On The Creative Process

“It’s like washing a pig. It’s messy, it has no rules, no clear beginning, middle, or end; it’s kind of a pain in the ass, and when you’re done, you’re not sure if the pig is clean or even why you were washing a pig in the first place. Welcome to the creative department.”
Luke Sullivan, Hey Whipple, Squeeze This

Hallelujah.

I haven’t stepped into a club for almost 2 years to date and I know exactly why. Other than the mild hangover and minor smoke poisoning experienced after 5 hours of hopping around in what would, in any other circumstance, be considered a gas chamber, clubbing leaves me feeling overwhelmingly stupid.

As with any guy, the desire to club is fueled by three universal, all-encompassing motives. Women, women, women. Don’t believe all that crap about the need to de-stress or to (and this is a good one) exercise. And so it is that men flock to Mohammad Sultan Road by the droves in the vague hope of picking up some pretty young thing. Do note that in extreme cases of self-delusion, men have been known to be motivated by the hope of being picked up by pretty young things.

How does one go about picking someone else up anyway?

Do pickup lines work?

“You must be tired baby cos you’ve been running through my mind”? Use this and there will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

The usual “wanna be friends?” makes you sound like you’re trying to get a hooker.

“Can I buy you a drink?” is a waste both of time and money. Not only are success rates low, unless you look like Enrique Iglesias, you have to get a drink not just for her but for yourself as well. This is regarded as courtesy and is meant to allow for interaction. In a club, this usually involves shouting like a National Day Parade commander at your prospective date/bed partner/rejector between sips of bourbon coke.

Clubbing sessions tend to start out with suicidal drinking in an effort to get high. Since I and Bryan (if he’s not already with some girl) are the ones who get the drinks most often, we get a headstart on slugging down as much liquid liver solidifier as possible in a single double-strawed breath. In other words, we get stupid faster.

The effects of alcohol on the average unsuspecting clubber begin with the onset of an ever so slight gyration of the hips in rhythm with whatever B-grade music is mashing up his insides. This is followed by the urge to nod one’s head as if to say “yes, yes, take me to stupid land”. The sufferer then begins to lose control of his arms, watching in abject horror as they flail wildly all around him while his hands begin making idiotic symbols such as that of a camera viewfinder whenever he hears the words “square rooms”. Now, I know that for some, this may result in a mild resemblance to Ricky Martin. I, unfortunately, end up looking like a glorified version of William Hung.

Of course, since alcohol is a diuretic, clubbers will need to make at least one trip to the loo per session. The journey there is a hazardous one. One must avoid the flying limbs of the similarly afflicted while simultaneously maintaining the helicopter motion of one’s own appendages. Collisions are unavoidable and all one can say is “sorry, brother”. Yes, everyone is now your brother.

Upon arriving, battered, bruised and with 500 new-found brothers at the toilet, the clubber is then faced with a 320 meter queue for the nearest urinal. Needless to say, this is the reason why potted plants are generally avoided in clubs. I remember once we couldn’t find a member of our group. Turned out he’d fallen asleep on the toilet bowl. Thankfully, most of my other friends have the common sense to pass out on the roadside where they can be easily located.

Speaking of which, the roadside of Mohammad Sultan at 3am resembles a warzone. Bodies strewn all over the place, grown men vomiting their guts out and sobbing teenagers calling for mommy. Sights like these make the heart ache but the brain laugh. I’m sorry. I can’t help it.

Alright. So I may not have done as many stupid things as some people have, trying to headlock a bouncer being one of them, but it doesn’t mean that I’m willing to take the risk. Just being around stupidity too much can leave you infected for life. For me, the limit was when I found myself having a heart to heart chat with a guy I barely knew on the pavement outside Zouk. “So how far have you gone with a girl?” he slurred. You get the idea.

Good afternoon. My name is Joel and I’m a football addict.

After almost 3 weeks of continuous football watching, CM mulling (Huddersfield is now in the 1st division), and Winning Eleven bashing, coupled with not one but two sessions of playing the actual game yesterday, I felt I needed to say that.

And…

For those interested, Basheer is located at Bras Basah Complex on the 4th floor (I think). Be warned. Bring lots of money or at least ensure that your bank account balance reads at least three figures. The books aren’t cheap and they’re all tempting. Award books, award books, award books. Archives, archives, archives. It’s like putting a kid in a candy store with just enough money for a lollipop. Going down again today most probably. Another substantial deduction from my account is in the offing it seems.

Spent $32.50 on an ad book at lunch. Every time I go to Basheer there’s something new. I have no idea how they keep track of all those books. You get stuff on interior design, web design, brochure design, logo design, copywriting, novel writing, award books, archives, illustrations, 3D art etc. Who needs Borders or Kinokuniya?

Anyway, the book I got was “Hey Whipple, Squeeze This” by Luke Sullivan. I’ve never liked self-help books but desperate times call for desperate measures. Some people come up with great ideas spontaneously. I, unfortunately, am not similarly blessed. Hence, I will try to come up with ideas through methodology. No idea what I mean myself cos my methodology inevitably involves staring at some imaginary spot in the distance.

Time to go. A weekend of re-writing awaits… Dammit.

So I finally got the watch the Euros. but I only lasted 60min before KO-ing.. think lying down on the bed to watch football with the remote beside me in the wee hours of the morning is not such a good idea if you want to catch all the action after a tiring day at work. (I'm sure MS WORD would have green squiggled that sentence and said "Long sentence-no suggestions")

Some links for the bored.
just put your cursor on his nose. No beheading, I promise
*in mechanical voice* More than meets the eye

"Anyone who is capable of getting themselves made President should on no account be allowed to do the job."
Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

I believe this applies to Messrs Wiranto and Bambang.
 

All Roads Lead to Rome

And the Italians have no one to blame but themselves for being sent packing so early in the tournament. This time there was no crazy referee, no conspiracy theory (despite what Del Piero alleged) and no jet lag to be made the scapegoat. The Azzurri simply weren’t good enough. And they know it. So does every single Italy fan. From the first game against Denmark where pass after pass went astray, to the woeful finishing in the draw against Sweden, to the hard fought but ultimately immaterial win over Bulgaria, the Italian team never really showed up.

Francesco Totti owes an apology to every single Italian who traveled to Portugal only to see him disgrace his team and his country by spitting on Christian Poulsen. This petulant prima donna deserves more than a paltry three-match ban. Eight matches and a public flogging would have been more appropriate. To think that Italy rested its hopes on such a player is appalling. Talent on the field is worth nothing if one doesn’t carry oneself with dignity and integrity and, sooner or later, players like that will be found out as Totti was.

Just as after Korea/Japan, the Italians will have much to think about and much to rue. Trapattoni’s head will most probably roll but it is unclear as to how much any successor, no matter how capable, can do. Success for Italy isn’t just about changing players or tactics, it’s about changing a mindset. Perhaps releasing the old guard will be the best way to go. The likes of Del Piero, Vieiri and, maybe, Totti are past their prime and it is time to bring in fresh talent to add to the likes of Cassano and Pirlo who were the better performers in midfield and attack. Recovering from this massive setback will definitely be hard but Italy’s time will come. They definitely have the talent, all they need is the mentality. They’ve got two years to put right the wrongs but for now, all there is to be said is, arrivederci.

Finally presented the radio scripts and, no they’re not in Hokkien. They’re written in perfect English or at least that was the desired effect. Anyway, while searching for inspiration (read: ideas to rip off), Jason (designer) brought my attention to the Radio Advertising Bureau. How I missed this I have no idea but it’s a great site to get samples of creative radio ads from. I’ve only listened to a few, but so far they’ve all been amazing. Oh, you’ve gotta register to get access to them but it’s well worth it and I haven’t received spam yet.

Event house is coming down for I don’t know what later. And I’m supposed to brief them about the whole theme of the homecoming event. The only catch is that… there is no bloody theme! Bleah. More crapping to be done.

Here I am watching England leading Croatia at halftime. Normally, this would be an enjoyable experience (solely because Kieron Dyer happens to be on the bench) but noooooooo, I have two yet to be written radio scripts hanging over my head like the blade of a guillotine.

The worst thing is, these scripts are for that same client who complains that I use profound English, which makes me even less inclined to write anything even remotely resembling copy. As was suggested in the brainstorm session earlier, maybe getting an ah soh to shriek “lai2 lai2 lai2, wa4 nang2 eh3 roadshow si3 dis lei2 bai3 gui2 diam4 gui2 diam4” would be appropriate since, given the sort of client we have been stricken with, this is the dialect that they are perhaps most likely to be able to fully appreciate. That was Hokkien in case you didn’t know, the language of the proletariat, so to speak. I, being a humble member of the working class, am particularly adept at using this versatile dialect. This is especially so when it comes to ordering fishball noodles or bak kut teh or cursing the living hell out of someone else’s mother. Not that I am proud of the last point.

Bokononism and the End of the World

Just finished Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut. A crazy book about the end of the world caused by a chemically triggered ice age that isn’t really cold. Odd? I thought so too.

But what really makes this book wonderful is the religion Bokononism which has infected the whole island community of San Lorenzo. The Calypsos (poems) are hilarious and the whole concept sorta makes sense in a nonsensical kinda way. So get the book and come join in as Bokonon invites us to sing along:

” We do, doodley do, doodley do, doodley do,
What we must, muddily must, muddily must, muddily must;
Muddily do, muddily do, muddily do, muddily do,
Until we bust, bodily bust, bodily bust, bodily bust.”
From the Books of Bokonon

In my haste to leave for work this morning, I simply threw on the nearest t-shirt, which happened to be black, and zipped out of the house. What I didn’t notice was that the t-shirt was covered in lint, which has resulted in me becoming a very crude walking representation of the Milky Way. For a more realistic experience, I recommend viewing me under black light.

Now, of course, there were good reasons why I was in a hurry. Firstly, after the seventh consecutive three-hours-of-sleep-cos-of-euro-2004 night, I am moving with the speed and grace of the average sloth. Secondly, I have recently started to play the guitar again and the urge to twang some strings struck me at 7:45am, about the time when I really should start getting dressed for work. On an aside, my guitar is also known as my wife. This serves no other purpose than to make possible the phrase “I’m gonna finger my wife now.” Songs I’m currently playing way too often are “Times like These” by Foo Fighters and “Angels or Devils” by Dishwalla. Simple stuff but you gotta start somewhere eh? Finally, I wanted to cram a few more Franz Ferdinand songs (Darts of Pleasure, 40 Feet, Shopping for Blood and All For You Sophia) into my antique 32MB Creative MP3 player along with a couple of others just for balance. Trying to get the most out of 32MB is one of those things that can ruin lives. I have spent many a frustrating hour picking songs based on their file size and, in the process, learnt to make do with less than acceptable sound quality just so I won’t have to listen to the same tracks three times over in one train ride. It was no different this morning, which led to me wearing the Milky Way, as mentioned in the first paragraph.

We Love Blackouts

Yesterday night, for the first time in years, there was a blackout in my area. This is usually unwelcome but since Huddersfield (under me) was losing 2-1 to York in the 81st minute of another one of my CM games, a sense of relief overcame me a few moments after my laptop fizzed out. Incidentally, it also killed Pat’s game of Culdcept and my mom’s Yahoo mahjong session. We’re all gamers, dammit.

Apparently, being the rare event that it is, a blackout is cause for celebration. Within moments of the plunge into darkness, what sounded like rejoicing could be heard from various units in the surrounding blocks. A happy birthday song broke out somewhere below us, children squealed in delight and the odd ah beng could be heard shouting “wah lau, si bei ka ni na (henceforth KNN)”. Over and above the irritation that hearing hokkien vulgarities causes me, it was also grammatically incorrect.

Why ungrammatical? Well, KNN is a verb. I’m sure I don’t need to provide a translation of this ubiquitous term. If what I remember from school is correct, you can’t say “intensifier verb”. That’s exactly what “si bei KNN” does. “Si bei” is the intensifier and KNN is the verb. It’s like saying “very swim”. But then again, grammar has never been very high on the ah beng skills list. No point being pedantic.

Anyway, due to the squealing children, vulgarity shouting and birthday song singing, the police felt compelled to make an appearance. And so they did, complete with loudspeaker and flashing sirens, before proceeding to insult the collective intelligence of 4000 or so people. “Gibberish pleah yaadddaaa power yeaddaaa pleah out gibberish as soon as possible. Gibberish pleah yeaaddaa panic. Yaaddaaa pleah gibberish do not attempt to use any lifts. Thank you.” Do not attempt to use any lifts you say? If the lift doors are closed due to the, in case you haven’t noticed, lack of electricity, how do you suppose your average dumber than dumb heartlander might get into the lift, much less use it?

By now, it was getting hot. Living in Singapore without a fan is absolutely impossible. The three of us had two torches and two fans between us. Not bad, considering that I saw a few families, children and all, in the opposite block toying around with candles which led me to imagine fire engines and huge plumes of smoke. So the three of us sat on the couch in semi-darkness, fanning ourselves and generally steaming away while my mom complained profusely about SP’s lack of efficiency.

It was at this point that Pat started getting restless. This girl cannot go a minute without being occupied with something. My gut feeling is that this is to make up for the 12 hours she spends sleeping each day. Letting her hold the torchlight was a mistake. She started drawing stars on the ceiling with the beam which, inevitably, led to my eyeballs drawing stars on the ceilings as well. A most dizzying activity for the owner of the eyeballs. After having the torchlight forcibly removed from her grasp, she somehow found herself in possession of a fan and discovered that it made a good drum and that tapping it against her boyfriend’s thigh produced an interesting sound. This again led to the removal of said object from said girl’s grasp by said boyfriend. Finally, she held my hand, which was sweet, until she started gnawing on my knuckle. I decided to sit on the floor.

[Disclaimer: Author is prone to exaggeration. Events in above paragraph may not have happened as described.]

Without a fan, a torch or a hand with which to entertain herself, Pat’s mind scanned the house for something that could keep her occupied. And then, it struck her. Wasn’t there ice cream or yogurt in the fridge? Of course there was. And so it came to pass that mother, son and son’s girlfriend huddled around a 2-liter tub of peach mango yogurt slurping away.

The lights came on about an hour after the cut, again to much rejoicing and vulgarity spewing. Whoever said Singaporeans are hard to please?

Give Me My Tackle Box!

Alright AdSense or whatever is scanning this blog, listen up. I want my tackle box right now! On my wish list are also Berkley Power Baits, Hutchinson Boilie Dips and Sprays (whatever those are), Dynamite Baits Additives (oooh, catches your fish and fries them at the same time) and British Breadcrumb Baits (for the prickly ones with stiff upper lips). I have a FISHING TRIP coming up and I would seriously like to catch some RAINBOW TROUT, BASS or WILD SALMON. Doesn’t matter if they live in fresh or salt water. I want them all.

haven't spent any money on lunch the whole of this week. three organisations have paid for my lunches over the past 4 days, all mobile phone makers coincidentally. I guess it makes sense.. a hungry reporter is an angry reporter, and you sure don't want an angry reporterwriting about you. Press has its privileges.

The downside is.. it's 8pm Thursday night, and I'm still in the office. Doesn't look like I'm going to be able to leave soon. It sure would help if i'd just concentrate on my work and not be updating blogs.. oh well. getting a sore throat, and will need to wake up at 5:30 tmrw, hope i don't fall sick, don't want to miss the trip.

fib: on that mountain are many salmon, if it were not so, I would have not told you so. spearfishing would be the method of choice there. or you can just wait for one to jump out at you and try to catch it. a rod and reel should be completely useless, bah, not that i care, quickly, sell me some tackle boxes!

THHGTTG

This is probably old news, but there’s a “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” movie in production. Whoopee

NS Cut

Read in the papers today that NS has been cut by 6 months, which means that the “air level” NSFs don’t have to serve those extra 6 months which have given so much mirth to the “hokkien pengs” (who only serve two years). One of the purported reasons for this reduction in the hard labour sentence is that the SAF now relies more heavily on technological expertise than on sheer manpower.

Now, while the Apache helicopter, the Primus mobile big gun thingie and the pride-and-joy-of-the-SAF SAR 21 may represent war craft at its best, it’s not until you step into your HQ’s office, flick on the PC and find that it’s running Windows 95 that you know your self-indulgent defence force is truly on the cutting-edge of technology.

Another reason stated in the papers for the reduction is higher education levels. This explains why the “Join the Army” propaganda ad plastered on the front of double-decker buses needs to inform the target audience that “The Mud on My Face is Soil… Our Soil”. Wow, what advanced R&D lab did the SAF use to discover that? A helpful tip, the other ingredient is most likely to be water.

Channel 5 - Home of Euro 2004

right... I guess when they mean home, it's like really home. You know, like you still call home home even though you are not there at least half of the time? Well, in that case, if you want to be technical about it, Channel 5 should be Hotel of the Euro 2004, because I certainly don't see even half of the games that are being played, not even England vs France!! bah...

read on the news that HK(?) changed some settings in their cable broadcast 10min before the Euros started, so those that bought illegal descramblers didn't see the games! haha!! They had no time to react at all. The news report also mentioned that those selling the descramblers were scared to open their shops the next day, hehe, I would be too. Somebody offered to help me get a descrambler once. TV piracy. If its pirateable, it will be pirated. I wished Starhub did something like what the cable guys in HK did, give it to them good.

Fib: had to use live worms as bait today. my artificial baits got lost due to a big hole in it. I need a high quality, unbreakable and insanely expensive tackle box so that i can avoid having to dig in the soil for earthworms next time. Somebody sell me one!!

One of my clients complains that I have a penchant for using large words, or rather, words that are too “cheem”, in my copy. Hence, from now on, I will refrain from using multi-syllabic, unpronounceable, unintelligible words like “elegance” and “accolades” and *gasp* “possibilities”. The bastards.

I was marching in the rank and file of our loyal working community through the tunnel towards Exit F of Raffles Place MRT this morning when, lo and behold, a roller-blader zipped past me, weaving his way expertly through the worker ants ahead. He was soon followed on foot by a rather breathless SMRT staff who must have been cursing his luck for having seen the bugger in the first place, roller-bladers, skateboarders, people with funny hats and opposition supporters not being allowed in MRT stations. So began the quest to hunt down this bohemian threat to the well-being of daily commuters or at least their toes. The amazing thing is that the SMRT guy actually caught up with the blader. What’s more amazing is that the blader stopped, listened to what the SMRT guy had to say, and made a dash for it. The fact that I’m categorising this as a peculiar incident probably shows how boring this old island is. Ah well…there’s always Singapore Idol to keep us entertained.

Italian Bullshit

Italy played like a bunch of drunks, staggering into wall after wall and pissing on themselves and all their fans in the process. On the rare occasion that they did manage to get the ball into the Danish box, what they found was merely another barrier in the form of Thomas Sorensen who made a couple of fine saves. To be fair though, the Italians defended stoutly as well. I have nothing but respect and admiration for the back five of Buffon, Panucci, Zambrotta, Nesta and Cannavaro who, thanks to the spineless midfield, were under pressure for most of the game. Without them, who knows what would have happened. But now, Sweden awaits and already my knees are starting to go weak.

Copywriter Down

Trying to write copy on the back of a football-filled, sleep-deprived night is as possible as convincing Nike (me cat, not the goddess of victory nor the brand that tells everyone to just do it) that my big toe isn’t a teething toy. Attempts to coerce my brain into getting its lazy ass to work via the “repeated pounding of forehead with base of palm technique” has only resulted in a 6.7-on-the-Richter-scale headache and the consequent death and destruction of God-knows-how-many brain cells.

Writing copy that expounds the beauty and pleasure to be derived from various styles of interior furnishing irritates me deeply. I have been staring cross-eyed at the opening line of this freaking paragraph since 11am in the vain hope that somehow the letters will multiply and arrange themselves into something coherent. But, as usual, neither the vowels nor the consonants are showing any interest in procreating or even leaving their seats. Just my luck.

More fishing stuff: The joys of fishing are desperately under-appreciated. No one can truly understand the rush of blood that trying to drag great flapping aquatic things out of the water brings until one actually goes out and tries to drag great flapping aquatic things out of the water. And, just for good measure, where’s my tackle box!?

Three people watched with bated breath as Zidane stepped up and despatched the penalty past David James. My sis went “oh my gosh”, I managed a muted “shit” and Derras somehow remained silent. Two goals in extra time had turned the game on its head and we, perched on the edge of our seats, were just as stunned as the England fans in the Estadio da Luz and, no doubt, around the world. Through the shots of the cheering French, the disbelieving looks of the English, even through Zidane’s interview in Francais, we just sat there in silence or at least I did, trying to make sense of it all. As Martin Tyler so eloquently quipped, even when you think you’ve seen it all, it can still take your breath away.

Washing keropok, salmon sashimi and later durian down with Boddington’s ale is a good way to watch football. All thanks to my sister, who is taking a surprising interest in Euro 2004. Too bad Pat doesn’t share the same enthusiasm towards the beautiful game.

So with England leading France by a goal, the second half is fascinatingly set up. Argh! Shut up, Avril Lavigne! Why do I bother with MTV?

Before I forget...

Experiment: I love fishing! Trout taste great and are suckers for plastic newts! Sell me a tackle box now!

Playing soccer on three hours of sleep and a bad hip is a bad idea. Not only am I exceedingly tired now, but, as Bryan aptly described, I’m walking like I have big balls as well

Watching Greece beat Portugal left me with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was good to see that the playing field had leveled so considerably. Yet, on the other hand, what I really want to see in this tournament is the big boys going at it in the latter stages. Not a repeat of the Champions League final which, though romantic in its own way, didn’t exactly capture my imagination.

Seeing the team fondly remembered as the whipping boys of WC98 beat the host nation so comprehensively also forced me to reassess Italy’s chances of finally lifting the trophy this time round. The Azzurri are notoriously defensive, preferring to hold on to one goal leads rather than securing the result with a second goal. The squad that Trapattoni has assembled this time seems to reflect that again. The defence looks waterproof with Cannavaro and Nesta in the center and the likes of Gattuso, Zanetti or Perotta likely to provide additional cover just in front of them. All three are defensive minded midfielders and old Trap looks set to field a combination of any two of these. Attack wise, the team has only two world class goalscorers. Francesco Totti is arguably the best attacking midfielder in Serie A and he is the one the Italians will look to both for supply and goals. The focal point of the attack will of course be Christian Vieri. Italy simply don’t have anyone else quite in his class.

However, that said, the Italians do look distinctly toothless at times, which is worrying. After watching Greece play such flowing football and just right now Russia bringing it to Spain, being able to score more than one goal per game seems to be a requirement rather than a luxury. Whether Vieri’s claims that the Italians are not gonna play defensive this time are true, only time will tell. All that I dare expect right now is safe passage through to the quarter-finals.

clever adverts

move your eyeballs up a little. notice the food ads? No doubt brought about by Joel's rantings about his gastronomical episodes. let's do a little experiment... let's all add a nonsense line with every post about fishing, and see if they try to sell us tackle boxes in a week.

experimental fib: I caught the biggest catfish you'll ever see the other day! you wouldn't believe how big it was, I know, so i took a photo! I felt a tug at about 2pm, and it fought me for a whole hour. Reeled it in at about 3, and you sould have seen the way my fishing boat reacted to the sheer weight of that fish.. yee ha!

Green Tea Everything

It all started with Green Tea in cans. Then came Green Tea Ice-Cream, followed by Green Tea Shampoo, Facial Wash, Body Foam and other assorted bodily products. But just when we thought the Green Tea revolution had rolled to a belated stop, Lay's decides to set Green Tea Potato Chips upon the unsuspecting masses. Enough is enough!

Down with the Bourgeoisie

Took a few liberties at lunch today. Had a satisfying chicken teriyaki sandwich at Subway, an iced tea at Ya Kun and then went down to Raffles City cos my art director needed to do something to his watch.

While waiting for him to get his stuff done, we wandered around a little. I fiddled with the iPods on display, which only helped fuel the fire of consumerism burning away at the core of my very soul. It just felt… right. Put your finger on the wheel and the iPod instantly becomes an extension of your body. Or maybe you instantly become an extension of the iPod. Either way, it’s an unforgettable experience. iSaw, iWanted, iBought, damn, iWish. I’ll leave the techie reviews to resident geek/tech expert/magazine writer, John.

Among other things that caught my eye, a Patek Philippe watch that cost a whopping $84,000. You could get a car for that type of money which means that some rich ass could easily tell you that his wrist watch cost more than your crappy Honda Jazz.

Also, Vertu mobile phones at the Vertu shop in some obscure corner of Raffles City near the concierge desk. These phones come in platinum, yellow and white gold, as well as *scoff* stainless steel. The price? A reasonable £17,050 for the platinum version which works out to about *gasp* SGD$53,363. Did I scoff at the stainless steel version? Of course I did. That one merely costs an economical SGD$13,927. I guess what they’re really selling here are their services. Seems that anyone who buys a Vertu phone qualifies for their concierge service, available at the touch of a button, 24/7. Buy the phone and you’ll be able to reserve tables at restaurants, have your travel arrangements settled for you and, as I heard, enjoy limousine services. I really don’t know what to make of all this extravagance.

Visionary Philosopher?

Congratulations, Joel!
Your IQ score is 136

This number is the result of a formula based on how many questions you answered correctly on Tickle's Classic IQ test. Your IQ score is scientifically accurate; to read more about the science behind our IQ test, click here.

During the test, you answered four different types of questions — mathematical, visual-spatial, linguistic and logical. We analyzed how you did on each of those questions which reveals how your brain uniquely works.

We also compared your answers with others who have taken the test. According to the sorts of questions you got correct, we can tell your Intellectual Type is a Visionary Philosopher.

This means you are highly intelligent and have a powerful mix of skills and insight that can be applied in a variety of different ways. Like Plato, your exceptional math and verbal skills make you very adept at explaining things to others — and at anticipating and predicting patterns. And that's just some of what we know about you from your IQ results.


Erm...I think there's something wrong with the test. For one, I failed A Maths spectacularly in my JC days. I remember telling the teacher enough was enough after I got a ZERO for a test I took in her office. Unless of course they were using "exceptional" mockingly. Plus, I never understood Frege, Kiekergaard or Kant for that matter.

The IQ test is available here by the way.

The Daily Trudge

Recently, I decided to stop at Raffles Place MRT and walk to work from there instead of from Tanjong Pagar MRT. No doubt that the walk is a little longer and the route a little more complicated but there are more things to see along the way that make the walk much more enjoyable. This is ignoring the mundane trudge through the expressway that is the tunnel from Raffles Place to the real world, of course.

Emerging from the darkness, one is thrown into the hustle and bustle that is “insert road name here”. I can’t remember. Cecil St or Robinson Road or something like that. I spend most of this part of the walk staring at the roads. Apparently there are some obscenely rich folks on wheels in Singapore. Just today I spotted a Lotus Elise and a yellow Porsche Carrera. Yesterday produced a vintage Ferrari. The type that looks a bit square but cool nonetheless. One day I’m sure the Pagani Zonda will find its way onto our roads.

There’s this take-away Delifrance outlet across the road which looks kinda quaint in the British way. Something like what you’d find in London. Ironic. It’s small with a cosy looking interior and a take-away sign that looks like those you see in old movies at popcorn stands outside cinemas. At least that’s what it looked like to me. Boulangerie et Café Francais. Wonder what that means.

Of course, this being Singapore, one cannot escape crappy name syndrome. So following Delifrance comes Modern Beauty Salon or was it Hair Salon. Matters not. Names like that irk me for some reason. Then there’s Burger King and was it Starbucks? Ack. My memory fails me again. Must try the Burger King breakfast one day.

Back on my side of the road, Lau Pa Sat is next. There’s this café named the Great Panini Italian Café in there. Saw a few ang mohs sitting down having a puff. Not the place for us locals it seems. We prefer black coffee with you tiao thank you very much. Crossing the road from Lau Pa Sat, The Ogilvy Center awaits. Every time I pass this building I am filled with a discontent and self-loathing that is compounded by the sight of creatives with their Ogilvy stamped passes moving in and out. O&M, one of the largest, most creatively awarded agencies in the world and I’m not part of it. I envy you, Yvonne!!

But career rage aside, Subway pops up. Yes, a Subway right under Ogilvy. The injustice of it all. The day before, I went down with Suyi to get breakfast and she asked for a 3-inch sandwich which totally stumped the guy at the counter. “We only have 6-inch or foot long” he managed to blurt. I had to look down at my feet while the tears streamed from my eyes.

Spinelli’s and Ya Kun are next. I’m really focused on food, aren’t I? Anyways, the lime juice at Ya Kun is a must try. We all know about the kaya toast and the soft-boiled eggs. One of the “aunties” at the counter knows me already. I’m really spending too much money there. “xiao3 di4, he1 she3 me4? How anyone can call a 25-year old “xiao3 di4” is beyond me. An aside - a cup of hot tea or coffee costs $1 but ask for an iced tea or coffee and the price jumps to $1.80. 80 cents for ice! They must use Evian.

More food follows with some sandwich place (again for ang mohs though the $7 fry-up breakfast would appeal across the world), a few Indian eateries and Hans. The most worth-it thing at Hans is the steak set lunch. It tastes decent and, more importantly, is huge, frequently coming in the shape of the USA. I often start by slicing Florida off and finish up by wolfing down New York, moving in a sort of U-shape, if you may.

A whole paragraph on Hans and its steak, my goodness. There’s also this claypot place which is kinda pricey at $7 or so per serving but it sure looks good. MPH is located in the same building and this is where we often go for inspiration, also known as ripping off ideas. I’ve found many a line here which I’ve cunningly tweaked to suit my purposes. Round the bend is Caffe Brastilava. Yes, two Fs in Caffe and it’s Brastilava not Bratislava. Another ang moh place. Golden Bridge – nothing much to describe there. Mainly food again. And then it’s the office. Ack.

I saw a few familiar faces today around Shenton Way. While sitting at Ya Kun, I spied Yvonne walking past. But she doesn't really count cos I see her almost every week. New hairstyle though. The type that just screams out to be ruffled.

Went down for a walk with Suyi at about 5 and saw a JC mate of mine. I can't remember his name but I do know that he used to be the boyfriend of one of my classmates. I believe her name is Heather. JC seems so long ago suddenly.
Wonder what he's doing now; Business shirt and all compared to my jeans and t-shirt.

As I walked past The Ogilvy Center on my way to Raffles Place, I spotted Yvonne once again walking out of Spinelli's. That woman must spend a fortune on designer drinks.

Moving on, I chanced upon this Japanese girl who was in the same philosophy class in NUS. Can't remember her name, as usual, but I always had the impression that she was a little eccentric. Her dressing reflected that then and also today.

More walking brought me to Raffles Place MRT where I spotted, in the distance, a secondary school classmate. I think her name is Jolin. Never bothered to remember. Names have never been my strong point as compared to, say, shoe size.

Being busy has its pros and cons. On the bright side, time whizzes by, whereas, on the dark side, well, time whizzes by. (There were a lot of commas in that sentence and I have absolutely no idea if they were used correctly. Not that it matters.)

The week has come and almost gone and I have no idea where all the time’s disappeared to. It’s Thursday, which is great. The weekend finally beckons. But then again, I’ve had to return two library books I never had the time to finish. Pity. Deadlines have loomed and then zoomed by so many times that I’ve lost track of what I’ve done and what I’m supposed to do. Somehow, when you have a lot on your hands, they collectively weigh you down but yet individually become lighter, so much so that it has become a matter of getting things done rather than sincerely trying to put some creative effort into my work.

I’ve also found that I have trouble thinking visually. I can’t come up with witty juxtapositions or striking analogies, which is discouraging even though I’m predominantly copy-based. Concepts encompass everything and that includes visuals. Thankfully, I have visually gifted creatives working alongside my hopeless ass. This damn direct mailer had better go to print. I need something for my book!

Peranakans always "come back" (Koh, 2004)

The reference is true, you know.

Excuses for my absence for any event or function as of late has always been to the refrain, "well, you know, being in the army...", a phrase that has gotten stale (and a little bitter).

I've got to stop using it.

The main reason why I'm bringing it up is because a friend of mine is leaving Singapore and returning to her homeland in Hong Kong. Yes, its for good. It's likely that I'll never see her again.

What saddens me most about Xiuxin's leaving isn't just that she's going and not coming back. It's not even that army has made it difficult to find time off to meet with an old group of friends to have one last dinner with her.It's because somehow, someway, I'm always in a position where I'm out of sync with everything else around me.

If that confuses you, trust me, it's hard to put it in any other way. It's just that I find myself constantly in terra incognitio and can't seem to stay long in any familiar surroundings. The moment I get comfortable, I get ripped out and planted somewhere else. Its been happening since primary school, and has only gotten more chronic as of late.

Coming back to Xiuxin (who I think has one of the sweetest voices I have ever heard), even though I have known her for some time, I can't help but feel detached from the entire situation. I don't know if I can call it apathy, but I'm thinking it's close.

Well, dear friends, if I can offer any advice, it's to forget about enemies - keep your friends close, keep close friends closer. Sometimes, other people are the only ones who can keep you sane.

Creatives of the world unite! Down with them pesky clients and their wilful ideas! Okok… so we wouldn’t be around if not for them… but that’s just a minor technicality.

Birds' eyes view of the world

Anyone seen that Gary Larson cartoon before, where everyone has a bulls eye on their head? Well, I'm starting to believe it. saw the ice-cream man after lunch today and proceeded to get a thick slab of low-quality chocolate ice-cream between a pair of wafer biscuits. My colleagues went on ahead, and traffic was heavy, so I waited to cross while enjoying my dessert. Waiting under trees is bad news, tip #1: just like in a fast-paced FPS, always move. staying in one place is an invitation for trouble.

so.. i got a big one on my right shoulder, not too far from where i was holding my ice-cream. eww.. it was really wet, and had red stuff in it. I didn't really want to look too close. It started to seep into my shirt, grr.. tried to continue eating with my left hand, eating just isn't the same when you've got faeces on your body. None of my colleagues had tissue paper, so had to use my right hand to separate the shirt from my body, while eating with my left hand. tip #2: always bring tissue paper.

so i tahaned all the way to the office. went to the first floor toilet. couldn't find a place to put down the ice cream, so went on to gobble it down. I wonder why cold food doesn't give brain freeze like drink does. used toilet paper to wipe off the offending material. first wet, then dry. but toilet paper doesn't really dry shirts. tip #3: the real use of hand dryers is to dry clothing. Just remember to take them off first, I nearly burnt my shoulder.

so it dried pretty ok, no stain. I'm good to go for the event tonight. Just that now i wish i didn't finish the ice-cream.. wonder if any of that poop got onto it. too late now to regret. tip #4: don't eat dubious food.

bah, i wish i didn't decide to have ice-cream, i wish i had walked faster and not kept still, I wish that red car didn't turn so fast so I could've crossed the road slightly earlier, I wish I didn't finish the ice-cream.

I wish I had Spider-sense.

Three briefs in a week. My brain feels like it’s been fried, steamed and then put in a blender. This usually results in a smooth, albeit slightly greasy paste, that can be cooled and drunk as a smoothie. Plus, I managed to sprain my neck during a visit to the toilet. I have no idea how I did it and don’t wish to explore any creative opinions anyone might have as to how this unfortunate turn of events might have come to pass.

The botanic gardens is a conducive place for idea production as I found out yesterday. There’s something about watching a duck chase pigeons around while a swan floats lazily on the water in the background that eases the process of idea conception. It just somehow felt right. Maybe I really am losing it.

Presenting the Sunday Basketball Court Kickabout Team seen here looking triumphant despite just letting in 6 goals and scoring only 3. But as they say, it's not winning that matters, it's how you lose.