retweet addicts.

“i give up. i can’t follow someone who keeps retweeting.”

It didn’t matter if the individual was famous, on the list of all em’ hotshot local Tweeple. The fact was that the said individual RT (or retweeted) one too many times. If the RTs were informative, quirky and IN MODERATION, I wouldn’t mind. I’d consider it some garnish to the usual fanfare on the microblogging plate. But there comes a time when 95% of the tweets are RTs and the replies even include the RTs which makes 1. not simply no sense but 2. fuckin’ frustrating as hell.

I don’t need to subject my twitter feed to such abuse so I’m sorry, but I’m cutting you out.

I followed you on Twitter, thinking and truly believing of the interesting bits and quips of your life in 140 characters. But I forgot to do my research and found my timeline flooded with senseless drivel that works better on a self-absorbed blog where you regurgitate nothing of your own and only parrot others.

thank you uncle.

This event took place a long time back but after reading this post on A Singapore Taxi Driver’s Story, I was suddenly reminded of it.

I can’t quite remember why I was, I think heading back from supper. I had virtually no cash on hand, thinking that I could swing by an ATM to draw some cash for the cab back or else, pay by NETS. Unfortunately, the first cab I flagged didn’t have one of em’ newfangled NETS machine installed and so I hunted about for an ATM.

Just my luck then that I saw both a UOB and DBS automated machines. Heng ah, can draw money go home.

Unfortunately, Murphy’s Law decided to play a prank on me. I’m not too sure of what reason but both tellers refused to accept my card. Only earlier I had withdrew money via DBS for supper and other assorted things and I was able to deposit cash into my UOB account. Ok fine. So I’ll wait around for another cab, hopefully one that allows for NETS.

No one came by. But I did see the same cab I had flagged earlier. Felt a lil’ fishy for me so I decided to walk down a wee bit more. Confirm main road got more cabs. None. Murphy’s Law again.

This time the same cab from before slowed by and stopped. The driver, who was a Malay man in his mid-thirties, wound down the window and told me to just get in. Alarm bells started ringing but he assured me quite fervently that no harm would come my way. He had a daughter who was a lil’ younger than I was and told me that as a father, he would never let his daughter walk around, alone, late at night. I hope he didn’t think my dad just let me wander aimlessly (truth be told, the parents were asleep and I headed out coz I was stark raving famished).

He drove me back to my house and accepted no form of cash, compensation or reward whatsoever. I did take his cab number down but I lost that phone and couldn’t call the cab company to thank nor reward him for such a kind gesture.

These days the cabbies I’ve been in and taken slam their doors on me, drive like maniacs on the road or just flat-out refuse me in favour of cabby-bait.

I thank the cab driver, the selfless nice man, for his kind gesture and hope that plenty good karma and fortune goes his way.

For me, lesson learnt, next time I either drive out to get my foodie-fix or call Macs.

the new kids of social media.

You gotta admit, social media, is the in thing.

Everyone is ranting and raving about it.

People fresh off the bat want to get their fingers all wet and sticky with it.

Me?

I thought so too till I realised that social cannot just be something on its own. At least not in Singapore’s market. The big agency boys have got their claws into big names with the money to spare for these campaigns. The smaller ones are still reserved, cautious to take a bite out of their pie because the budget’s either already stretched too thin or the management holding on to the purse strings still believe fervently in traditional mediums of advertising.

Seriously, it’s true! Some of these companies believe that microsites and online marketing (think nasty invasive and interruptive web banners or pop-ups and the like) are about as newfangled as new media can get.

Sigh.

So what should social media be, really?

Personally and even professionally, I believe that it is a complementary element to an online marketing campaign. The sole purpose isn’t to sell (sad, disturbing, how the hell do I explain it to my client?! but true) but rather to inform, to create that bond between brand and consumer. To establish loyalty and familiarity. Give your consumers the right, or rather, the option to be part of the brand. In the way it is being marketed or advertised, in terms of product improvement and development. When you get them involved, you get them to keep you at the top of their mind. When they think of your competitors, they will measure these competitors up to you not just in terms of price, but in the benefits that these competitors can never offer but which you give to them freely.

What do you think? Should social media be a standalone strategy you’d pitch to clients or part of a dynamic online (and maybe even offline) marketing plan?

at the end of the line.

When I was in high school I told myself that after I got out of Uni, I’d go into journalism. I’d try my luck at a local publishing house and write tonnes of feature articles, cover so many interesting events and news and then strike gold with my own column.

Didn’t quite work out as well as I planned. I did get to intern at a publishing house and that opened my eyes to a lot of things. It forced me to get out of my shy-quiet-reserved self and ask questions that poked people, gave them something to really furrow their brows and think about. I wasn’t particularly spectacular at it but with the help from my editor, I managed to get past most of the hurdles.

I thought then, after the publishing house closed, that I would strike out on my own as a freelance journalist. But the market here in Singapore is so saturated and I knew so many others who were forced to do advertorials – things they never sought out to do but were forced to because it was the only thing that would pay their bills.

What do I do now? I’ve been job-hopping. Some people think I’m being too finicky, picking at different aspects of my job and finding fault or a reason so that I could bail ship. I could say I was being picky but there are some things that you just can’t really continue. Poor work welfare, the lack of a proper team, management shifting blame and not standing firm and taking responsibility. When the company succeeds, everyone jumps into the potpourri of confetti and celebration. When it bombs, everyone points their finger at someone else.

What happens now? Well… there are plans in place. Slowly, I’m gonna set some stuff in motion. Things that should have been started eons ago. It’s gonna take time and a hell lot of patience and determination. But I know for one thing, when it blooms, it’s gonna be the sweetest thing ever.

just brilliant.

I can’t draw for nuts. I can’t draw nuts. I can’t even draw stickmen. They just end up looking so morosely pathetic that I erase them and decide to write something instead. I really do envy illustrators and those with the gift of sketch.

Here’s some link-loving to and online art community – eatsleepdraw. You can even get prints of some of the artwork over at eatsleepprint. Cute eh?

Here’s a taste:

artwork by tinaandwolf.tumblr.com

i like going to the airport, but i dont like planes.

It’s true. I like going to the airport, checking in and hanging out at the lounge. But when it comes to the planes, taking off and in the air, it still freaks me out a little. Hmm. I’ve been on a plane about seven times. The first was always traumatic. I grew up watching cartoons where planes took off like rockets so it wasn’t really a surprise when I freaked out as we were all buckled in and listening to the engines roar.

I think (it was a looooong time ago my first flight) I was ten at the time. We were traveling to Turkey. My brother wasn’t being the least bit helpful telling me all the things that could possibly go wrong. I cried when the plane took off and the cabin crew (oh that i was such a cute lil’ thing) took pity on me and gave me the kids pack to take my mind off. Course, I had to put it away when we were taking off. Anyway, it all seemed pretty uneventful and I gotta say, thank god for KrisAir (no, not you Krisandro) for keeping me joyfully entertained with Mario and Contra. Old school games FTW!

The way back I experienced my first turbulence. It was rocky. My sister felt sick, my mom felt sick, my dad was sleeping (and so was the brother i think) and plates and cups were jiggling on the tray. I hate that feeling, when we hit the air pockets and the plane kept jolting and going up and down. I didn’t puke but it left me pretty scarred. Funny thing is that the next two or three times I was on the plane (with my parents and then it was for work), I didn’t feel anything. In fact, was even calming a friend down when our plane hit turbulence again.

What you really shouldn’t be watching when you’re leaving for the airport to head back is to watch a documentary on plane crashes. We were in Phuket covering the unaugural Phuket Marathon (the villa, is SUPER SWEET! of course when you’re paying USD1000++++ a night, it has to be. we didn’t pay for it, lucky we. and oh, it had a pool and a lounge area and almost everything! plus we were right in the middle of a golf course. now travelling to the main reception was a bit of a problem but that’s another story) and happened to be watching the Discovery travel. (Not so) Lucky for us, it was a piece on famous plane crashes and as we watched footage of how some of the planes crashed, the group of us weren’t too comfortable knowing we were going to be on a plane in a couple of hours.

The flight was alright. No turbulence. Smooth take-off and landing. Makes me wonder how the cabin crew do it, all those flights and the possible uncertainties and hazards of the job.

Maybe as we grow older, we become more paranoid and neurotic. Or it’s that my mother’s genes are really really strong in me. I guess it was some teeny tiny turbulence but I was gripping the boyfriend’s hand like mad and really really really wishing there was like a nice bullet train to Bangkok that would ease this fear of crashing (and then it’d be really really sucky if i caught a documentary on bullet trains gone wrong. just my luck eh?). Nothing happened. The skies were just rocky and when we landed in Bangkok, the rain started to pour like a waterfall. Same thing happened when we touched down back in jolly ol’ Changi.

Terminal 1 and 2 are pretty awesome places to hang out. Haven’t yet seen what the departure area for Terminal 3 looks like. Budget Terminal has upped its ante a teensy bit – Wireless@SG, a place for you to charge your electronics and a (marginally) wider selection of duty free shops (the last time i was there, there was only the liquour shop and random confectionary) to keep you somewhat entertained and occupied till your flight.

The only downside is that you have to walk, across the landing strip (or whatever its called) and up the stairs to the plane. Why on earth did the government have to choose budget, of all names, for the terminal. There’s only Tiger and Cebu Air there.

And the drive to the airport, always makes me feel excited, like I’m off to an adventure bringing with me the barest of necessities (not really, sometimes i think i tend to overpack). Now… to just save up for another holiday and this one, hopefully to hop on a plane that departs from Terminal 3.

spitfire images.

Now I love my parents, not that this hasn’t already dawned on my like moons ago, but I see now where my paranoia and penchant for the worst-possible-case scenario and money calculativeness (not that it means i’m a genius at math) comes from.

I was heading up to Bangkok a couple of weeks back with the boyfriend. When I told my mother, she was more worried about the crime rate – possibility of getting kidnapped or mugged and robbed and getting lost or a political riot happening and the planes aren’t leaving the ground (good thing she hasn’t been introduced to zombie outbreaks). The father on the other hand was more worried about how much I was going to spend and if I had enough. My mother’s rationale for letting me go was this – “Only if your father allows.”

So I sat my dad down and told him where I was going and he sat, face screwed up in concentration and told me to come back to his room a couple of minutes later. Which I did and he gave me a slip of paper and an envelope – “Be thrifty. Buy only what you need.”

So uhm. What I meant to say is that my imagination is fertile and hence all these plausible post-war-apocalyptic scenarios and theories are thanks to my loving doting and she-really-means-well-just-that-she’s-a-bit-paranoid mother. Aren’t all mothers like that? And the bit where I occasionally harp endlessly on money and finances (more like, the lack of it), comes from the father. Everytime I buy something, eventhough I know that I really need it, I hear his voice and see his face in my head.

These are about the two stark characteristics my parents have that have been passed on down to me. How bout chu’?

if i were a boy. no, seriously.

What happened if you woke up one day in the body of the opposite gender. So in my case, I wake up as a boy. In the same bed with the silly covers and the room and all the girly bits but I have boy bits instead of girly bits. Right. That was a tad bit confusing but I think you should roughly get the picture.

What’s the very first thing I’d do?

1. Freak out.
It is inevitable, in fact, very normal and human to get all freaked out because I’ve grown so accustomed to having boobs and uhm, down there and all of a suddenly what springs up is this one-eyed snake. So disconcerting.

2. Probably explore myself.
This will sound gross, but maybe I’ll know how is it that guys can never aim into the toiletbowl properly. Will require some hand maneuver to establish a way that leaves no mess on me and the toilet seat. Also, I wonder if I’ll get abs. This is all assuming that my parents and my siblings are out of town and I’m the only one in the house.

3. Get dressed.
First off, it’s disorientating enough to wake up with no boobs and a dick. Fortunately, I have a brother and can thus, raid his closet for clothes (no matter how icky they are because brothers will always be brothers and they will always be as icky to me).

4. Call a friend of the same sex, as I am.
Blessing in disguise that I have a lot of male friends. Need to get their input. Need to figure out just what the hell I should do. Would also not be a good time to communicate or get in touch with the boyfriend, who I am doubly sure, will be extremely freaked out. May have to come up with some story that I had to run errands for my aunt or live with her or something. Till I figure a way back to a familiar body with boobs. Like real boobs and not man-boobs (or moobs).

5. Do I stay home or do I go out?
This is the part where I got stumped. I’d stay home because I’d be freaked out. I wouldn’t know how to do guyish things eventhough I claim to be extremely tomboyish. I could possibly channel that tomboyishness and end up looking and behaving like a little boy (which should work) or just stay home and figure out how the hell I got into this mess and how do I get out of it. Now the other bit is with this newfound body I may end up being a perv and see how many girls I can pick-up/hook-up. Just for the fun of it. Which leads to another question, would I ever ‘do it’ with a girl? How weird must that be. Would I really be interested in experiencing sex as a member of the opposite sex (for them) but with the mindset of that of a female?

I hope to god that nothing of the sort happens. Maybe if I was single. But then that would screw my brain up for life.

*shudder*