the entry puma rocks k.l.

i've been moping around doing anything other than work too much it's disgusting. being on the ball during office hours is one thing, but practically thwarting my gym sessions and thus, throwing caution to the wind about my nonetheless expanding waistline, and virtually flat-lining my blogging activities is quite another. gone are the party-boy days; behold, herald the incoming workaholic.

so, anyways, i've decided to take some time off my 24/7 business-as-usual dogma of a spiel, and spend some quality me-time with the puma folks in upstart fashion city, kuala lumpur. if you know your sports apparel well, you'd be in the loop about puma's crazy-ass of a world campaign called "create your own style". what it entails is essentially this: randomly grabbing folks off the streets and getting them to pen their ingenious creativity about puma onto a white board and pose a picture with it.

this way to budget-ville

prepping up for a fiery year of the tiger 2010.

suffice to say, i was put up at the millennium grand hotel, albeit being hoisted via the third-class-meets-cargo-friendly airline. it was an atrociously short shuttle between the two cities (singapore and kuala lumpur), but the journey from the airport to town was so unbearably long it lulled me into a deep slumber.




by the time i arrived, it was a little past midnight, and no sooner i had checked in, i slipped on my eyeshades and knocked myself out. so much for day one of sabbatical.

the next morning, it was meeting with some of the regional celebs who would be gracing the event the following evening. first on the list: the doyenne of asia models aka leon lai's wife, gayle lai. a phalanx of people, otherwise known as the entourage, or unceremoniously known as nannies, surrounded her whenever she went. well, or at least for the first fifteen minutes.

then, there was the up-and-rising taiwanese star eddie peng. you might think he's your typical poster-calibre, mega-watt grin, sunshine boy-next-door, but he's so much more than that. it was an awesome time hanging out with him, we drank some awesome beer (well, i drank), and soaked up in each others' awesomeness. here's pictures:

third from left: doe-eyed gayle

me with puma marketing manager gabriel

good things come in small packages, nicole

last look at meself before my locks get chopped off by the banger of a prepubescent stylist

me and the ever efferverscent eddie

day three was pretty unfortunate for me. with half my follicles snipped off (no thanks to the stylist at spa@esprit; seems like a trim and a cut was just a fine line she couldn't distinguish), i was too busy speed-running through the day's itinerary to get a more representative example of the event per se. anyway, this is how i spent my day. in eyelet 'n' denim pieces, muted grey dukes, preppy yellow-meets-blue tie. blogging, photog-ing, posin' a grin. dignified-like. expect little photos of me showing bald-pate-esque hair.

get that guy out of the concrete already.

the one and only picture i took of myself during the event. i hate my hair!

supper with pal sk low before calling it a night.

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the entry about the race-spectating insurgent

in light of what has happened recently, one would have expected yours truly to stay indoors, employ prophylactic measures and rest the week away. but as much as i have been chastised by my family and friends alike for a bad judgement call which resulted in a minor head trauma, stitches and all, i am all up and dandy the day after to attend the annual f1 singapore grand prix.

sop's for the race in question

i balked when i arrived at the scene. the entire atmosphere was buzzing with excitement, though the photos i took showed otherwise. there was a chattering buzz from the onlookers, a gig performing at a nearby stage, and vendors of the relative race teams hawking their paraphernalia to dizzying walker-bys. i saw one too many pot-bellied caucasians guzzling down ice-cold beer, and could only stare in hideous envy; i was instructed not to touch alcohol in the midst of my recovery.

anyhows, the bleachers we (ray and i) were allocated to gave us a grand view of the automobiles approaching us from a sharp bend and straight through right in front of us. surely there could be no better of a spectacle than this, i thought to myself.

bleachers of yellow and red

apparently, the race turned out to be nothing more than seeing the automobiles zip past us from right under our noses and disappear into the distant the very next micro-second. this happened for a couple of times and then, the race was over. i gnashed my teeth and swore, pumping my fists in the air. that gesture somehow made people look at me, as though i knew a thing or two about the entire state of affairs. in honest fact, i couldn't comprehend a single bit the intrinsics of the race and was absolutely clueless what was going on. i couldn't tell one car apart from the next. all i knew was that i experienced the fleeting reverberations throughout my body every time the race cars bolted past us it felt like a pulsating vibrator.

some other interesting pictures like the one below: this fellow homo-sapien doesn't seem to understand the concept of velvet ropes. he plumped himself comfortably onto the couch next to all the mannequins and was visibly nonchalant to everyone else staring at him.

looks like he's gonna keel over any minute

someone give him a wedgie already!

at the end of the day, lewis hamilton won. i made it out alive, with my throbbing wound carefully concealed in a cap slanted at a precise angle, but none the wiser about the workings of a grand prix race. i couldn't wait to get back home. viva la hovel!

the following are snippets i caught on tv, the irrepressible lindsay lohan hosting the f1's, beyonce and no doubt upping the chic factor with their concerts.

gwen shows who's the queen

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the entry going gaga

i believe in karma. case in point: back in the heydays when i was a klutzy flight attendant (a.k.a. the literal airhead), many chinese national pax and their equally worthy bad breath were oft the cause of my haughty complaints. of late, i think i have been suffering from a mild case of halitosis myself due to my late night stakeouts, to which my friends would retch, cast me a nasty look, and question me if i have just downed a clove of garlic or something.

reeling the story back in, in case you folks now have shoddy, second impressions of me, let's bring on the glam with gaga and her slam. picture this: a sea of thronging crowd at fort canning park (10,000 folksies, as stated by lady gaga onstage later) packed in cliques, some young, some old, but all nonetheless awaiting with bated breath, peals of excitement bubbling amidst the frenzy for the kickoff of the performance by up-and-rising starlet lady gaga.

where one could have nonchalantly performed a sub-par standard gig, lady gaga took a vaudeville-esque performance to a nouveau high. she teased us during the dialogue sessions with her sweet, raspy vocals, wowed us when she went full throttle into her ass-kicking piano sessions and robust, circa christina aguilera vocals (no offence, but you're kinda sloping off, miss c.a.), and entertained us thoroughly with her backup dancers and slick dance moves.

but with only one album under her belt, the nonetheless engaging performance lasted a mere 60 minutes. still, it was all worth it despite being surrounded by the clamors of stark-crazed fans' shouts, swears, and pig sweat included.

lady gaga, me, and jem

i apologise for the quantity and quality of pics. i was just having too much fun.

on a side note, this entry was written when i was taking a dump. night peeps!

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