Biz Talk: Personality

February 2010, Going Places (MAS inflight magazine)

Sporting, gentlemanly, and one of the most articulate chaps I've had the pleasure to speak to. In other words, a dream interview candidate!

Seeking more interesting business personalities to interview for the same column. If you know of any, drop me a mail at alexandra.lywong[at]gmail.com :)

Misunderstood

(Pic filched from http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/herocomplex/)

So what if the movie was universally panned?

Fact is: I glided out of the cinema itching to shout from the rooftops: "What a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious piece of work!"

Mind you, I am NOT deliberately trying to be contrarian.

True, the first hour was a painful plod (Pacing CAN be improved).

I did have a hard time swallowing this grown-up Gwyneth-lookalike galumphing around in a state of deshabille (or close to it - her off-shoulder dress threatens to fall dangerously any moment).

Then she falls into the rabbit hole and Tim Burton hurls a fast and furious volley of characters and special effects ... ok, I'll let the eloquent Dana Stevens finish the job:

" .. the CG effects start coming so thick and fast that neither she nor we have time to experience much wonder at all. Look, there go Tweedledum and Tweedledee (voiced by Matt Lucas)—but before we've had a chance to witness their unique sibling dynamic at work or hear a single line of "The Walrus and the Carpenter" (the recitation of which was one of the high points of the 1951 Disney version), Alice and the egg-shaped twins are being chased through the animated underbrush by some sort of giant saber-toothed beast as Danny Elfman's score throbs and swoops. The feeling, in this movie, is always that of being frantically rushed to the next thing: the Mad Hatter's tea party hasn't even gotten truly barmy before it's broken up by invading soldiers led by the menacing Knave of Hearts (a digitally stretched-out Crispin Glover)."

Uh huh.

Too much muchness, Tim! How can we appreciate the genius of your imaginative if warped mind if we don't even understand what's going on?

I was all set to lie back and drift into an afternoon siesta when Helena strutted into the scene, her giant orb of a head abobbing.

Helena totally PWNED it, in netspeak.

From thereon, my attention was held in a vice-like grip.

Whatever bone I might have to pick with the plot or pacing evaporated quickly. Mind you, I'm not a blind idol of either Tim Burton or Johnny Depp. I thought the latter's turn in Pirates 3 was too hammy to be effective (too much muchness again), and I didn't like Public Enemies. (one big snoozefest. The characters didn't engage me).

But here, Johnny was sublime. Well you could say that he can probably sleepwalk through these custom-written characters by now but what made it more interesting was the development between the hatter and Alice. As unlikely, and even faintly disturbing the whole idea might seem at first, I like how Tim prepares the audience for it, by easing us gently into the realization so that the development feels utterly natural.

Tim has taken liberties with the script, yes, but these are reverential liberties.

Beyond his attention to visual detail and how "pulled together" the palette looked, he really is a sympathetic storyteller who knows how to create characters that we can care about.

A pivotal scene which captures the zeitgeist of the entire movie (SPOILER) takes place when Alice gazes at Hatter in wide-eyed wonderment (yes!!!) and breathes, "You must be real."

In the end (ANOTHER SPOILER), it wasn't just the mad hatter's heart which broke when Alice decided to go back to Upperland (well if one's Under, logic dictates there must be an Upperland right??)

*Sighs and melts*

Bottomline, they felt real. The blue caterpillar, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the Red Queen's smarmy right-hand man, even the annoying dork who gets shanghaied at the gazebo ...I love how Tim Burton invests every character, even those with limited air-time, with such complexity and compassion. I could actually feel sorry for, and yes, understand why the Red Queen ends up so bitter and vengeful. It could happen to any one of us *gulp - reminds self*

Or maybe it's just me.

As long as I remember, I've always been able to relate better to the outcasts and misfits who tiptoe on the fringe of so-called normal society.

After the movie, I walked into Borders and headed straight for the children's literature section.

Enough said.

A child's wisdom

Scratching Post, Weekender, The Star

For the full text, please click here.

There are some articles I keep out of my folks' radar.

Sexually charged ones (my column may focus on fluffy feelgood stuff but rabbits are not conventionally associated with Lily White ok :P), and articles like these.

It'd only worry them silly, and then they'd worry me sick with questions I have no answers to like: "Girl, are you making enough? Don't worry about mum and dad. We have more than enough to spend from our pension."

... the point is, I come from a very traditional family, with a firm set of values that includes the automatic expectation that after your folks have raised you and put you through university, it's now your turn to give back.

I miss that part of my corporate life. BAD. I miss sending them on holidays, giving them healthy doses of pocket money, surprising them with an expensive meal or two.

Right. Time to actually actualize that best-seller novel huh?

Bitch as I might about the sucky customers and ridiculous demands, I would never go back to my desk job. Still, it's only normal, I suppose, to have the odd dark moment of doubt ...

This article sprung from one of those dark moments. I had another more chipper piece already drafted but somehow, it felt disengenuous to send off a piece that didn't mirror my mood of the moment. As my deadline drew nearer, I started to panic. How? I don't have anything else that reflected the conflict that was percolating inside. And I didn't want Navel Gazer to deviate from my original vision of what it was: an honest, unvarnished reflection of my feelings of the moment.

Luckily, my meeting with Fenny came along and saved the day, phew!

On unrelated matters, may I have your indulgence, ladies and gentleman:

I just started a new fashion diary blog at http://frockout.blogspot.com

I originally intended it to be an online blogshop to sell off my pre-loved baju but I'm having so much fun recording my sartorial musings so, as the wise sages say, que sera sera!

My pretty new sandals :)

It was an experiment for both of us.

Me: I'd never known there were such things called painted shoes.

Her: she'd done this on canvas, and glass, and ceramic ... but never rubber. And cheap rubber at that (psst...these pasar malam sandals cost a fiver shhhhh)

Neither of us had any idea how they would turn out - whether the paint would last, or the patterns would turn out pretty, but I needn't have worried. In the sure hands of Carmen Hah, a grimy pair of sandals was given a fresh new lease of life.

Pretty and delicate enough to satisfy my feminine wiles, yet free-spirited enough to appease my hippie sensibilities :)

This, ladies and gentlemen, is just the tip of the iceberg. To see more of what Carmen can do, hop over to carmenbrushtech.blogspot.com/

And to Denis, thanks for providing the link. Truly, your cosy diner is Ipoh's answer to Cheers, where everybody knows your name. Can't wait to sink my teeth into your delectable smoked duck and spaghetti carbonara *drools*

Gosh. It's amazing how one simple story can set off such a long chain in motion ;)

Stickynote

I think I owe visitors to this blog an apology.

This is not a blog, and it was never conceptualized as one.

In the beginning, I merely wanted a space on the web to archive my articles, a link that I could send to potential clients that I was pitching to.

Then as I posted up stories, I grew restless. The crude scans (which I took with a camera ok since I obviously can't afford an A3 scanner!!) seemed too sterile, too clinical, too ....dead.

Unable to refrain myself, I started writing short notes about each article, which gradually expanded into these long-winded posts you're reading now *smiles ruefully*

There is so much I want to say. There is so much more that goes into an article apart from the final printed word.

The stories behind the scenes often go unaccounted for because readers only want the polished dish or down-and-dirty deetz - depending on whether you're reading Tatler or Perez Hilton ... right?

Well not to me though. I love the uncensored elemental rawness of a tale told ad lib ... it makes the subject seem much more human somehow.

Anyway, I wanted to get this off my chest for a loooooooooong time now. So there. Done. Phew.

And since this is neither a blog, nor a portfolio proper, shall we call it a ... blogfolio? :)

Fashion Focus

Shall I ...

... go all girlie in silver Christmas tree earrings, flowery sundress, and Audrey Hepburnesque red shoes?

... defy all sartorial logic in an unseasonal White lace kebaya-inspired top, a black latex singlet, black skinnies I got from the Bercham market and red shoes?

...or channel Katy Perry in RM3 Esprit factory overrun shorts, black Pack Promod singlet & RM10 Thailand black knit top

Ah. Which girl isn't clothes mad?

Mixing and matching is more than just riding the residual buzz of retail therapy; it's the whole theatricality of the act, like orchestrating my own boutique theatre production.

I love the heightened drama as I clack out of the house in my three-inch heels; the contagious playfulness that colours my mood when I flounce out in my riotous bohemian skirt; garments are not just something to shield me from cold or immodesty, don't you see?

When I was a kid, I practically gobbled up fashion magazines.

Many an afternoon was spent, bent over the fashion pages, while my fingers lovingly traced the clean lines of a box-like shift while the mind marvelled at the fluidity of jersey wrap dresses.

So much so, I became extraordinarily well acquainted with fashion parlance.

I could recite from memory the subtle differences between silk brocade and silk jacquard.

I could reel off the entire spectrum of hues (crimson, fuschia, magenta, vermillion, scarlet ....) with such authority my science teaccher would surely beam with pride.

I was, and still am, a clothes fiend to a T (... or should it be T-shirt? :))

Ergo, what assignment could be more fun than traipsing through the yummiest fashion boutiques ever invented? :)

Dreams from a hot wok

Scratching Post, Weekender, The Star

To read the full article, please click here

Anyone can dream. You don't need balls to do that.

But to actualize that dream takes plenty of guts - and grit. Stuff which Tam has truckloads of.

I've eaten at and known Tam for years. Enjoyed his food, and then later his company, and went on to develop an abiding admiration for his quiet, unassuming ways.

That's the man! :)

There are many reasons why I like going to Tam.

He's just downstairs (i.e. opposite Super Tanker, opens from 6-ish in the evening to 2am)

He's always ready with a smile for me (yes, even through those Sars-struck days)

... and of course, when inspired, his food is Tam's up (sorry, couldn't resist! :D)

Sometimes our conversations resemble chicken-and-duck talk - he speaks in a thick loghat that my bunny ears have occasional trouble unscrambling. Nevertheless their musical quaintness never fail to charm, even his smses:

Like today, "Saya x pandai BI tapi fahamla sikit nanti ptg sy suroh kwn terjemah dkt sy."

"Suroh?" So quaint! So old-school!

Or the other day, "Awak cakap buat saya ketawa hingga berguling. Apapun TQ. BZ ni pelanggan ramai nak masak dlu"

Is it just me, or is it a lot more fun to sms in BM? :)

One of my earliest food pieces, published in 2005 or 6

If you're wondering what sar kok liew is ...

This is it!

Or saa kot. Oh well. Saa kot, sar kok liew - a liew by any other name is still damn drool-inducing.

Best eaten dipped in this tangy and spicy home-made chilli sauce.

Drum roll...Chips off the old block. The Gen X Loo brothers, who took over the reins from their parents, will surely do them proud.

To ensure you don't get lost ;)

Got. To. Stop.

Experiencing. Serious. Sar kok liew. Withdrawal. Symptoms.

Now.

Travelling Light

Trivial Pursuit, Weekender, 28th November 2009

To read the full article, please click here

Long before there was ever a Navel Gazer column, travel stories were my stock-in trade.

Fresh out of corporate hell, my feet were itchy to explore the uncharted universe beyond my tiny factory cubicle.

Kuching - or to be exact, Ran, the charming town I got my first taste of longhouse living - ignited my wanderlust.

Then came Turkey, IMHO the most beautiful country on earth.

The mother of all vacations was my seven whopping weeks in California of course.

I got to know my mum better.

I got to interview the hottest guys on the planet up close (and got my butt grabbed by one to haha)

And most of all, I learnt that you didn't always need a fortune to enjoy the simple pleasures of life.

My most memorable meal in the US (though don't tell my aunt that!) was the USD2-3 chicken nuggets MUm & I ate at a Popeyes outlet. The cashier peered at our identitiy card with curiosity. "Oh, Malaysia ...I've heard of it.. but not too sure where it is though," she laughed sheepishly.

Uh huh. Looks like our tourism folks still have some distance to cover, when it comes to putting our country on the world map. ;)

I've always had wanderlust.

My first major overseas trip was to a town in Southern Thailand called Yala, where I stayed with a Thai family for two weeks. I wolfed down lots of spicy local food, went round helmet-free on on my hostess' scooter and ate towering sundaes in the town's biggest hotel. Pure bliss :)

Writing this article - a light, breezy change from my usual introspective stock-in-trade - reminded me just how much I miss travelling, and writing about my travels.

Keep your fingers crossed.

If all the planets and stars align, there should be some major globe-trotting on the cards in 2010 ;)

Oh btw peeps, in case you're wondering, here are some crude shots of my "Umbrella bag" and "Adidas kampung" :)

Soaring passions

First person, Going Places, October 2009

For this particular gig, I had to interview six outstanding sports personalities from MAS.

Did somebody just say sports?

Yours truly was a classic kaki bangku. Way back in Form Two, my maiden volleyball serve landed on the head of my classmate Pooi Pooi. I don't know if she recovered fully from the trauma, but I certainly never did. Was it any coincidence that I never had many sporting friends?

Naturally, when the time came, I was filled with excitement, curiosity and not a little trepidation.

What could a writer have in common with a bunch of sportspersons?

Mental strength

Since the interview with Foo Kah Hin took place at a shooting range, I had to find out if I was a, ahem, hot shot.

Once I actually had the gun in my grip, I was calm as still water.

"Ready?" Foo asked in a calm, clear voice. "Now pull the trigger. Slowly. Make it a slow, sustained movement."

Bam!

I tottered unsteadily backwards, more surprised by the relatively tame aftermath, than anything else. No shells flew backwards. The gun jerked back only slightly. Did I miss very wide of the target?

We scurried up to the cardboard target.

There was a hole barely an inch away from the centre of the Alpha Zone. "You are a good shot!" Foo declared.

It must have been a fluke. Beginner's luck. I asked for another turn.

Bam. Bam. I was cool and collected all three times, and I was on target all three times.

Foo had said, "In dynamic shooting, mental strength is as important as physical... like other competitive sports, it is important to keep a clear head and think positive thoughts. It is even more critical in an open competition where you face off against teams from varying backgrounds and superior skill sets."

I decided to retire at my peak i.e. after three shots - hey I don't want to blemish my perfect record ok - and spent the rest of the afternoon picking the brains of the boys, who are more than happy to initiate this neophyte into their world: shotgun, handgun, rifle, winchester, holster, magazine, etc.

Character building

Over the phone, John Engkatesoo had alerted me to expect a "fat, old chap with a big tummy" at a football field to do a shoot.

He was obviously being modest, for he was anything BUT fat. In fact, as I told the photographer later, he looks pretty hot for a guy his age. A healthy crop of salt and pepper curls tops a rangy frame which he modestly tries to pass off as 5' 9" when he's "at least a 5' 11'", I tell him accusingly.

John's only response was a toothy grin. It's not hard to see why he had a legion of fans during his heydays.

After the shoot was over, we adjourned to A & W, where he regaled me with vignettes of his action-packed life, from his short-lived but glorious days as an international footballer, to his invariable foray into the corporate world, which was no less exciting. Football didn't just teach him how to kick a ball around - he learnt about dealing with people, and being a team player, all of which came in handy when he eventually assumed his current position.

Needless to say, my root beer float was all but forgotten.

Grace by example

Devan Dinasan is more than an ace road runner or spitting image of Chow Yun Fatt.

We met up for lunch one time after the shoot. It was raining on the day. When he saw me walking out from the exit, he alighted from his car, unfurled an umbrella and started walking towards me.The last time somebody did that was last century.

"Hey I am not puteri lilin ok?" I said in reflex, as he shielded me from the light rain during the short dash into his car. Two seconds later, he floored me again, by opening the car door.

When I thanked him for this random act of chivalry later, he responded, "The umbrella needs to get wet sometimes and the car door ...no big deal ... it was already there, and can be a little heavy to open to those not familiar ."

Now that's what I call true sportsmanship.

To Devan, John, Foo, Yati, Captain Arif and Captain Aziz, I salute you for inspiring even kaki bangkus like me to reach for the impossible.

For showing me that we're not very different from each other. Writer or sportsperson, we're all creatures of passion.

Every time we jump off a cliff, walk into the roaring stadium, brace for that swing, aim for that impossible shot, break into that stride or, in my case, pick up that pen, it's like falling in love all over again.

In the meantime, I do believe I have an open invitation to redeem. Anybody game for a spot of paragliding?

PS Pei Ling, thanks for helping Ms Photoshop Idiot with the collage :)