Here’s an admission: I write sucky copy.

No, it doesn’t suck in the grammatical sense. It sucks in the sense that nobody will ever read it. Or, even if they do somehow muster the willpower to try and comprehend the words, they’d fail miserably.

Why?

It’s full of corporate-speak and/or technical jargon. It’s bursting with buzzwords that’ve been used ad nauseam. Imagine eating a cinnamon roll that’s ALL cinnamon. I myself strain to proofread my own copy.

But yet I continue to churn it out because, like it or not, it’s the client that I have to satisfy at the end of the day, not myself nor the target audience.

And what the client wants is stuff that contains crap words/phrases like “leverage”, “cost-effective” and “scalable” in everything about IT solutions. Not forgetting a liberal sprinkling of acronyms such as “XML”, “MySQL” and “JSP”. Just an aesthetic touch you understand.

When it comes to training and certification, they want to convey the idea that learning with them will “fast track” or “accelerate” your career. They want copy that will motive the TA to “take the leap” with them onto the “cutting-edge”. Wherever that is, whatever that means.

Ok, fair enough. They’re a huge IT company and they’re entitled to want to put in the technical bits or the corporate claptrap. But, as if that wasn’t bad enough, they want to be friendly and personal as well. Maybe I’m not skilled enough but I’m having difficulty reconciling the two.

Anyway, for those of you who need help (everyone really) in understanding corporate-speak, here’re a few definitions I’ve shamelessly copied from here.

Challenge
A big problem that nobody in the company knows how to fix. A challenge may very well lead to the demise of said company. If your company spends more time talking about challenges than home runs, it may be time to look for a new job.

Corporate
The group of people in a company that make the important decisions and all of the money. You are most likely not a member of this group.

Corporate Vision
The list of things that a company would like to provide and accomplish. Most are more like hallucinations than visions.

Fast Track
Usually referring to a person that has moved up the corporate ladder faster than they could prove their worth or be held accountable for the mess they made.

Leverage
A fancy version of the word "use." For example, instead of saying "We could use your product knowledge to help us make a sale", the corporate type would say, "We could leverage your product knowledge to help us make a sale". The use of this word is one of many examples of people trying to sound important in the office.

Resource
An employee. Resources are managed by a group which calls itself "Human Resources." Like hardware, resources have fixed lifespans, can become obsolete and can even malfunction.

Value-added
Tacking on extra features (for free) to an existing product so that customers have difficulty comparing prices with competitors.

win/win
A fascinating business concept that somehow eliminates the "loser" in any deal or project. A win/win situation is when a customer pays their bills on time and doesn't ever complain.

Hallelujah or just Haha?

An excerpt from The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut

“O Lord Most High, Creator of the Cosmos, Spinner of Galaxies, Soul of Electromagnetic Waves, Inhaler and Exhaler of Inconceivable Volumes of Vacuum, Spitter of Fire and Rock, Trifler with Millennia – what could we do for Thee that Thou couldst not do for Thyself one octillion times better? Nothing. What could we do or say that could possibly interest Thee? Nothing. Oh, Mankind, rejoice in the apathy of our Creator, for it makes us free and truthful and dignified at last. No longer can a fool like Malachi Constant point to a ridiculous accident of good luck and say, ‘Somebody up there likes me.’ And no longer can a tyrant say, ‘God wants this or that to happen, and anybody who doesn’t help this or that to happen is against God.’ O Lord Most High, what a glorious weapon is Thy apathy, for we have unsheathed it, have thrust and slashed mightily with it, and the claptrap that has so often enslaved us or driven us into the madhouse lies slain.

The Reverend C. Horner Redwine
The Barnstable First Church of God the Utterly Indifferent

Even though it's got quack written all over it, it's not an untenable position to hold. Ah well, I refuse to think about religion right now.

Men are good at some things, women at others. Men, for example, excel at operating remote controls, carrying shopping bags and maintaining a horny disposition. Women, on the other hand, are good at watching soaps endlessly, getting out of carrying shopping bags and giving men their generally horny disposition. They are also ridiculously good at planning vacations. Which is exactly what Pat did at the NATAS travel fair over the weekend.

At every counter we got to, she invariably did the talking. She knew all the relevant questions, spotted the best bargains and managed to dig out everything there was to know. I, conversely, sat or stood around trying to look intensely interested. Not that I couldn’t be bothered with the trip, I just didn’t want to deal with the details.

So it is that we’ll be headed for Taiwan in December for five glorious days of eating. Forty meals in five days is quite realistic, I think. It’s all about gastronomic fortitude (see John’s crab entry) and digestive enzyme supplements.

We do many things to strengthen parts of our bodies
Heart - go jogging
Biceps - do preacher curls
Abs - do crunches
Fingers - Go to Mellben

I'll be lying if I said that we seeked out this Down-Under-sounding crab coffeeshop for the fitness of our phalanges, but it sure worked out that way. After almost an hour, you suddenly realise that your legs are still there, numb no doubt, but there. Everything seems to come to a standstill when you are wrestling with dead crustaceans.

You finally realise what an Olympian feels on the day of the race. You hear only your heartbeat, the crowd is mostly a blur (much like the Winning 11 audience), your mind is tuned to respond only to the starting buzz... ok, that's quite exagerrating it, but we did miss a whole raining spell in the process of taking down two large crabs, one in butter herb sauce and the other in black pepper.

Next time, claypot vermicelli crab, looks real delicious. With a little training and practice, we may even be able to follow Joel's original plan: one man, one crab.

Titanic was screened last night for the 47th time. And I’m sure they’ve used that trailer before. The one proclaiming how much water, how many extras and how many retakes were involved.

Anyway, in keeping with the maritime theme, here’s an old picture which I still find hilarious.

An unwed mother is less of a mother than a married one

Is this the stand the government is taking in its pro-family drive?

Part of Dr Vivian Balakrishnan’s reply when queried as to why pro-family benefits do not extend to unwed mothers:

“We recognise they [unwed mothers] have needs and we will do our best to help them. But they cannot be pegged at the same level as women who are married or who were previously married and are now divorced or are widowed through no fault of their own.”

This is hogwash.

Married or not, a mother is a mother and she will need help in raising her children. This is even more so in the case of unwed mothers and yet the government decides that these are exactly the type of people they will graciously turn their backs on.

But of course, the state claims there are reasons for this, no doubt for the greater good as inevitably seems to be the case.

For one, Dr Balakrishnan claims that we cannot afford to let the state become a surrogate father.

But he’s missing the point totally.

The issue here isn’t whether unwed mothers should get more benefits than married ones, it’s whether they should get equal benefits. We’re not talking about the government making any special effort to help them. We’re talking about giving them the assistance and respect they deserve based on their status as mothers and NOT on their marital status.

Dr Balakrishnan goes on to say:

“Our intention was not to make it harder for them. But we did need to send a social signal that in marriage and procreation... the best environment which children are born into must be a nuclear family.”

Let me get this straight. By denying these benefits to a single mother, who in all probability, will have to work, raise her child and endure some level of discrimination, the government isn’t intentionally making things difficult? Maybe he means this on some higher metaphysical level which I am unable to comprehend cos it sure looks like unwed mothers are getting the short end of the stick here.

And what’s that I hear about a “social signal”? Maybe he could’ve been clearer by saying this “We want to make sure that people will look at an unwed mother’s situation and think to themselves “I wouldn’t wanna be in her shoes”.

An aside: Why didn’t Irene Ng, the MP who raised this question, have any rebuttals? Oh wait, I forgot I was reading the Straits Times.

In my years of experience with urinals, I have found them downright impossible to miss. Even when raving drunk, the golden arc has been fired no more than a few inches off center. It’s simple. You stand with your feet shoulder width apart right smack in front of one and let fly. It’s foolproof. Or is it?

Apparently not.

Judging from the swamp-like appearance of the average male toilet, you’d think we were trying to pee into teacups. Puddles here and puddles there, some joining forces to become super-puddles which are awfully slippery and stink to the heavens. So, after sloshing through the muck and being forced to pee on tiptoe, the obvious question comes to mind - how on earth do they do it?

A scene from Me, Myself and Irene comes to mind. “Myself” has just spent the night screwing around with Irene, leaving “Me” to wake up in the morning, stand in front of the toilet bowl, and pee straight into a picture frame on the right wall.

Hmmm… the possibilities present themselves. Perhaps the lawyers next door aren’t just busy practicing law. Perhaps the folks at EFI across the corridor are really EFI-ing around.

But despite the government’s repeated calls for more sex, surely there are some non-conformists who remain staunchly celibate purely on anti-PAP grounds. What could cheese our beloved leaders off more than a well-coordinated refusal to exchange bodily fluids? Already we can hear Dr Chee’s impassioned cries. “We aren’t prostitutes!” or “Money ≠ Sex!”. And, to show his commitment, he gives his wife the cold shoulder. No hunger strike needed, no futile Queen’s Counsel, no damages to be paid.

But I digress. The question in point now is - how do the rest of them miss?

Alas, one can only speculate. Perhaps the relief of one’s bladder is such cause for celebration that they are compelled to perform a jig while performing the act. Perhaps when one of the missers steps up to the urinal, the laws of physics discreetly look away. Perhaps they were simply re-enacting a scene from Anaconda. I cannot say.

But right now there is no time for further analysis because, if you’ll excuse me, I need to wash my shoes.

Parenting is a thankless job. Not only do your children take up all your time and money, grow up and then leave you at home (or at a home), now you get stupid as well!

Head of study, Dr Hosung Lee said: "It explains why parents think their kid is the smartest in class or the best athlete, even if that child is as dumb as a box of rocks or needs a calendar to time a 100-yard sprint."

A real life Becker.

"Then" Should Be "Now"

Writing ads is fascinating. Every detail counts. I’d been fretting over one particular ad for a few days. Just one word in the whole paragraph gnawed at me incessantly – the 2nd “Then”. Did it make sense? It did. Was it necessary? It was. Did it sound repetitive? To me it did but I wasn’t sure. So I showed it to a few people but none of them felt anything needed to be changed. “Maybe I’m just being over-fussy again”, I thought. Nonetheless, I showed it one more person, Ah Neh (never mind how the nickname came about). He said, matter-of-factly, “Then” should be “Now” and tears welled up in my eyes. Of course! That was it. Why hadn’t I thought of that? It was right there on my bloody nose. Ah heck. That’s the way it is sometimes.


[Weiming, upon accosting me at Khatib MRT] You look like a Malay.

Ack.

Over the last week, I’ve had the misfortune of writing website after website. While some have been mucking about in Bintan on the pretext of a company retreat and a certain quality analyst has been spending “defect” free days lazing about in his industrial building, I have been churning out the most boring stuff the virtual community has ever seen.

I have no interest in writing promotional websites especially when the product/event is essentially the same, just that the countries are different. There’s no sense of achievement hence not many braincells willingly get drawn into combat. Most remain intent on sending and receiving hunger signals or thinking about sex or wondering why all they think about is food and sex.

(And, as if to say “There you go, son. Here’s a little variety for ya”, I have just been tasked to write an invitation eDM.)

But it hasn’t been all bad. I actually had the chance to work on a campaign, even though the product was kinda boring. For once, some copy-driven ads made it to the frontline, where they’ll no doubt be shot down by the client. It’s a step forward though. They usually get shot by me first.

Before I Forget

1984 now sits proudly by my bed. Many thanks to Gavin who graciously lent me the book.

Gratitude also to those who had the book but misplaced it, had delusions that they owned it or went “whaddat” when I asked to borrow it.

[My sister, on enema salesmen (she really knows someone who sells enemas, coffee ones)] “Need enema? Ass me!”

On Being a Creative

Thank you, Yvonne. You took the words right out of my mouth.

The homemade curry at the Amara Hotel foodcourt is absolutely fiery. If Life of Pi can make you believe in God, then this curry will surely send you to meet your maker.

The heat doesn’t hit you right away. It’s only after you’ve gone beyond the point of no return that this cunning gravy starts pouring hot coals on your tongue. The taste builds up in layers. The tongue is duped into thinking it’s harmless and by the time it wakes up with a start, your goose and most of the inside of your mouth are well and truly cooked. This is bringing the phrase “an acquired taste” to a whole new level.

As if the pain isn’t bad enough, you start sweating profusely and yelping like a wet seal, using up someone else’s tissue paper because you didn’t have the foresight to come equipped with a towel before your volcanic adventure. I suggest you have buckets of iced water on hand to plunge your head in, just in case.

The irritating thing about this particular foodcourt is its obsession with disposable utensils. Styrofoam bowls and plates are fine. They keep the food warm and prevent the screeching-of-forks-on-glass/metal/plastic-plates-experience that has caused many a diner to chew through his tongue. Plastic utensils, however, are unacceptable, especially when the user is currently semi-incapacitated by a searing pain emanating predominantly from his oral cavity. And so, with quivering hands, I attempt to dice the chicken up into bite-sized pieces. I’m sure that most will understand that cutting chicken up with plastic utensils is like walking through a minefield. Shrapnel (or flying fork heads) is a constant threat so you have to tread very very carefully. I start scraping gingerly at my chicken. This results in a pile of meat that looks like it’s been freshly butchered with a pile driver, leaving me slightly disappointed but glad to be alive.

There really isn’t a point to all this except to warn potential curry connoisseurs of the dangers of this particular outlet. If you would like to continue enjoying the services of your taste buds, then I gravely discourage you from tasting the fish curry for legend claims that it is twice as hot.

When the Lees sue, the Lees inevitably win, it seems. Not even the Economist can escape. (Apology here) As usual, all damages will be donated to charity. Soon we won’t need anymore President’s Star Charity nonsense.

Bookhunt

I watched with glee as The Elephant Vanishes vanished for good down the book return chute. No more shrieking while perched atop toilet bowls, no more head-banging on the MRT handgrips, no more sudden proclamations of death and destruction.

And then I walked into the library looking for more Murakami.

Why I bother with his novels and short stories is still beyond me. (The only difference between a Murakami novel and a Murakami short story is the intensity of pain felt at the end.) Maybe it’s the way the plot draws me in, like an unsuspecting rat, right to the arsenic (after which I often roll over and wish I was dead). Or could it be the way he brings out each excruciating detail in the phenomenon that is puppy love? Or maybe it’s sheer wackiness? Nothing appeals to a reader more than a good reality-bashing. All I’m sure of is that I could do with more.

No luck this time though. I’d read everything they had. Bleah. No Norwegian Wood again.

So I went in search of 1984. Once again, zilch. Is this book banned or something? I did, however, get my hands on his first novel, Burmese Days. Not sure what to expect but I suppose anything by Orwell will be good.

Browsing through a library’s collection, other than the library at Orchard, is often a wonderful experience. Sure, there’re disappointments, but, more often than not, they’re made up for with serendipitous discoveries such as Yann Martel’s The Life of Pi which I chanced upon while unsuccessfully trying to seek out Groucho Marx.

The Life of Pi, by the way, is a novel about a boy who is stranded on a lifeboat in the Pacific with a hyena, a zebra, an orang-utan and a Bengal tiger. Apparently, this book will also “make you believe in God”. Now how can that not be interesting?

Next book to go in my bag - Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. I have no idea what this is about. I just borrowed it because I read The Virgin Suicides also by Eugenides. Anyone who has read this story will know that it is one heck of a painful experience. Not in the same way that Murakami’s novels leave you frustrated and dissatisfied, but in the sense that the inevitable is… well… inevitable. The Lisbon sisters are doomed. One by one they will each find wonderful ways to snuff out their already quivering flames. The synopsis makes that much clear and the first few pages plunge you straightaway into (or at least what looks like) a suicide. I have seen many a fellow commuter clutching this book on the train, lips furled, brows knit, just straining to avoid the next death.

Why didn’t the sisters realise there was a whole world out there, away from that dank home, away from the clutches of their parents’ myopic sentiments? Why didn’t anyone try to save them? Why didn’t anyone notice? It just drives me crazy. Hopefully Middlesex will be on a somewhat more cheerful note. Hopefully.

Any new recommendations would be most welcome. I'm running out of authors to explore.

Sometimes we deal with clients from the Hong Kong office so teleconferencing is really a godsend. It also helps immensely that the client can’t see you tearing up at her Honkie/American accent.

“Why you backtraaking?? We been on this forty-five meeneet and you stew tokking ‘bout registraaaytion. I want to tok about the websai and wowcher confirmation!”

But I suppose they’re laughing at us on the other end as well so it all evens out.

[on the radio] Laughingstock - cattle with a sense of humour.

This is supposed to cheer us up.

The Elephant Vanishes

Reading short stories by Haruki Murakami is like getting high. Not that I have ever smoked anything but it feels meaningless in the same way. His stories build up wonderfully. There’s so much potential. You can feel it bubbling in every line. Each twist of events, each character thought, each out-of-this-world analogy promises so much.

The lady who loses the ability to sleep finds a whole new life before her. She drives out in the middle of the night to take in some air. She stops her car by the bay and switches the engine off to relax. A hand gropes her window followed by others. Her car begins to rock. They’re trying to tip her over. She tries to start the engine. It won’t catch. She takes the key out to try again but drops it. She starts to cry. They’re trying to tip her over. She bends down to feel for her keys. It’s nowhere to be found. They’re trying to tip her over. She’s locked in her box. There's no way out. They’re trying to tip her over.

And so it ends.

Which pisses me off deeply.

It’s the climax, for crying out loud! There’s gotta be some closure to it all. But nooooooooo. It just ends. Flip the page and you’re faced with the title of the next story. Wham! Huh? What happened? Wow! I discovered the ground with my head! Druggies may be able to relate to this.

Nonetheless, I’m still chugging through The Elephant Vanishes. The first time I read this collection was roughly five years ago and I didn’t remember a thing. Which is why I borrowed it again; so I could relive the frustration of discovering the ground with my head.

Good going, Murakami.