He made my day

Who?




Closer.




Almost.




Stop right there.



Him! Ab... Abroko?

How can you not laugh at that Beatles' trim? That squinted, high-on-weeds eyes? And that matching goatee back in the late 90s? He made a spot there recently. A very good morning booster, I must admit.

And sorry to disappoint. This is not a straight-guy-turn-bent post.

Dumbstruck silly

This is just another one of those I-can't get-myself-to-sleep-and-my-mind-started-to-wander-off-to-recent-happenings post.

My producer showed me something she bought... I think I should rephrase this... was pestered by her kids to get the other day.

Two packs of it. 20-odd bucks each.



What the fuck are those!? Parents! Can shed me some lights here?

It's just coloured rubber bands! With angles! Well, okay... the only cool thing about this rubber is that it goes back to the original shape when it's taken off from the wrist, or any other body parts in that matter. But what warrants them for selling it that much? Raw latex as a commodity are traded fairly in the market. How much R&D is involved? And it's not even a rare material. Like, like, I don't know... uranium? Plutonium? Hope these words don't bring the FBIs / CIAs at my doorway in the morning.

What is even more ridiculous is the pack that comes with a Marvel's, yes, the comic giant brand stamp, is more expensive by another 2 freaking bucks!

These people are seriously making money from children.

Yes. She's pissed too.

Tele-fun

Got a call from The Hexagon today, trying to sell their credit cards.

If I remember, Lizzy wrote something similar before. Are you here? Hello?... Anyway, how do you handle them? The telemarketers? But whatever your way is, be gentle to them if they are not rude. They are merely doing their job.

My replies to them revolves around these variance,



Being nice,

"I'm not interested."



Being annoyed. If they're too persistent pushy,

"I'm. Not. Interested."



A half-lie,

"One of your colleague called me [insert period of date / time] ago. Please refer to him / her."



The truth,

"I'm not comfy in doing any sales through the phone. If I'm interested, I'll walk straight to the counter myself."



And, an experience,

"Wait, wait, wait. Before you go any further, I want you to know I was once in telesales before. I know how all these work... I'm not interested. But thanks for the effort."





Yes. I was one before.

More to come.

We, darlings

"Eh, you know Fun Size is angry every time you call me "darling" ar? Fucking dumb, man!"

"Angry!? HAhAhAhAhAhA... She don't understand how bros are we lah. If she don't like, I'll cut it off lor."

"Not in front of her lah. Some people don't understand the love between buddies. Some more, it's coming from you wei... not a girl!"

"If it's from a girl even worst, right?"

"If girls straight kena fuck 'dy. HHAhAHAh. Yay! Girl fight, girl fight! HAhAHAhAhAhA. Anyway, sending my daughter home. Catch ya later, darling!"



We lost count.

Unless we do some math. 23 years, and counting. Twenty three effing years. I knew Since Primary Two since primary two... duh! That explains the name.

I'm not gonna repeat what others had said. If a buddy never gone through things with you, you still have a long, long way to brave. But just to let you have some concepts to grasp of how bros are we - we call each other that. Not in a gay way, but... yeah. Up to a point it annoys you-know-who.

For another 23 years to come.

If we have that long to live.

I love you, darling.

You know you're old when...

Was strolling along the mall blankly, pacing my way to the office, I bumped into Since Primary Two with the daughter and ex-wife...



"Oi..."

"Eh? Oh... hey..."

"Shopping ar? (Looking at my tag) Oh... work..."

"Yea lah..."

"Goin' off 'dy?"

"Nah lah. I just reached."

"Serious ar!?"

"Yea lah... (while pinching the cheek of his little daughter)... Hi Miniature SPT!"

"(Looking at the daughter) Call uncle Birthmark..."

"Don't call me uncle! Call me koko..."



Yeah. "Uncle" triggers me.

When your buddies tied their knots one by one, having children, or are expecting, you know it's time.

Corporate clown

There's one in all of us.

In any offices, since the beginning of time.

It's not the ass-licking-apple-polishers. Backstabbing ones? No.

I found faeces at the neck of the water hose in the public toilet.

First, a big yuck. Then I choked myself fighting back tears so damn hard, that I almost throw up my lunch, yesterday's dinner, last week's supper, last month's breakfast. I felt it at the top of my throat.

Second, I sincerely pity the guy. His public self-enema must have gone terribly wrong, he left the gents' with metal residues engraving deep into his anus wall. Maybe rust that even tetanus jab won't help. Failed Iron Man in the making.

I felt most for the shit. What destined to be a reincarnation in the waste plant, never seen the light of day.

Just when I thought I've seen worst. Makes people that squats on toilet seats less retarded.

You felt it? Of course you do.

If you are one of them.

The blue moon

The very few times we drink together.

He went down to meet the rest, as I'm stuck with the suits on The Other Infant Milk. I joined not long after.

More Than a Cycle is asthmatic. He quits smoking years ago, and not many have seen him drink ever since. But he gulps a pint or two occasionally. We had a few recently due to work stress and the negative auras surrounding the office.

He only had two this time, enough to make him fly. I'm not that sober too, my last meal was at lunch. We had enough when we find middle-aged women getting younger.

We jumped over next door for a late dinner. After reminiscing the year, we strolled back to the office. Scouting girls along our way, giving each other signals on directions to look. We lepak for a while and call it a day after midnight. He waited at the drop-off to passed me the season pass, which I stacked together with his other tags.

We parted with a brotherly handshake.

What was the occasion?

It was his last day.





Why do all writers I can click with left so soon? Remember Buddy?

Think I'll switch to be a writer. And leave my art directors frowning in the corner.

July, year 3

Mother held me in one arm.

Holding a small air tight jar in another.

I looked on to her. Then the jar.

I heard clicks.

The sudden blast of lights blinded my eyes.


I was barely two. That's the closest my memory could bring.
We appeared on what seems to be a product shot in a photo printout, or an A5 flyer. We were the talents for the Brand's Essence of Chicken.

You want to see it, don't you?



I grew up looking at it. Every day, every year. Mother pasted it on Father's cupboard in the storeroom (it's my room now). I never knew the "importance" of it. I'm a talent even before I know what's advertising. That's a valuable piece, at least for me.

Paper breaks apart when its exposed to the environment for years. We did a major spring cleaning and threw the leftover bits away. What's left is the now-antiqued mahogany cupboard, and unpeelable weathered stickers from the late-hippies era, deeply engraved into the wood grains.

Few years ago, it came back into my mind. It was during Mother's Day and her birthday. It could be a very special gift to her. I emailed Brand's regarding the flyer. Hoping for just a single word from them.

But to no avail.



Mother's birthday is coming near. I've drafted the email to be sent to Brand's again. And hopefully, I could hear from them this time. I also sent out my message to some people in the industry. Hoping that few would know the ad veterans back then.

Thirty years is a very long time. The agency that handles the account might have closed shop. The printer might have disposed the materials already. Maybe not even the printing plates or negatives.

I will keep trying.

To many, it's a no biggie appearing in a piece of paper. But to me, it means a whole lot more. It's a reminiscence of Mother and me. Something that can't be bought by money and time.

Something, that can't be replaced.



This will the third year in the searching.



-----



Mail sent. No words. Guess I should make a stroll at the factory.

Edited 15.8.11, 3:56am

Even I'm falling

Off the chair.

Have you seen the new Axe (Lynx) Provoke (Excite) TV commercial recently?

It showcased girls falling from the sky one after another. It peaks when these fallen girls are going towards a young man, who apparently uses the deodorant. The message that this spot is shouting, "Makes it rain girls". What shown on the Malaysian TV is an edited version.

Below, is the original by BBH London.




This is a :30 spot. There are 1:00 and 1:30.



What is so wrong with fallen angels? They are sensitive? Oh! Satan is a fallen angel. Come on! It's just a metaphor of the product's benefit. By removing the wings and halos are better suited for the Malaysian audience?

Which agency handles the Axe account in Malaysia? Good work to you guys! "Makes it rain girls" does make sense to me.

But fuck the Censor Board.

Blood for air

Due to my carelessness and lack of concentration, I sliced my finger.

I was rushing for the preso boards. Yours truly, stupidly rest his fore finger over the cutter's track. The sharp pain has already crept in before I could pull back.

The same level of stupidity happened to me twice.

The first was back when I'm doing graphic in college. The difference is, I didn't black out this time. Guessed I'm much fitter after my recent outdoor activities of paintball, paintball, and paintball. Though it was almost meat deep, but fortunately, the cut was light.

A tip for cutting mounting boards, or thick papers - never use one, hard cut. Instead, few, light ones. Make a light groove. Repeat until both sides are separated. Quantity over quality applies here. You saved more energy, and less hazardous.

As for a reminder - never manhandle dangerous tools when you knocked off at 5 plus in the morning, and only have less than 4 hours of slumber. And definitely not when you are rushing time.





On a separate note, the clients decided to give a one-month leniency in finishing the corporate video. At least we have more breathing space now. I high-fived under the conference table with my partner when we heard that.



"Well... the squirted pint of blood are worth it!"



Said I on the way back after the preso.

But typing these out was not pleasant at all.