Monday, December 29, 2008


I want to fucking cut up my Ikea pillows and find out why they are so soft.

They say it's downfeather.

I don't know if I should feel guilty.

Isn't that like killing a bird and defeathering it for the sake of my comfort?

I feel like an absolute college student farming wiki for info but it says:

Down can be collected in a variety of ways. Birds which provide the feathers may be used for other purposes, for example to provide meat. Some birds are killed solely for their down, while some birds (particularly some geese) are periodically live-plucked of their breast feathers. Some birds, such as the eider duck, line their nests with down, and such down is harvested safely after the young leave the nest.

I dunno which method Ikea uses. They're all Swedish hippies anyway right? My karma should be in good stead.

Sunday, December 28, 2008

Merry Christmas, etcetera

They say writing is a muscle.

If so then at this point my vigor must be equivalent to that of a child flailing wildly at solid steel pinatas.

New years plans are as follows with long winded descripts:

Either go to

1)Cockfest at friends house

Hang out with "the boys", and hope that a decent number of attractive women show up. This will eventually lead to everyone getting no-less than sloshed and then deciding to hook up with anything that stumbles around the room in a druken haze wearing a skirt. Unfortunately I'm not a big fan of finding that 6 and drinking till she's a 9 theory, so this doesn't look too likely.

2)Cockfest at my house, with rock band

Hang out with "the boys", sans women. Having no women around removes the complication of alcohol-induced horniness(spelling?). Instead it will be a bunch of boys getting completely smashed and yelling at TV for several hours. I find Rock Band to be the ultimate Karaoke get-up. By 4 am, I imagine several people with arms on the shoulders of each other yelling "SOOOO SALLY CAN WAIT" at the top of their lungs. For some reason, I find this quite endearing. Might happen.

3)Cockfest at some random venue in the city

Leave at 6 to avoid "the jam", end up in "motherfucking huge jam" anyway. Cue sighing for several hours in hopes of arriving at aforementioned venue on schedule. Listen to the radio with heavy heart, and to the snarky DJs which have no sympathy for those stuck in the jam (but are forced to act obligingly cheery). If he's confined to a small box for New Years, you might as well fucking be too. Arrive, squeeze past everyone with similar intentions. Oooh and aahh at fireworks ala primal urges to coo at pretty bright things.

4)Find some random broad, have lots of sex

Applications open. Must be hot. Talking optional.

Sunday, July 20, 2008

I am driving 85 and making real music

So I started playing guitar again.

I've been playing like 8 years now. On and off. However as is the case with most people that pick up an instrument, I leave it more often than I pick it up. With work being so erratic, it's hard to dedicate yourself to anything. I like to pretend I have something resembling a social life, so where does that leave me.

Well turns out if I'm in front of the computer and I have a guitar on my lap I can do several things at once.

Even better, for the first time in 8 years something special happened.

I can play guitar and sing at the same time!

I'm not terribly uncoordinated. It's just one of thise things that never worked out. However I dug deep and found the ability about a day ago. So I've been going nuts with it ever since. Maybe I use my right brain so much nowadays that things have been wired differently up there in my cranium.

Not being able to play the guitar and sing is a terrible curse. Makes you feel incomplete. It's like having sex but not feeling anything. At the end of the day all you can do is make babies, but where's the fun in that.

Could you imagine what sex must be like if all it does is make you babies. If that ever happens I hope to be six feet under. Now aren't you glad that 99% of the time we treat it as the exact opposite.

Saturday, July 19, 2008

Missed a party, hit a party

Last night was Friday. and unfortunately not everyone gets off early.

Walking through the agency halls on a Friday night is surreal. Everyone wants to escape from the grind and start the weekend, so by 7 p.m the corridors are empty. Any other day if you left at 7 people start quipping, "Half day ah?!".

So as I wandered about, all I heard were the soft steps of my shoes. I make this trek. From my room to the balcony, sometimes walking into the cube farm that is account servicing, and then back to the desk. I figure that the 5 minute round trip might trigger something. Sometimes it does.

Just my method of dealing with things. Trying to be creative on demand is like hitting your head on a brick wall over and over. Stuff pours out. Mostly gunk and and liquid. When that doesn't work, you take your battered skull and go walkabout. Or sit and ponder in a different location.


Missed out on the Onitsuka Tiger party last night. Mandachoe had the courtesy to text me and tell me about all the goodies I missed.


Managed to get to TAG at a decent hour, where Amanda happened to be. Once again reminding me of the goodies I had missed out on. However, IN PERSON this time. -_-

Saw Kev again. Short American boy. Also saw my brother, and for the first time since I started work, we were in the same room for longer than 20 minutes. Party was good. What can I say man. I didn't take photos. Other people did. Sorta. I just realised I don't hang out with any camwhores. Ever since Jo left the agency I've noticed a 200% decrease of my photos being taken.

Oh my, I have to go to a party.

See you guys later.

Saturday, July 12, 2008


I'm so hungry and the only idiots I know still awake have gone fishing.


Hello world

Workaholic much?

Y'know, I really have to stop thinking about work.

Spent Friday rolling around in bed. There's a masochist in me which enjoys being totally sapped of energy. Rolling in bed, rolling in and out of consciousness. Playing weird dreams in my subconscious.

Till I wake up and feel slightly better.

But by then you're so lethargic and drained you just want to go back anyway.

It's peaceful.

But I can't help but feel guilty at not doing any work =/

Monday, July 7, 2008

Calling all night owls

I need more friends that are willing to hang out at 1 in the morning with me. If you've been keeping tuned, you'll realise that this might have something to do with work. It sucks getting off work and having nothing to do. This is my general gripe. I'd like something resembling a social life returned to me, and it's not working out too well. I often feel that I'm cheating on my job when I'm out partying on the weekend. What the fakk mate.

One should not feel this way!

The partying aside, there should be more people willing to hang out at 1am EVERYDAY. Growing up sucks.

You fuckers that live overseas don't count.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Let's not talk about that

I think I talk about work a bit too much.

Although it's hard not to, seeing how most of us leave the office at midnight on average. Well not always, sometimes. Truth be told I could probably pop back for a bit, and then come back to the office when they need me. But one of the most depressing things to me is leaving the workplace and having to come back later.

See? Just can't stop talking about work.

Asked a friend once how come people in advertising talk about advertising so much. He said something along the lines of, "It helps us feel better than ordinary salesmen". I suppose it's true somewhat. The glitz and the glam take us away from the fact that we're really salesmen selling shit.

My views differ though. I figure that you spend 16 hours a day almost everyday on something, you're going to find it really hard to talk about something else. This year was the first time I didn't catch a single football game in EURO, since well... I started watching EURO.

So clearly all this stuff isn't worth it.

Fact is, it is.

I kind of like my job. The good and the bad. Some days are better than some, some days you feel like utter rubbish.

Well it's like 10 p.m here and I'm listening to massive attack, waiting to sign on some documents before I can head back -_-

I think I'll grab a beer from the fridge.


Monday, June 30, 2008

part two

Why hello.

This is an experiment of mine to perhaps solve several questions

1)Does anyone still read this
2)Do they care
3)Can I even write at all?

Well the list goes on. You see, initially this blog was created as an outlet, a way of venting the ceaseless number of thoughts that ran through the mind of mine. However that's sort of what I do for a living nowadays.

I'm a copywriter in an agency called Naga DDB. They call us "creatives": a glorified term that people use to make us feel better, and rightly so. For we are all up ourselves in the art, industry, culture and love of the work we do. Imagine the best job in the world, then imagine the worst job in the world. Couple the two and then scale it up a notch. That's what I do on a day-to-day basis. Most people ask for more specifics, as they don't really know much about advertising. I can't blame them. We spend our time, and millions of the client's money doing our thing so they can look good and hopefully sell more product.

Now it would be a problem if people went, "Hey that's a great ad from Rudy" rather than, "Goddammit. I fucking want a Carlsberg". So don't blame yourself if you have never heard of steps A-Z of the advertising process.

"But Rudy."

You might ask.

"What is it that you do exactly? That's a brief summary of the ad industry, but what pray tell is your position? Seems that all you do is wake up, go to work and come back at ungodly hours. Sometimes lacking in sobriety."

My dear friend, how observant. Since you've asked so nicely, how can I not comply?

I think of ideas on how to best sell a product for a client. My partner will pretty up our visual and I will write the words that no one reads anymore. Look around you and you will see how we've tarnished your beautiful world. Those colourful pages in the paper, that annoying jingle on the radio, that billboard you turn a blind eye to. That is what we do. But sometimes yes, we create something that you tell your friends about. Because you love it. It touched you and made you laugh. It made you believe and for a moment you could relate. When that happens it is magic. But it is also my drug. That brief wave of success. That is advertising.

Well to me anyway and that's the gist of it.

I believe several of you may have asked me why I don't blog anymore. Well, I don't have much time for anything of that sort to be honest. When you're free, the prospect of having a good time seems infinitely more compelling than sitting down at another computer and tick-tacking away. I do that all fucking day dammit. Give me a break!

However, I have returned from yet another sabbatical. No promises as always. And I do hope you enjoy my work. Online and out there.

Advertising joke. Haw-haw.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Why hello there traveller

Stay awhile and listen.

Well you may have noticed things have changed a bit. To the strange few that are worried over this. Try not to.

Let's be honest.

I can attest to being as vague as possible when I write sometimes. So let's amend somethings.

I currently work full time at an ad agency. One started by Bill Bernbach a long time ago. It's hectic, but anyone who's heard anything about the advertising industry can agree with that being rather common in this strange business some of us fell into; most of the time by accident. I don't think many people grow up wanting to be in advertising. We all see great ads and think to ourselves, "Wow, that's nice". But no one ever mentions that you can get paid to come up with stuff like that.

That's right, I get paid to sit my ass down with my feet on the desk half the time coming up with ideas to make sure that you buy the client's product. It's fun. They couldn't keep us in the office 65 hours a week(Saturdays off!) otherwise.

Being in the ad industry, you learn a lot of things. I've done quite a few odd jobs in my life, from the oh-so cliche job of being a waiter to being a marketing exec/analyst in a video game development cum IT firm. The list goes on, but there's no job I have encountered so rewarding, challenging, frustrating, fun, relaxing, mind blowing and well paying at the same time.

Scratch the well paying part, I think most of us would tell you that considering the hours we put in, too much is never enough.

Anwyays, we're talking about the things we've learned. In my case it's a skill gained. The ability to see things in a new light, and a sense of maturity I was in fact quite lacking less than 6 months ago. Since then, any work that I have done in the past has been scrutinized to it's core. And I realised how bad a writer I was. I can't say I've improved very much, but at least when I can be damned, I try my best to make things a little bit more readable, for you. Because let's be frank, who blogs for themselves? There's a little thing called a private journal you self-indulgent twat.

Well I do it for friends and loved ones. Some of us do it for fame(hah!), some for money(there are easier ways, but whatever), and some really have nothing better to do .

I can't say I'll ever write about anything intelligent. These opinion pieces and social observations are a bit beyond me right now. What I can do is promise you a little bit of me, and if that's what you're looking for, you're in for a treat. Especially the "little bit" part. 65 hour weeks have taken a toll on any extracurricular activites. But as they say, writing is a muscle, and I must flex it at times.

So welcome to my playground.