The Downside of Hotness

Published September 2011

While I'll readily admit to a large number of personality flaws (character building flaws, I hasten to add), the one thing I am not is shallow. Even though I enjoy the companionship of relatively good looking individuals on a regular basis (lucky me), I've often believed that while visually great first impressions may be important, there'd better be a sound personality behind those looks.

Growing up looking the way that I did, it wasn't easy being fat as a toddler who then morphed into an awkward, gangly pre-teen. This spate of biological angst lasted a few more years until I discovered sports. Life was good as a jock for the most part and stayed with me for a large majority of my early to mid 20s. Admittedly I allowed myself to 'develop' in the girth area as I started hitting work and the bars harder and the gym less. I blame no one but myself. And my propensity towards happy hour.

I have long accepted that I will never be a ravishing beauty. My looks are passable at best. If pressed, some would describe me as 'cute', but they are the minority. I have skin that breaks out if you even look at it wrong, a ridiculous amount of body hair which I do battle with on a regular basis (I blame my ethnicity. And my dad's genes), deep set eyes which are so laden with baggage I look like a stoned raccoon and I have a nose. Not just any nose, I have a snout. You'd have to see it to believe it. But all things considered, I'd like to think that I've been able to use whatever few advantages I have to my benefit in a variety of ways. Having a disturbing sense of humour is a great way to get people to remember you. 

Drinking them under the table might be another too.

With all the less-than-desirable physical qualities I possess, one would imagine that I have a difficult time meeting people but it's not that hard. You just have to let your personality (if you actually do have one. You'd be surprised at how many people this applies to) do the talking for you. And I know it seems as though natural selection will always win out – superior physical attributes and genetics ensure a great head start in life. We've been inundated with images and findings that good looking people are treated better in life and end up making more money in the long run. Until recently I often believed that looks would get you far in life, and resigned myself to an adulthood spent in abject loneliness, with a bottle of soju for company.

This morning I came across an article that made me want to back the truck up. Everything I believed while staring depressingly into a mirror wasn't true after all.

Being gorgeous isn't always a good thing and I snorted with joy at the realization of this. A paper by University California, Santa Barbara in 2009 studied the mating patterns of fruit flies. True you may not necessarily be of the insect species but it might interest you to learn that male flies found certain female flies too attractive to mate with – hence, these winged hotties were at a biological disadvantage because of what the male flies perceived to be too attractive and this interfered with the female's ability to function biologically, normally.

The biologists at UC Santa Barbara are quoted as stating that “among fruit flies, too much male attention directed toward attractive females leads to smaller families and, ultimately, to a reduced rate of population-wide adaptive evolution.”

Even if we were to loosely apply this formulae to humans of the hot variety, this does make a little sense if you think about it. And I'm using my hundreds of hours spent being a barfly (the puns, the puns), observing people around me. Attractive women will almost always get more than their fair share of male attention. Whether or not it's attention that is wanted or required is a different matter altogether. The point is they'll get it. The second point to realize is that said attention may or may not always come from an ideal future mate. Actually, scratch that. 9 times out of 10 it never comes from an ideal mate. The UCSB paper further explains that the female flies are “disproportionately courted and harassed by males attempting to obtain matings”. Sounds like a typical night out at almost every club I can think of, complete with drunken suitors bursting at the seams with what can only be described as male bravado messily paired with Dutch courage. It's never a pretty sight as they zero in on the hotties, convinced of their stellar moves and lightning smooth abilities.

While this is all highly entertaining for me, most times I'm not sure if I should sit back and enjoy the show, or pity the poor fools. And with the onslaught of wannabe Alphas, the nice guys – the ones that would probably make for the best mates – have a harder time even coming within earshot of the hotties, sometimes due to intimidation at someone's physical attractiveness, most times due to the fact that the object of affection is probably already surrounded by more aggressive suitors.

So what is my summation apart from the fact that good looking women get taken down a little peg in an almost pointless study? Hotties have problems just like the rest of us after all. The flipside here is that life might be the teensiest bit fair after all. In the meantime I'll just sit and wait for my lunch to be served, observing the sexual stereotype of the overweight, balding, rich old dude at the table next to me fawning over a pretty young thing coquettishly playing with her food. Perhaps some things don't change after all.

Sometimes, There Is No Accounting For Taste

Published August 2011

I will be the first to admit that I am a typical hypocrite. I write, but I hardly read. I give advice but I rarely take it. I say black when what I really mean is white. And you know those people who are fully capable of enjoying a movie without having read the book? Yes, I'm that woman. And if I hear someone saying “But the book was so much better than the film,” just one more time, I shall do them, and quite possibly myself, an injury. Sadly I am unable to think if a situation where it is the other way around vis a vis film and novel. If you have an example of a film that's either been turned into a book or is better than the book, please let me know.

Now I have to come clean and admit that I love the Twilight movies. Sigh and roll your eyes if you must, I understand and don't hold it against you. I've not read the books and although I have nothing but respect for Stephanie Meyer, I don't see myself veering off to the Young Adult section of the bookshop to pick up any of her literary offerings in a hurry. Apparently not only am I a typical hypocrite, I'm a snob to boot.

In all honestly I wasn't aware of the popularity of her novels until the first film came out. I trundled along to watch it with the rest of the world, not knowing exactly what to expect but remembering that I had low expectations, having already suffered through a few stinkers in the weeks prior. Anyone who knows me would have a hard time believing that I, Shan Sandhu, would willingly go to the cinema, under no duress, and pay good money to be crammed into a funky- smelling, battered cinema with a large number of teenagers. I could almost feel the surge of young, angsty hormones floating around, no doubt brought about by the prospect of swooning over Robert Pattinson's Edward character for 2 hours. Yep that pale guy who sparkles when he's in sunlight, whose constantly pained expression makes him look as though he's got a volatile rumbly tummy.

It is not that I am a glutton for punishment, and trust me, I am very fussy about the movies I do watch. The only reason that I was sat in my seat, glued to the big screen was due to one very important factor: The movie had vampires in it. True story. I love me a good vampire or werewolf movie I do. I don't enjoy sci-fi and I'm not a fan of the general horror genre at large. You can keep the machete-wielding guys in hockey masks. I'll just take my vampies and my wolfies, thanks.

While we're on the subject, I remember that feeling of pure joy and abject happiness when the first Underworld movie made its rounds; vamps versus werewolves and Kate Beckinsdale in all her black leather hunter broodiness. Awesome, awesome movie. Low on the horror scale but still highly watchable. I've got fond memories of much-loved films such as The Howling (Part 1. Only), Bram Stoker's Dracula (visual mastery from Francis Ford Coppola. A stellar cast. However, I am unable to explain Keanu Reeves), Salem's Lot (the 2004 version with Rob Lowe, Donald Sutherland and Rutger Hauer kept me up nights) and my personal favourite, An American Werewolf In London. I have the director's cut on dvd and it cost me about RM200 at the time but I never once regretted that purchase and I still watch it from time to time.

What I enjoyed about An American Werewolf was that it got the job done. I sat, I watched, I laughed at the right parts, I got scared when I was supposed to, I hid under my duvet, I fast-forwarded the gory bits, I avoided empty tube stations from then on, and CCR's Bad Moon Risin' will always give me a little shiver each time I hear it. Even a family holiday to London many years ago left me with a queasy, anxious feeling especially while walking around Leicester Square – the location of the most pivotal scenes in the movie. To my mind , American Werewolf delivered what any good vamp/were movie should. A scare so good it was visceral.

But back to Twilight. I was aware that it was campy, teenage love stuff but what I wasn't prepared for was how reeled in I became. Could Edward save Bella in time and stop James? Would Bella's hair ever look anything other than perfect? In the greater scheme of things who cares, right? Well I did. I gave in, sat back and enjoyed the film for what it was: Entertainment. And when I found out that the subsquent films featured werewolves I was sold - even if they're ridiculously handsome, ethical, morally sound wolfies who don't go around eating people willy-nilly.

Granted the Twilight flicks are not your usual bloody, gory fare, in fact I don't think the vamps even have fangs, but like I said: I'm a typical hypocrite.

Column Ideas That Could Have Been

Published August 2011

COLUMN IDEAS THAT COULD HAVE BEEN

In about 2 months, I will be saying goodbye to my job as chief scribbler and head troublemaker for a local online magazine, and will instead use the free time obtained to do various other things in an effort to really and truly get in touch with my psyche as well as my inner child - whom I fondly refer to as Mini Me. Truth be told I'm secretly a little pleased to be able to act my shoe size and not my age for a bit.

Love my job, love the company I work with and my colleagues are super individuals whom I've actually grown quite fond of, but I was starting to feel as though I had hit a creative plateau – sadly a common malady that strikes fear into the hearts and minds of fellow scribblers the world over.

It seems to have become a regular, almost healthy practice to accept that the shelf-life of most media related jobs is between 2 to 3 years. If you're feeling sluggish and even a little unmotivated you're not doing yourself, or the publication you're attached to, any favours.

While I look forward to the luxury of working at my own pace from my little office at home I plan to seriously focus on my personal writing and will also take up a few refresher classes online with the Gotham Writers' Workshop.

I also intend to pay more attention to this column. Fingers crossed I'll be able to churn out regular, somewhat intelligent writing.

Thanks to encouragement and motivation from some of my favourite op-ed writers around the region, I've been toying with ideas on how to sharpen the content of this column. “What gets you going?” one asked. “When something gets under my skin and I feel like complaining about it. Those pieces seem to be the most popular,” I replied somewhat complacently. Well, life is such that no one likes a whiner and I genuinely felt as though I was irritating myself (yes that is possible), trying to wax lyrical on existentialism and the winter of our discontent. It is much more fun writing about the random, often ridiculous thoughts that rattle around in my head and I was thinking about columns ideas that have been thankfully shelved and will not see the light of day.

Politics

Nope. Nyet. Nein. If there is one stance I've consistently maintained, it's that I have no business sticking my snout where it doesn't belong. I have a weak grasp of local and national politics at best. Better to leave this topic in the hands of my very capable counterparts – people who actually do know what they're talking and writing about – as opposed to my unsophisticated and uneducated take on world issues.

Happy Hour

While my alcohol-inspired gallivants around town are fun I doubt that anyone would want to read about how many gallons of the good stuff we've managed to quaff. I've had the privilege of partaking in some truly exceptional libations, and I've enjoyed some epic sessions thanks to generous, energetic mates who imbibe with equal enthusiasm - but would you honestly want to read about the beer before liquor rule or our adventures in upchucking? Natch, I didn't think so. Unless you really do. In which case, drop me an email. You sound like my kind of people. We should hang.

Candace Bushnell Influenced

Sex and the City's rapier wit, superb couture and global success aside, I was always taught to write about what I know. I am 10kg over my ideal weight, I do regular battle with bad skin, bad hair and bad teeth, and I look like I haven't slept in about a year. Marry that with the fact that I am unable to dress myself in a suitably girly manner (I blame my chunky rugby player legs – the source of much teasing as a kid), and you've got someone who shouldn't be writing relationship columns. An avowed singleton (see above points for reasons why), I've got no game. Also, I don't do pink.

Revenge of the Useless, Sarcastic Kind

I have to be honest. I gave this the most thought and spent hours drafting open letters to those I felt had wronged me somehow, suggesting highly humorous ways for us to work through our problems. The end result is comedic but something tells me that the recipients wouldn't appreciate it. A hilarious form of therapy for me. For said recipients, not so much. I can see the funny in it but some people just don't know how to laugh at themselves. This is why they should get me to laugh at them, for them. I'd be providing a public service of sorts. Right?

Travel, Tourism, Why Sabah Rocks

Sabah, being any tourism ministry's dream come true, has had millions of articles written on how one should traipse in and around our beloved home. Information on things to do, what to see, where to dive and how to eat are readily available online, not forgetting the hundreds of books dedicated to our history, nature, culture and wildlife.

Does Sabah really need yours truly to lower the fine standards set by better writers before me? The answer here is no. You'd want to read positive, helpful and well put-together information. Not my rambling as I sit here, alternating between finishing this piece and contemplating my navel, telling myself that I really don't need to be having bah kut teh (a delicious Chinese pork bone tea soup) for dinner, but knowing that it's what I'll probably end up buying on my way home from work tonight.

Goodbye, diet. Hello, expanding waistline.

I seriously could ramble on, but the computer's app tells me that I'm fast approaching the 1000 word count mark. Bah kut teh takeaway here I come. 

More Online

Published September 2009

You’ve got to love the online media. These are some snippets of news that I personally enjoyed reading. A light-hearted deviation off the doom and gloom of the global financial tsunami tangent and other equally serious issues. I’m afraid I can’t really cover ‘Serious’ as well as some of my more talented peers within the writing fraternity. However, ‘Silly’ I can do with my eyes closed.

TAYLOR SWIFT – 1 KANYE WEST – 0

I have always had a teensy inkling that Kanye West was the sort of diva who would make superstars like Aretha Franklin and Mariah Carey blush.

Known for consistently throwing tantrums at the drop of a hat and being plagued by controversy, West’s recent behaviour at last week’s 2009 MTV Video Music Awards took the cake.

Upset by Taylor Swift’s win over Beyonce in the Best Female Video category, West took to the stage during Swift’s acceptance speech and grabbed the mike, stating that Beyonce was the rightful winner of said award. The audience responded to West’s blatant unprofessionalism and rudeness with a sea of well-deserved boos.

West was immediately criticized by a slew of fans and celebrities, with US President Barrack Obama likening West’s behaviour to that of a donkey’s bottom – in an off-the-record comment of course.

While he may be going through the motions of the grovelling gauntlet and apologizing every which way he can on his website, on TV shows and to Taylor Swift herself, it has to be said that people generally seem to be getting more than a little fed up with childish antics. Several music stations around the world even enforced a ‘No Kanye’ day in what could be described as a global lockdown, if you like.

It is interesting to note that this is not the first time West has stomped his foot like the proverbial child many of us see him as. During the MTV Europe Music Awards in 2006, he failed to win for Best Video. No points for guessing what came next. West went on stage as the award was being presented to winners Justice and Simian and proclaimed that he should have won instead. I’ve begun to see a pattern here.

A long fall from grace for the man who was once dubbed ‘the hottest MC in the game’. A Grammy award winning artist whose tracks were tightly eclectic has now become very simply erratic to me.

13 YEAD OLD TAKES FASHION WORLD BY STORM

Chances are you won’t have heard of Tevi Gevinson. It’s quite alright, I only just found out about this ‘tween myself. While her peers and counterparts may be busy with usual teenage issues, 13 year old Gevinson is the toast of the international fashion circuit and is currently being feted by some of the best designers in the world.

How did this happen? Simple. Apparently the girl has an amazing eye for trends and detail. Her blog, Style Rookie, can count on gushing fan love from fashion commanders such as Yohji Yamamoto and Marc Jacobs to name a few.

Taken directly from her blog is her very own self-description :

“Tiny 13 year old dork that sits inside all day wearing awkward jackets and pretty hats. Scatters black petals on Rei Kawakubo's doorsteps and serenades her in rap. Rather cynical and cute as a drained rat.”

Some would find that charming. Others, vaguely disturbing. Apart from the cute touches of self-depreciating humour, it doesn’t change the fact that this girl knows fashion. Gevinson is a pro when it comes to her takes of the newest lines and is fast becoming a front-row regular at fashion shows. Her writing is sharp, witty and accurate. Nary a trace of teenage angst is present while she deconstructs and analyses design and form.

Could this tiny waif with the oversized glasses and zany wardrobe become the next Anna Wintour? Well, it’s always a possibility.

Visit: tavi-thenewgirlintown.blogspot.com

TOO RAUNCHY FOR MALAYSIA

I kid you not, this is the title for an article I read on MSN Malaysia by one Nicholas Chow. It is an entertaining list of artists that have been restricted from performing in Malaysia, or have had to change aspects of their show to appease certain groups.

The newest head to roll off the figurative chopping block was tennybopping Danish group Michael Learns To Rock. While I can’t speak with authority on their songlists and albums, I can however state that MLTR is no Judas Priest (Brit Heavy Metal band) and I’m hard pressed to believe that there would be misbehaviour of any kind from MLTR concertgoers. It’s as funny to me as imagining gangs of little five year olds at a Barney (purple dinosaur) show running riot and engaging in thuggish activities of the lout variety.

Other artists and groups that received warnings and strong caution prior to performing but went ahead and rocked out regardless: Linkin Park, Mariah Carey, The Pussycat Dolls, Avril Lavigne and Gwen Stefani.

The article also listed Rihanna down as a small group was protesting her indecent dress as an affront to Asian values. However days prior to her concert Rihanna suffered injuries at the hands of her then-boyfriend Chris Brown in the infamous incident which I’m sure we’re all aware of.

And interestingly enough, Beyonce is now set to perform in KL next month after her 2007 gig faced similar problems over indecent dress and provocative dance moves

One can only wonder what next week’s news will bring. 

When Words Fail Me

Published September 2009 

It is never a pleasant sensation when writer’s block strikes. It’s quite the tightrope walk, trying to mould my self-indulgent scribbling into something even remotely reader friendly. Imagine the strain when the scribbling itself decides to pack up in a fit of pique and tells me to take a long walk off a short bridge. Nope, not an experience I’d wish on many.

So there I was. Sitting in front of my computer for days on end, hoping lightning would strike and something, no matter how small or seemingly trivial, would set the creative juices flowing once again.

I heed and hawed, bumbled along my daily reads online looking for inspiration. I took a little time off work when my beloved cousin came over for a short vacation, thinking that what I really needed was a little downtime and lots of fresh, animated conversation – read copious amounts of beer, little more than the imbiber’s battlecry of “Bottoms Up”, and very little sleep.

While those were all noble attempts (I never claimed I was not living in denial), nary a decent idea for this column sprang to mind. I felt the desperation setting in as I imagined yet another apologetic text message to my extremely patient and highly forgiving editor (thank you Daisy) explaining my lack of submissions.

That bastion of online knowledge, Wikipedia, defines the term Writer’s Block as ‘a condition, associated with writing as a profession, in which an author loses the ability to produce new work.’

It is widely known that most writers do suffer from spurts of WB, with many respected leaders in this industry admitting to having to step away from the computer for a spell. On the other hand, certain authors have suffered from this dreaded ‘condition’ for years, citing a complete and utter lack of motivation or inspiration as very tangible reasons.

Many famous writers themselves have suffered at one point or another at the hands of The Block.

Well loved prolifics such as Tolstoy, Fitzgerald, Plath and Hemingway, whose individual bodies of work changed the very face of literature, admitted to battling with this dreaded condition.

While it would be extremely arrogant of me to try to place myself anywhere near the feet of these literary paragons, I think it goes without saying that those who write for a living will sympathize and empathize with anyone who has been in the same proverbial boat.

I have come to realize that in these situations, honesty really is the best policy. Whenever friends would pose the usual “So what’s new with you?” query, I would respond with a heaving sigh and explain that the grey matter lodged firmly in my head – some would refer to that as a brain - wasn’t firing off the synapses as quickly as I would have liked. I whined piteously until my buddy Audrey, also one who has a strong background in the writing fraternity, asked me if I had heard of malaprops and suggested I write about that.

“A stand for malaria,” I wondered aloud. “No, silly,” she replied and explained that a malaprop is when one word is accidentally used in place of another with unintended, comedic results.

Audrey then proceeded to give me an example by way of a well known Malaysian songstress whose grasp of the English language, or lack thereof, was the stuff of legend. Said singer was interviewed by a respected publication and when asked what her favourite facial feature was she replied that she liked the tip of her mammary glands. Well no, she didn’t actually explain it like that. However it was eventually determined that this international star was actually, and innocently, referring to her dimples.

Millions are well aware of George W Bush’s globally known malaprops. His cringe-worthy speeches have gone down in the annals of political humour as ‘Bushisms’. A fine example of Bushism is his uttering of "It will take time to restore order and chaos." During a televised broadcast, no less.

And I think I’ve made my point in this department.

Mondegreens are another interesting variety of light-heartedness. This has happened to many of us, I’m sure. You’re humming along to your favourite song. You think you know the words. When you finally get a hold of the original lyrics it appears you’ve made some serious errors. A Mondegreen basically refers to words that are misheard, rather than misused. Some fine song examples are as follows:

• “Excuse me while I kiss this guy” – Excuse me while I kiss the sky

Purple Haze by Jimi Hendrix

• “The girl with colitis goes by” – The girl with kaleidoscope eyes

Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds by The Beatles

• “There’s a bathroom on the right” – There’s a bad moon on the rise

Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater Revival

• “I’ll be your xylophone waiting for you” – I’ll be beside the phone waiting for you

Build Me Up Buttercup by The Foundations

• “Hold me closer, Tony Danza” – Hold me closer, tiny dancer

Tiny Dancer by Elton John

And then there’s my own personal favourite with that well loved 80s anthem by Paul Young, Every Time You Go Away. I used to incorrectly belt out the chorus as “Every time you go away, you take a piece of meat with you”. In my defence, I was only 8 years old when this hit the charts.

It has been interesting for me to note that when words fail me, I simply retreat to whatever cracks a smile. I’ll admit to stifling a snort and several chuckles while writing this. But then again, anything is better than wallowing in self-pity while repeatedly banging my head against the nearest hard surface, methinks.

Resources: Wikipedia/kissthisguy.com

Humour Synonyms

Published November 2008


Not too long ago I was conducting an online interview with a one Mr. Nury Vittachi. Easily South East Asia's most prominent columnist and general poker of fun at all things Asian-centric, I asked Mr. Vittachi what inspired him when it came down to finding the humour in everydayness.
"In Asia, you don't have to make up jokes," he replied. "You just have to follow the news and write it down."
A sound bit of advice from a man who was a joy to interact with and whom I learnt a great deal from. But he got me thinking in the way that writersdo, if you may permit me a small bon mot. Okay then let's be realistic. I'm a budding scribbler with daydreams of becoming a published author in my own right. But in the meantime I get to flex my figurative muscles and somewhat predictable wordplay out on the gentle readers of this fine column who are quite possibly groaning aloud by this point my inconsequential fluffing. Cough.

I suppose what I am trying to get at is that I would like to be a better humour writer. Comedy isn't easy guys. Believe me when I say that as I have a whisper of experience in this department. Sometime last year I had signed up for a 10 week online humour writing course with New York based and world renowned Gotham Writers' Workshop. My dalliances with comedy of the literary sort were truly an experience that I still have very fond memories of. And the open praise from my lecturer Siobhan Adcock in stating that I was the "reigning gross-out master of the class" is a moniker that I still have fond memories of. As I was reminded several times over, humour is a skill that requires effort, study, work and lots of practise. And a pretty bizarre take on life I suspect.

Not too long ago I was given a quote which I play over in my head every so often : "Everyone likes to think that they have a sense of humour. Just as they like to believe that they are good drivers." I conducted a little experiment of sorts on several upstanding individuals and the results were interesting to say the least. Now whether or not said individuals are indeed fine comedians and possess the skills and prowess that would put Massa to shame on the F1 circuit is irrelevant. The point to my little analytical observation on the human psyche is that the above-mentioned statement is indeed true to a point. We all think we're pretty funny. And that and we're awesome drivers too.

Whenever I'm feeling a little blah and a bit too serious (which never helps budding comedic writers unless you're Woody Allen), I turn to a fine, shining example of writerhood ; Mimi Smartypants.
Ms. Smartypants is a pseudonym for quite possibly the most hilarious Chicago native unleashed on the literatti in a very long time. A wife, mother and author of her very own book, The World According To Mimi Smartypants, (solely based on entries from her blog) publishing house paragon Harper Collins felt she had enough chops to be put on paper and so they went ahead and the rest, as they say, is history. Mimi Smartypants exhibits humour, hangovers and a touch of hypochondria all rolled into some very easy, laugh-out-loud-variety reading.

A small excerpt from one of her recent postings :

"Today I decided that I really hate my laugh. I was laughing at something and for one terrible self-aware moment I clearly heard myself, and I had the high-pitched giggle of an unhinged Muppet. So I played around a while with ways to change it, but I quickly ran out of funny stuff to laugh at so the experiment was abandoned. Right now I am alone in the house and drinking a lot of tea, having a maniacal typing and reading marathon. Something struck me funny in the middle of this caffeine-a-thon and I found myself laughing by actually saying 'Ha Ha Ha'. This is not an improvement over the Muppet thing so I give up."

Mimi Smartypants may be found at www.smartypants.dairyland.com