The Art Of War

The key to successful marketing is to eliminate the competitors from our target's mindspace. What this means is literally kicking any memory, positive feelings, or any association to the competitor's brand, ads, logo or sloppy slogans, out of the way.

At a recent birthday party, I had a very interesting conversation with an ex-colleague of mine. She got to the topic of how she managed to successfully conquer the full capacity of her (then guy-she-wanted-to hook-up-with, turned boyfriend, and now husband)'s brain by destroying the competition.

Story starts with her already sort of knowing the guy, and they were at a party . Enter intelli-skank, in the form of a 5'10", overly-rebonded hair executive of a woman who snaps her neck at a 40 degree angle everytime she laughs just so that her hair could demonstrate it's fully conditioned salon-treatment-at-home look (no offence, Vidal Sassoon - or was it VO5?).

Upon eavesdropping, my friend learns that intelli-skank was going full-on about politics, the decline of the world's social structure and the financial crisis befalling developed nations. The whole time whiplashing a few waiters passing by and annoying the rest of the world with her put-on Chelsea accent and glowing in her intelli-skankness.

A smart strategic planner such as my friend knew that the only way to counter offensive a competitive intruder is to lie in wait beyond the grass plains like a lioness and let all the hot air steam out before striking for the jugular. And true enough, the hot air subsided as intelli-skank excused herself to go to the ladies.

My friend proceeded to walk up to Mr. Oblivious-to-fake-skanks and clinked her glass with his and gestured for a toast. "What were you guys talking about?". "Politics. World hunger. She really was very enthusiastic about those topics. I could see by the way she was telling me all about those things."

My friend nodded, then put her glass on the bar top, and pulled his ear as close to her lips as possible.

"I like porn."

Brilliant.

Holy Crap

Ever had one of those dreams where everything was completely fucked up and you're just screaming to yourself to wake up? I usually do. The funny thing is, most of the times, you know you were dreaming.

For me - either if the scene had me alongside Indiana Jones trying to solve an ancient riddle before the cave was completely filled with water and poisonous sea snakes, or if it was me getting low,low,low,low on the dancefloor with a Beyonce lookalike booty but then pleasantly surprised with the face of Omarosa (from The Apperentice) - I always had a 50/50 emotion of utter terror that shit was going down, yet the most peaceful inner comfort that i knew it was just a dream and that sooner or later, I'd wake up.

That feeling, my friends, is like getting an anaphylactic shock while doing the horizontal lambada. Or like throwing up on the 8th round of salt-tequila-lime and knowing that after the horrible ordeal, you're set to go for no. 9.

That's why we probably enjoy The Grudge (1 and 2) or Final Destination (1,2 and killer No. 3!), Knowing the fact that after shamelessly gripping your girlfriend's thighs and squealing every 7 minutes under your own fag-breath, you can safely walk out of the cinema and tell yourself that it was a good movie. But most importantly, that it was a movie.

But sometimes, you come face to face with a situation in real life that makes you wonder, or wish, that it too, was a dream. And you wait and wait and wait for that "Ah-ha!" moment just like the one in your dream (as you strangle one poisonous snake with your left hand while helping Indy fit another Aztec stone to solve the deadly riddle with your right hand) when you sheepishly smile in your sleep and say to yourself "It's just a dream! Ah hahahahahahahaha" - But that moment never comes.

And the longer you wait, the more sea snakes come hissing your way. And you know Indy can't perform when snakes are involved.

No Dorothy shoes to click, no Ziggy (from Quantum Leap by the way) to consult, and no Doraemon to pull a magic door from his magic pocket.

Shit.

But hey, look at the bigger picture. Our whole life in existence could just be one big dream. 'Cause life doesn't begin at 40 or 50 apparently. It begins in the afterlife.

Good luck to you on this one.

The Swing Of Things

My neighborhood buddies came over to the house for Hari Raya yesterday. It was a blast.

We laughed like the old days. The eating and drinking became just a-matter-of-fact.

Old jokes remained as fresh as ever. And just as funny as they were 5-7 years ago.

The topics of the newer conversations circled around due dates, his daughter's habits and refreshingly enough, plans for what excuses to give the wives for the next karaoke session.

Time seemed to zoom back 10 years yesterday. Down there, on my driveway, smoking and talking crap. With our wives strategically compounded in the living room upstairs.

Good friends are unlike your golf swing. When you haven't played in awhile, you usually have to take some time to get your swing back. With friends like mine, no matter how long it's been since we last hung out carelessly, we have a swingin' good time right at the get go.

By the way that picture there is about 2-3 years old. So there...

Cheers, Boys!

Guilt Ridden Grown Up

The older you get, the more baggage you seem to collect to add to your collection of should have, must have, could have and would have.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not talking about the Sophie Kinsella type situations (though I swear to you I don't read Kinsella. Bleuch)

I'm talking about how being an adult and moving on often puts you in precarious positions if you stop to think about it sometimes.

As Eid Mubarak approaches, I can't help but think of all the things I would have been doing if and when I was younger.

If I was younger and still living with my parents, I would be spring cleaning the house right about now. Helping my mom roll up the old carpets, spread out the new ones. Perch on a high stool to wipe off the dust of the fan fins. Bring out the superpowered Rainbow vacuum and suck out all of last year's mess in the living room. Back then I hated it, right now I miss it. And also feel guilty for not being there to do it.

If I was younger and still gallivant with my buddies day in and night outs, I would be out at some stall somewhere, chugging coffee flavoured sugar liquids at the mamak stall, talking shit and trying to come home just about 5:30 am before Imsak. Though it was tiring and often mundane, right now I miss it. And also feel guilty for not having the time to call and hang out.

If I was younger and still a bachelor, I would be thumbing away on my mobile wishing every prospect on my list festive greetings in hopes of getting someone somewhere a reply to acknowledge my existence so that I can feel good about myself and feel less lonely. Back then I yearned it, right now I dont miss it at all.

Instead, I'm lying in bed next to my beautiful pregnant (sleeping) wife and my unborn daughter, waiting to drift into sleepiness so I can hug them both to sleep.

And maybe tomorrow I'll vacuum our own house and wipe our fan fins.

And maybe tomorrow I'll hang out with both of them till 5:30 am before Imsak.

Life comes and pulls you forward. It's always good to look in the rearview mirror at times to remember what's important. But you have to always keep your eyes on the road to get to where you're going. And not get hit by an SUV, if you're lucky.

Happy driving!

How (Not) To Break Up With Someone

Feeling a bit nostalgic tonight after hearing a coupla stories about people I know who had recently broken up. It's never a clean getaway. Or if you're on the other side of the fence, It's never that easy to understand.
Being 7 months shy of the big 3-0 (April next year), I wouldl like to impart some knowledge on the art, or the lack of, of breaking up with someone.
Brace yourselves, for these are not mere theoretical or conceptual tips. They were tried and tested, with the defensive wounds to prove it.

Here's how NOT to break up with someone.


1. Tell her you're not the right guy for her after sticking your tongue down her throat in the middle of the dance floor, completely intoxicated by a birthday boy concoction called the "Graveyard Shift"

2. Telling her it's because you're uncomfortable being a Malay boyfriend sized up against her 3 chinese doctor elder brothers

3. Leave her by the side of the road, pulling hairs and clawing away with an unknown crazy woman who apparently is her ex boyfriend's current girlfriend at 3 am along Jalan Jelatek. At least break up the fight and drop her off somewhere safer.

4. Blame it on the FuBu concept that turned ugly. It was always designed to turn ugly.

5. Send her best friend to try and explain to her why you did what you did

6. Over the phone, 12 hours behind in a different timezone

7. At the VIP lounge, after being caught

8. While driving. In your sportscar. With her in the passenger seat.

9. Accuse her of a lying vixen when that you thought she was an aeronautical engineer when she said she worked at an airline.

10. Saying that it's not her...it's YOU.

Good luck, and don't make me say I told you so.

The Banana Club

There's this place we called The Banana Club. It was situated behind some poor family's house right opposite our high school's side entrance.

The Banana Club existed roughly about 13-14 years ago. Back then it wasn't called The Banana Club. I have no idea what they called it then, nor a clue what they call it now.

I passed by The Banana Club sometime earlier this week and it was stil abuzz with activity, just as it has always been 13 years ago.

You see, The Banana Club was where we met everyday, before and after school. Many things happened at The Banana Club. Things that shaped the way we are today. Things that changed our perceptions. Some forever, and some as we go along through adulthood.

Social activities usually start from 7am Mondays to Friday. For members that took the school bus, they were always at The Club pretty early. For the ones on bikes and on foot, we were always there just in time for the morning fag and manly gossip sessions.

You can always tell there was activity at The Club by the thick smoke snaking through the trees. Morning salutations were given, idle chit chats and doobies being passed through de left hand side.

It was a place for formal functions as well. The welcoming of new faces. Of brotherhoods. Of alliances. There were happy and dark times. Mostly after school, judgements passed at the club. fists and feet become judge and jurors. Maturity was the outcome.

Blood, tears, laughter, happiness, dissapointments, tall tales. That was what The Banana Club were to all whom I knew.

I hope it still serves its purpose well till today. The trees have many a tale to tell. Some to remain a secret forever, and some to peek silently at you after all those years as you drive by, with your family in tow.

I always wink back when I drive past The Banana Club. And for all those new secrets that it hears and witnesses for this generation and the generation to come, I hope that those who enter and eventually say goodbye to it, will live and learn to tell their tales. Of The Banana Club.

Perfectly Different

I remember someone telling me that once you're dead, once the end of the world is over, and once the world of heaven and hell begins, there is a sad, but true fact that we have to accept.

That even in Heaven, there may be certain clauses.

The concept of Heaven is that it's a place where every good soul will ultimately and eternally enjoy the rewards of their earthly labours and sacrifices.

A daughter that selflessly took care of her sick mother for 23 years may not want to see her mother anymore. Instead, she may want to surround herself with 23 naked New York Firemen.

A wife that has sacrificed her earthly lust for the neighbors husband to be faithful to her own, may want to spend her eternity doing the horizontal lambada with Mr. Swinton (just picked that up from nowhere) next to a river flowing with Dom Perignon.

The point is, every soul will be busy with their own rewards. Everyone will be relatively the same age (so I was told).

And therefore, when your one wish is to meet up with a certain someone that you miss, the person that appears before you is a 110% exact replica of that person, even down to his deviated septum. Not, the real person. Or the actual person's soul. That person is busy with their own vivid and/or devilish plans.

Will you get to meet up with your mom? Of course. Her exact replica. Your mom will be busy canoodling with Rober Redford (also his replica) or Lawrence of Arabia.

How will it feel? Will we be contented? Or will it be that person, who is perfectly different?

I'll tell you what though: I wouldn't mind a replica of Anna Ohura, Marquetta Jewel and Ava Devine any time of the day!