-Ad for its Sony "Pool, Field, Playground" Collateral, POP & In-store campaign. O&M bagged a bronze for

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1088060261565769582004-06-24T14:34:00.000+08:002004-06-24T15:24:02.916+08:00

JWT hits target J. Walter Thompson of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, was selected as one of the Grand Prix winners in this year's Print and Outdoor advertising category at the Cannes Lions International Advertising Festival awards. The winning entry, 'Missile car', was created for Malaysian TV station CH-9 Media. It features helium balloons in the shape of missiles, tied to a truck. When the truck

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1086948784999182222004-06-17T17:55:00.000+08:002004-06-17T17:35:08.580+08:00

Tomas time "What was that all about?" I pulled Tomas aside and stared at him eyeball to eyeball. "What?" he said, looking away. "Where did you two lovebirds meet? Tell me, tell me," I imitated him. He sniggered. "I don't get it. Why were you so hostile? Weren't you rah-rah-rah, cheering him on?" He shrugged. "Tomas!" I said, a little infuriated. "Don't like him." "Now you tell me," I threw

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1078078309661968842004-06-14T16:40:00.000+08:002004-06-14T16:40:42.773+08:00

Old mates Friday evening was as good an excuse as any other to go out and have some fun. So, Susan, Heng, Tomas, Guppy, Donna and I headed down to Sri Hartamas for a little chillin'. We were having coffee when Matt called. He was in the neighbourhood. "I'll drop by," he said and before I could utter 'no', the phone clicked. I felt a little panic rising. This will be the first time my colleagues

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1086942803670157972004-06-11T16:17:00.000+08:002004-06-11T16:36:10.173+08:00

The force is with me "Even if she wants to play politics, it's such a dumb ass move," I said to Tomas, as I tagged along his cigi-moment at the emergency stairway. I had regaled Tomas on all that had transpired between Jenna and I. He inhaled his Marlboros and peered at me, quietly, through his squinty eyes. I tried not to breathe, in a bid to escape second hand smoke. "I don't mean to sound

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1086839116609702712004-06-10T11:20:00.000+08:002004-06-10T11:45:16.610+08:00

Audition: Please spare me ... pleeeaaase I am fairly tolerant of ads ... being in the industry and all. I usually sit through them cause I know they paid good money to talk to me. Yeah, I'm an idiot. But then, there are those ads that make me charge for the remote and switch channels before you can say nanosecond. The current king of Annoying Ads has to be the ads for Audition, the local

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1086264428953553782004-06-07T19:25:00.000+08:002004-06-07T18:04:48.803+08:00

Me the bully "Eh," said Tina, my traffic manager, "your partner say you bully her, woh?" "I ... what?" My eyes widened in disbelief. "Scold her and then, left her alone to do all the work." "That ungrateful twerp." "She said you said she's not cut out for advertising." "Did you hear this personally?" Tina nodded and gave me a pat me on my shoulder. Later in the day, I cornered Jenna. "I heard

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1086261760937982952004-06-03T18:50:00.000+08:002004-06-04T09:55:58.186+08:00

So clever "O my gawd," I sighed to Susan, "he is so smart." "Yeah, yeah. You've said that like 10 thousand times today." "But he really is. Brilliant!" More sighs. I am having a major crush on my client. Nothing serious. Just a girlish infatuation. Like how I was enamoured by my Form 3 Physics teacher. Mr Hoe (not his real name) of my favourite brand is amazing. No, he does not have Brad's

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1086259475235735832004-06-03T18:44:00.000+08:002004-06-04T09:48:41.256+08:00

The dullest blog in the world Came across this site that is amazingly ... dull. It's so dull, it becomes an artform. And gee, here I am, trying so hard to be interesting. :( Check it out at dull.

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1086064431329948002004-06-02T15:08:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:59:38.420+08:00

Project A, Part 2 Despite my caffeine deficiency Project A with Jenna is inching along. Big Billy has okayed some scamps. Yay! Anyhoo, yesterday we were working till late. Just the two of us. I was sitting next to her, watching her mouse on her Mac. She was quiet, unusually so. No breeze. No chirp. Ignore it, I warned myself, ignore it. Get this done and go home. Then, I heard myself say, "

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1086062020211610872004-06-01T11:36:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:13:24.233+08:00

I'm gonna win Evil Evian Drinker is up to no good again. Last weekend, we walked past almost every coffeeplace in Kuala Lumpur, in his efforts to derail my path to enlightenment. "Hmm ... it smells so good," he sighs. "Yeah... so?" And I run for my life from the Coffee Beans, Starbucks, San Franciscos, Gloria Jeans, Domes of the world. "Ready to accept defeat?" I ask, "Bow to my will of steel

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1085730355168598072004-05-28T15:45:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:13:50.533+08:00

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

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1085484136078256152004-05-25T18:12:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:14:24.680+08:00

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

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1085372777690252762004-05-24T12:23:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:14:59.223+08:00

Monday blahs I hate Mondays. Is there anyone here who doesn't? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't.

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1084877574321175742004-05-18T18:49:00.000+08:002004-05-18T20:01:54.766+08:00

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

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1084434805155132582004-05-13T15:15:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:15:39.163+08:00

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

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1078239691829896962004-05-13T14:35:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:16:16.076+08:00

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.

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1084249122177283792004-05-11T12:15:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:16:51.660+08:00

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

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1084169274904477082004-05-10T13:33:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:17:28.553+08:00

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

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1083912258193360242004-05-07T14:44:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:18:03.916+08:00

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

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1083742189172050302004-05-05T15:29:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:18:34.573+08:00

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

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1083235302263661132004-04-29T18:41:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:19:07.893+08:00

Chicken Pox Survivor It was to be my day. A day of freedom. Yeah. I survived. Be thankful for small mercies in life. That's what mom used to say. And so it is with that spirit that I got into the car that morning, on Poxing Day 14 and drove to work. I was beaming - partly hoping that my megawatt smile will detract from the pox marks. And partly because I was glad to end my hermit-dom. But the

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1081878691369130332004-04-14T01:51:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:19:40.606+08:00

Prison without Astro Poxing Day 10. This is how prison feels like. Solitary confinement. Bad food. No visitors. You begin talking to yourself. There is also this strange urge to want to etch the walls with stick marks in groups of 5s. What can a gal do with herself all day? This one thinks up ideas. Seriously, you've heard of how people finish degrees in prison, read an entire library, write

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1081432453338091932004-04-08T21:54:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:20:16.033+08:00

Two men and an ugly woman Poxing Day 5. I call the office to check whether we really screwed up the pitch. "Heng, any news?" "Nah, nothing yet. They have internal review next Monday, after that, they let us know." "So, no news is good news, I guess," I laughed, "Er ... so how are things?" I asked, attempting small talk. "Fine," he answered. "Bye." That's Heng for you - the Neanderthal. He

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1081248826815230642004-04-06T18:53:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:20:50.346+08:00

The Black Sauce Theory Poxing Day 3. Mila calls. I am surprised. "Not scared I'll infect you through the phone?" I hissed, the image of her running away from my apartment door still playing in my mind. "Puh-lease lah," she said, "you think I'm a moron?" I chuckled, "You r-e-a-l-l-y wanna know what I think?" It was just too good an opening. She ignores me, as usual. "How? Is it bad?" I soften a

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1080841555689759892004-04-03T10:58:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:21:16.650+08:00

Poxing day The evening after the pitch, I discovered a little watery bump on my belly. I groaned "oh no," and dreaded the worst. I went to the doctor and she confirmed it, "Wah! So old only get chicken pox ah?" Thanks a lot. Gives you the bad news and rubs it in too. She also gives me 2 weeks MC. Yipee! Alas, a silver lining in all this 'suffering'. "Drink lots of water, take good rest." "

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1080839791916695132004-04-02T01:16:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:23:09.953+08:00

A pitch's a b*tch Okay. Let's pick up where I left off. The pitch. And Heng walking out on me. The following Monday Heng walks in. He still has the "I'll kill yer" look in his eyes. I inch up to him, cautiously. "Heng, you ok?" He shrugs and checks his emails. Later that day, Big Billy calls him to his room. By the time they finish - the smoke was enough to set off the fire alarm. But Heng

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1080835087875908492004-04-01T23:58:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:22:11.026+08:00

I will be doing some back tracking to fill in the missing weeks. So watch this space.

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1080455153875320872004-03-27T14:11:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:23:42.116+08:00

Sorry. For disappearing the last coupla weeks. Let me see ... how do I start? Oh, yeah. I quit my job. Eloped with Matt. Got pregnant. And I'm blogging this from the balcony of our honeymoon suite in Morocco Kidding. Instead of getting a bikini wax, I got chicken pox. How grand. Me, with chicken pox at this age! Having Matt's babies doesn't seem such a bad idea compared to this horrid ordeal

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1078423343624293732004-03-06T01:29:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:24:13.116+08:00

Chaos control I've always said Matt had bad timing. But not tonight. "I've just been ditched," I said, when I answered his call. "Huh?" he asked, tentatively. "My Art Director, Heng, he walked out!" "What?" "Gosh," I said, a thousand 'what-ifs' running through my mind. What if Heng never comes back? What if I have to handle this alone? What if he gets into an accident? What if he runs amok and

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1078420595149808622004-03-05T23:55:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:24:36.143+08:00

Heng scalds! Heng was called into the MD's office today. He was given a little "lecture" on etiquette and team work. Heng held his tongue so hard, he almost bit it off. Once he was back in his cubicle - he let out a loud roar of expletives. If I weren't so involved, it would be comical. I hurried over to him. "Heng," I said in my gentlest voice, resting a hand on his shoulder. I have a

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1078420291827699412004-03-04T23:53:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:24:59.776+08:00

Heng heats up Heng spit out the F words 5 times in succession. Each one a little louder than the last. He was mega-pissed and he wanted her to know it. Nothing ever ruffles Heng but when one succeeds in heating up this block of ice - man, can he boil. Susan wanted to change the proposition. Wait. Didn't client loved it? Why now? 4 days from presentation? Might as well tie our hands to a boulder

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1078235493036526982004-03-02T21:51:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:25:26.030+08:00

Second wind Susan briefed us this morning. Some tweaking and we'll have to re-present the campaign next Wednesday. We have to win. My career and future happiness depends on it. Nah! Not really. It's just to psyche myself up for the long nights ahead. I've written over 30 headlines today. None that I'm happy with. I've spent more than 8 hours trying to craft 150 words. I've drank 5 cups of

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1078143614413225252004-03-01T20:20:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:25:57.433+08:00

Spam Poetry No one wants to read spam. That's until Kristen Thomas weaves them into poetry. Cool. Check it out here. Spam is really a Direct Marketing concept gone berserk. What started out, perhaps, innocently has grown into a monster that lurks behind your Inbox and pounces at you with lurid subject lines. Of course, in a bid to overhaul its image, the industry has given it a new fancy name -

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1077799520433090712004-03-01T15:37:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:26:25.870+08:00

As clear as day This morning, in the pantry, Tomas was laughing so hard that tears were spilling from his slitty eyes. "Aisehman, you're really putty in his hands," he said, drying his eyes on his sleeves. I looked away, a little miffed. "Maybe he really is the man of your dreams masquerading as a Freud's SuperEgo." "Very funny," I said. "I really tried to end it. It's not my fault that he

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1077796927679898722004-02-26T20:02:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:26:52.600+08:00

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

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1077164121540472402004-02-25T11:54:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:27:22.363+08:00

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

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1077303042007401742004-02-21T02:41:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:27:53.010+08:00

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.

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1077164070226356612004-02-20T18:55:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:28:20.533+08:00

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.

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1077179822792179832004-02-19T16:37:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:28:50.713+08:00

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.

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1077179378949437032004-02-19T16:29:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:29:14.316+08:00

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

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1077093055776175992004-02-19T12:15:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:29:46.186+08:00

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

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1077087911201165832004-02-18T15:05:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:30:11.913+08:00

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

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1077012154315426852004-02-16T16:31:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:30:43.053+08:00

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

Meinoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267339.post-1076958331669964562004-02-15T03:05:00.000+08:002004-06-02T15:31:17.213+08:00

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

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