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Joe's secret

Three months in.

Today officially marks the end of my probation period at this agency. Three months – come and gone in a flash. I still feel green and yet I also feel like I’ve been here forever. The contradiction is hard to understand. Perhaps it’s because I’m just getting by on a day-to-day basis. I have no real attachment to this place. The work is numbing, the bosses don’t give a fuck and my seat makes my ass hurt (I know that’s beside the point).

So am I looking around for other openings? Of course I am. It’s part and parcel of being in this industry. The moment something better comes along, you pounce. But it’s hard to keep the scepticism down. As they say, different place, same old shit.

What I’m hoping for wherever I should go is a mentor – someone who actually has the patience to sit down and tell me where I’ve gone wrong instead of strutting around the whole day basking in his own creative brilliance. I know it’s unrealistic but there’s no harm looking. Maybe getting my grounding in a small agency is the way to go. I’m not sure at all.

On a slightly brighter note, there’s an ad I worked on going out in the papers next week. Sure, it’s a crappy property ad and the headline got massacred by the client but it’s an ad nonetheless. And the version with the original headline is going into my portfolio – a welcome addition to a book that’s scanty by any standard.

Tabula at China One.

If you’re looking for good live music, then I suggest you head down to China One along Clarke Quay. The resident band there is Tabula – a four man outfit that does some surprisingly good covers. Their repertoire includes old favourites from the likes of Gin Blossoms and Soul Asylum as well as current hits from Maroon 5, Stereophonics, Green Day and more. Oh, and they apparently do quite a lot of Incubus as you will discover from their website.

The lead singer has a grungy/pop-ish voice. I don’t know how to describe it. Sounds kinda like Hansen meets Dave Pirner. Sure, he misses a few notes here and there but so does Chris Martin. Very easy on the ear overall.

That’s all the plugging I’m gonna do for now. Go down and find out for yourself.

Pilgrimage to Momo

She couldn’t stop fiddling with her hands as we walked along the river towards Central Mall. “I just need to see Momo” was her mantra, murmured every fifteen steps or so. She’d resolved the day before that she’d stop clubbing. And now, barely thirty hours later on a sweltering Friday night, she was wavering like a man on a tightrope with an elephant on his back.

In the place of actual clubbing, she claimed that all she needed was to see the place – to take in every inch of those huge letters and also sneak a few quick whiffs of that odd smell that only a club can produce – and she’d be fine.

This, unsurprisingly, made no sense to me. But then, addictions seldom do. At least she was trying; via chanting the said mantra, playing with her hands and… er… growling occasionally. That coaxed some respect and a lot of laughter out of me and so I accompanied her on her pilgrimage.

We decided to walk. I had absolutely no idea how to get there but she knew. Surprise, surprise.

In time, the four magical letters appeared through the trees.

M… O… M… O…

We fell silent. It was the biggest anti-climax ever. But that was just for me. It seemed like she was going through her own little catharsis.

Five minutes was all it took. There was some sighing and longing looks but she managed to peel herself away. It had worked on some unexplained metaphysical level. She stopped toying with her fingers; the chanting was no more and, thankfully, so was the growling. We walked away filled with some odd sense of accomplishment.

Still, I’m sure she’ll be tempted again soon. I’m giving her (yes, you!) two weeks before she succumbs. Of course, she could just choose not to tell me about it but that’d be cheating. We wouldn’t want any of that now, would we?