An apple a day...

Now playing: The Futureheads

Today was yet another fucked up day at the office. Tension was high. Deadlines were on the verge of being missed. And the client crucified me in front of everyone. Again. For the second time this week.

Apparently, he wants more "sizzle". So I'll see what I can "cook up". Whatever.

So, to make myself feel better, I decided to make my very own MacBook Pro. (And no, I wasn't drunk.)

You see, ever since starting my new job, I've been reacquanted with an old friend: Windows 98. And there's nothing I can do about it short of bringing my own laptop. And if things go well in the next couple of months, that's what i'll do.

There's no doubt that Macs are infinitely cooler than PCs. Steve Jobs is a genius. First, he comes up with the iPod. Then makes it compatible with PCs. Then forces you to use iTunes, indirectly familiarising you with Mac OS X. Then he makes you watch all the coolest trailers on Quicktime.

Very very subtle. And very smart. Before you know it, you're sold. You just HAVE to have a Mac.

Sneaky bastard.

So anyway, my tired, late 90s IBM ThinkPad is a real peace of crap. It hangs at least 3 times a day. It's heavier than Barenaked Ladies. And it's ugly. But nothing some ingenuity and a bit of cellophane tape can't fix.

BEFORE: Look at this piece of shit. Icons everywhere. Dinosaur design. This simply won't do.

AFTER: Much better. Note the icon placement and the accurate branding craftsmanship.

And just for reference, this is the real thing:

See? Absolutely no difference. Not convinced? Let's try that again:

If you can spot the difference, you're lying.

That question.

Today, I’m a happy bunny.

It was a really late night at the office, as usual. I woke up at the crack of 11am. After feeding Meowie and Jiggles, I rushed through my morning routine and rushed back to the office.

After trawling through The World’s Most Fucked Up Car Park, I tried to look inconspicuous as I walked past my new colleagues, hiding behind my stunnaz. (This is still only my second week at work, after all.)

Two more cubicles to go, and I was home free. Now usually, these last two colleagues (let’s call them “A” and “B”)are never there when I stroll in first thing in the morning. By now, it was perilously close to lunchtime. And there they were. Both of them.

*deep breath*

GO!

As I was about to grab the doorknob to my team’s room, A stops me.

A: (to B) Should we just ask him?

B: Ask him la.

Me: Err…

A: Can we ask you something personal?

Me: …umm…sure.

A: But don’t get offended, ok?

Me: …ok…

(awkward pause)

A: Ok. Are you gay or straight?

(awkward pause)

(some more awkward pause)

(and a little more)

Me: .……………you know, I’m really flattered you even thought to ask me that. But I’m as straight as they come. Does that answer your question?

A: Yes. Thank you. Don’t be so full of yourself.

Me: *grin*

Now, before you draw your own conclusions about my orientation, I am not confused. I like rock music, cars, sports, computers, Girls Gone Wild and all that stuff. So go figure.

But in my little cynical world, getting mistaken for being gay is a compliment.

It means you have a decent haircut.

One night stand

Now playing: Lunarin, Throne Away (Two of my favourite local bands. Check 'em out!)

Today was one of those long days. Sleep is fast becoming a luxury for me. I'm not upset. Just very, very tired. Work's getting more intense, and there seems to be a non-stop flurry of activity for both my bands. And I just expected the days to get longer.

But tonight, something happened. Something I'd never thought I'd do. but always wanted to try, at least once in my life. Something I'd never forget.

It'd been a long day at the office and I was losing sense of time and space. I couldn't tell if it was day or night. I just knew that I was still breathing, and that was good enough for me and my boss.

My mates were having a drink around the corner of my new office and bugged me to join them. Reluctantly, I dragged myself out there after excusing myself from work.

And then I met her. She was dark, but beautiful. "Elegant" isn't the word to describe her. In fact, there was nothing subtle about the way she looked. She's the sort that dresses for attention. And people were staring.

I knew I'd seen her before. Then it hit me that she'd been in a lot of local magazines. She was that hot. My buddy Chak introduced us and we hit it off instantly. We hung around and chatted a fair bit, me and the gang.

It was then that I decided it was now or never. I gave her the "horny eye" and rushed off to the back, mumbling something about a trip to the little boys' room. I waited, thinking that this could've been the stupidest thing I'd ever done. Who was I to think that she'd be up for it with someone like me?

I was about to finish my cigarette when she arrived. We looked at each other for about 3 seconds before we got to it.

At first, I tried to be gentle. There were others around us, after all. I just needed to get a feel of her, figuratively and literally. But it wasn't long before we turned it up. Time was short, and we were going to make the most of it. After a few gentle thrusts, I slammed her as hard as I could. She screamed and stuttered, so I backed off a bit. But we soon found our rhythm, so I hit the next gear and pushed even harder.

She loved it.

Everything around us became a blur. And then almost as soon as it had begun, it was over.

In situations like these, fast is good. Trust me.

We gave each other one last look, knowing that we'd probably never see each other again, and headed back to the table. By now, I was exhausted. I excused myself and headed back to sweet sweet Natalie. I tried not to look her in the eye, struggling to wipe the mile-wide grin off my face.

ME: Hi, honey. I'm home.

NATALIE: Is that oil on your collar?!!

ME: (shit shit shit)

Goodbye, beautiful stranger.

Sunday Bloody Sunday

A photo essay by yours truly.
Now playing: Zwan, BECK: Mongolian Chop Squad, DJ Shadow, Sarah McLachlan

Today, I'm going to pretend to be a professional blogger.

Laundry List:
1. Check final mixes for Heineken Thirst entries.
2. Get ICs and Passport photos from bandmates.
3. Complete entry forms and deliver.
4. Finish revised billboard campaign for Monday.
5. Get Natalie back.
6. Buy cat food for Meowie.

Here we go.

*yawn*

"What would you like for breakfast, Natalie Portman? Oh...right..."

*yawn* (trickle trickle)

*puff puff*

(Goddamn it. Chappelle's still stuck at 82%. It's been a week.)

*yawn* (trickle trickle)

"Wassup, bitch! I'll see you at the studio in a bit."

(Promiscuous girl...where ever you are...I'm all alone...and it's you that I want...)

(Doncha wish your boyfriend was hot like me...
Doncha wish your boyfriend was a freak like me...)

(Loosen up my buttons, baybeh, uh huh) "WASSUP, BITCH!"

Apparently, this is called "Happy Breakfast".

Seen outside Meng's studio. Maybe it's Bala's new campaign.

While chillin' and waiting for the mixes...

...we notice that Meng has the world's most pathetic widescreen TV.

This is what a song really looks like without makeup.
Thanks for rushing these out, Meng!
Time to head back to the crib and meet the ladies.

Adlin's first. Here he is getting the only pussy he can.

"I, Bala, hereby consent to the making of this video.
I'm over 18, and I tested negative."

"Bang...boleh settle, ke?"

Done! Gotta get my ass to the office.

I didn't know they still made 13th floors. Honestly.

This is what work on a Sunday afternoon looks like...

...and this is why it's utterly pointless.

Back to my folks' place for dinner and catching up on current events with my neice.

One more run-through, drop em' in a mailbox...and I'm done. *phew*

Got Natalie back. I missed her so much. She's feeling swell.

*puff puff* DAMN! Forgot to buy cat food!! Meowie's friggin' pissed...

This is the boring part of blogging.

*yawn* (trickle trickle). BTW, I really was naked when taking this shot.
(The shot in the morning was dramatised.)

I needz my fix of dick & fart jokes. (That's South Park, BTW.)

Bedtime reading. Oooh, check out the headlights on this baby...

*yawn*...what a day...

*zzzZZZZzzzZZZzzzZZZZzz*
(This really is a picture of my room with the lights out)

Closer sex

Now Playing: Team Sleep, Corinne Bailey Rae

Seriously...how hard can it be to write a damn blog? The novelty wore off after a bit. I really think I just don't have the heart to write at home when I spend all day writing for money. Ironically, I'm not at all used to writing about how I really feel. People tell me what to write all the time.

Copywriters are either the whores or the boybands of the writing community, depending on how you look at it.

The case for "Whores":

1. I write what you want me to write, for a fee.
2. "You" are a client.
3. I have several "clients".
4. Sometimes, "clients" ask me to do things I'm not proud of, and would never want my mother to find out.
5. I take a shower after a hard day's "writing".
   

The case for "Boyband":

1. I make pictures, sounds, videos and music of questionable taste.
2. I work with a lot of gay people.
3. The more famous I get, the more money I make.
4. Girls send me their undergarments in the mail all the time.
5. (OK, no. 4 was a complete lie.)

So maybe that might explain why I find it so hard to write about how I feel. I get confused between what I'm supposed to write and what I want to. It's different.

So I'll give it a shot. And talk about some things I've thinking about during this whirlwind of a week.

Which brings me to the title of this entry. It refers to 2 of my new favourite movies, "Closer" and "sex, lies & videotape". That's how you spell it officially, BTW. In lower case.

"Closer" stars Natalie Portman (yay!), Julia Roberts, Clive Owen and Jude Law. It's an intense, dialogue-driven piece dealing with 4 adulterous characters getting into bed with one another. One critic described it as "very attractive people doing very unattractive things".

Case in point:
1. Clive Owen undoes his pants in front of his computer while in a sex chat room.
2. Natalie Portman plays a stripper and responds when Clive says "Show me your cunt".

Anyway, the story revolves around these 4 people getting in and out of each other's pants. Both guys sleep with both girls. So you can't really call it a triangle. But calling it a "love square" is just too corny.

An interesting thing to note is that there are only 6 people in the cast. And the other 2 only get one or two lines. 99% of the movie is one character talking to one of the other three. And every scene depicts the beginning or the end of a relationship.

Now, "Closer" is probably the spiritual sequel to "sex lies", which is also about adultery. It's a slow burn involving (surprise) 4 people getting in and out of each other's pants. But only one guy sleeps with both girls. One's his wife. The other's his wife's sister.

And the other guy is an old college buddy who gets off on videotaping women telling him their sexual history 'cos he can't get it up in front of another person. So he basically tapes them and jacks off to the tape after they leave. Why can't he just buy porn, you ask? Because he needs to have some kind of interaction with the women. He never touches them physically. He just gets off on what they tell him.

What I like about these movies is how they depict the most exciting parts of relationships: The beginning and the end.

Not much is said about the middle bits. But that wouldn't make for much of a story either.

The initial prospect of a relationship is always memorable. It's when hormones talk and your brain is flooded with endorphins and dopamine, leading to that dreamy, butterflies-in-your-stomach feeling. I'm not saying it's entirely chemical. I like this part the best, but who doesn't.

What's cool is the process of discovering someone. It's like a CD you buy without testing (something I do often). You pick it up based on what you've heard, or what the cover looks like. You put it in your player and make mental notes of parts you like and skip the parts you don't. Not everyone agrees on your choice. Soon, some parts start growing on you. If you're lucky, you stumble upon parts you've hear a million times before and discover a new little gem. You even learn to appreciate the bits you never liked before.

The dopamine wears off, obviously, and then you get to the routine middle bit. We all know what that's like.

Then comes the impending end of a relationship. The emotionally-charged, nothing-to-lose part. It's make or break, and all the cards are out on the table. This part sucks, but it's necessary. Now, constructing sentences for a living kinda helps here when you're thinking of something to say. Because you end up saying the same thing over and over using different words anyway. But there is no winner and loser. Everyone hurts.

Personally, the couple of serious relationships I've had have started with a bang and ended with even bigger bangs. I like to remember them like they were scenes from movies like these.

There's another favourite movie of mine with similar themes about the beginning and end. It's called "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind". I've been meaning to watch it again.

But I might just cry.

It's late. Meowie thinks so, too.

Heard at the office...

I work in a place where ideas are our product and creativity is our tool. This means that we wear whatever we damn well please and talk about movies all day.

Anyway, these are some of the more memorable things that have graced these ears.

1
COLLEAGUE 1: Do you wanna get dinner?
COLLEAGUE 2: No thanks. I had lunch already.

2
Wait, lemme get an ashtray. Oh, right...there's the floor.

3
Sometimes, when clients talk to me, I space out. And think about shopping.

4
COLLEAGUE 1: Do you wanna be a talent for this shoot?
COLLEAGUE 2: No thanks, not good-looking enough.
COLLEAGUE 1: It's ok. We're not looking for good looking people.

5
(Someone tasked with designing a sticker for a car)
I need to know how big the hood is so I can do the sticker.

(The person briefing him picks up a tiny picture of the car and puts a ruler to it)
Umm...30mm.

6
(to tech support)
It asked me to put in disc 2, so i did. But it doesn't work.

(He/she actually put the second disc on the top of the first and closed the tray. Who i heard it from swears this happened. The identity of the colleague remains a mystery.)

7
(Another call to tech support)
COLLEAGUE: I tried to open a powerpoint file, but the computer won't let me.

Tech Support: I checked the file. Looks fine. Try again.

COLLEAGUE: Still can't open it.

(Tech support walks over to colleagues cubicle.)
Tech Support: Now, show me exactly how you open it.

(COLLEAGUE uses Microsoft Word and tries to open the Powerpoint file.)
COLLEAGUE: See?
(His/her identity is also a mystery.)

Life is stranger than fiction.

Use your right brain. Your OTHER right brain.

A few days ago, someone asked me something along the lines of "do you live in an imaginary world?"

Does this count?


(By the way, this looks like a great opportunity to plug my bands:

Superbar
www.superbarmusic.com
www.myspace.com/superbar

Lied
www.liedmusic.com
www.myspace.com/lied

Check 'em out. Thanks!)

Intro scene from a flick I'd write

All of my movie buff friends know I'm a huge Kevin Smith fan. Chasing Amy is the best love story ever made. Anyway, here goes...

EXT. HOUSE BALCONY - DAY

Jim and Bob, two twentysomethings, are having smokes on the balcony of a suburban house. MTV is blaring in the background. Jim reaches for an ashtray, while Bob takes a drag off his fag.

JIM
I saw Mike the other day. You'd never guess what he told me.

BOB
What? That fucker's always got a lot to say. We used to call him "the artist". Remember? So clever at making things up. Out of thin air.

JIM
Yeah, I know. But this one's for real. He told me someone we both know is an A cup.

Bob stubs out his ciggie while simultaneously reaching for another one.

BOB
So? "A cups" are people too, you know.

JIM
I just expected more. I'd always thought she was a C. Ok, at least a B, la...

BOB
That's why. Technology nowadays...sigh. But you can tell. You just have to pay attention. I was playing 'truth or dare' with a couple of friends last night. This chick I just met, it was her turn and she picked 'truth'. So I asked her cup size.

JIM
And?

BOB
She said B. I was thinkin', man...no fucking way she was a B. But she stuck to her story. What the fuck could I say, right? This is 'truth or dare'. She's supposed to tell the truth. But she cheated. Bitch.

JIM
How did you know for sure she wasn't telling the truth?

BOB
Dude, you're a face guy. Me? I'm a tits guy.

JIM
Very true.

BOB
I know these things. But anyway, awhile later, I asked her best friend. Just purely for confirmation. She was an A, man.

JIM
(laughing and coughing up a billow of smoke)
Well, what the hell did you expect her to say?

BOB
Bitch was lying through her teeth. And she knew that I knew. Girls do it all the time.

JIM
Ok, so let's say it was her turn to ask you. And she asked you how long your dick was, what would you say?

Pauses and thinks about his final anwer for all of 5 seconds while lighting yet another cigarette.

BOB
7 inches.

Cue loud cock rock, a la The Darkness.

Lyric of the Hour: Tool, "Vicarious"

excerpts from "Vicarious"
by Tool
from "10,000 Days"

Eye on the the TV
'Cause tragedy thrills me
Whatever flavor
It happens to be

Cause I need to watch things die from a distance
Vicariously I live while the whole world dies
YOU ALL NEED IT TOO, DON'T LIE

Why can't we just admit it?
We won't give pause until the blood is flowing
Neither the brave nor bold
Will write as the story's told
We won't give pause until the blood is flowing

You all feel the same, so...

Why can't we just admit it?

Vicariously I live while the whole world dies
Much better you than I





Astro, anyone?

If you can't beat 'em, join Friendster.

Until a month ago, I said I'd never join Friendster. I never understood blogs. I rarely logged in to MSN.

Now, my life is exactly the same as it was before. Minus 4 hours of sleep every day.

What the appeal of all these "virtual" friendsterships is, I still don't understand. But I'm sitting here waiting for my laundry, writing a damn blog, of all things. Will wonders never cease.

You see, I write for a living. And though I love it, I can't be bothered to come home...and write some more. It's like a male gynaecologist (however you spell it) coming home to see his wife with her legs sprawled wide open. "Not another one."

Sigh...indeed.

Anyway "Chicken Chop for the Soul" is not supposed to be good for you. It will fatten you. It will put harmful thoughts in your body.

But you'll probably look at it when it's handed to you and say "steam...".

I hope.