Visit Indonesia 2008: Blessing in Disgrace?

It was meant to promote Indonesia as a major destination in South East Asia. It was meant to boost the feebly dropping number of visitors to Indonesia and keep up the amazing race with tourism giants like Thailand (14 million visitors) or “Truly Asia” (18 millions). It was supposed to show Indonesia and not just Bali, to the center stage. Then, something happened to the $96,000 campaign.

A fatal grammatical error in the slogan (someone apparently forgot to put a definite article or possessive pronoun) which has appeared in billboards, government website and even plastered boldly on Garuda’s aircraft.. The firm agreed to change it at no extra cost (duh!). Someone would get a good hard spank and perhaps, fired.

Nevertheless, I find it a little bit odd. Is it perhaps part of the campaign strategy? I seriously doubt there are no person in the government or the design firm who didn’t realize the serious mistake. Maybe an Englishman is at the moment browsing internet and laughing (“Look at this poor country, darling. Blimey! Such a bloody mistake. Hey, we’ve never been to Indonesia, aren’t we?).

But then again, perhaps $96,000 should firstly be use to pay for the whole member of Tourism Board, a proper English lesson.

Below is the correct silent re-launch of Visit Indonesia 2008 logo.

Mazel Tov!

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The Departed

It seems 2007 took the best (and worst) kind of people from us. There were Anita Roddick, Ingmar Bergman, Luciano Pavarotti, Sidney Sheldon together with those from different field and axis, Bo Yibo (the ex-Chinese Communist Party leader), Khun Sa ( The ex- King of Golden Triangle), Kurt Waldheim (ex-UN Secretary-General allegedly involved in war crimes) and many others.

Just when I think there should be enough death already, a Benazir Bhutto was murdered. Shocking but yet not unexpected. Just when there is a fair good chance of democratic wind for Pakistan, a massacre before election happened. Oh, the sadness, anxiety, trial and tribulation of 2007! Enough to make a human-being cower and curl below his bed. But not this sapimalas. I’ll be looking for 2008 as a year where I should decide a lot of things. I just hope it is going to be the right one.

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Little Baby No More

I wonder of a mother who give birth
to a baby that could never be hers.
Still she raised the little soul,
years after terrifying years.
Until the baby no more.
And placed by a person,
flawed and angry.
Lack of love.
he said.
she said.

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Tropical Italian Santa and Distorted Jingle Bells

After the annual Christmas nausea, massive food and wine hang-over also last minute snapy shopping, I finally find the time to sit down and type. I hardly remember what kind of Christmas I’ve had before millenium except for the presents (I even need to double-check on my diary even for the last six!). Doll house when I was six. A plastic oven with velcro-ed carrot when I was eight. A complete edition of Japanese manga I adore when I was twelve. The present stopped when I entered the world of puberty. How dissapointing! I still love beautifully wrapped gifts which led my falling to the trap of my ungrateful brother last year. He beautifully wrapped an instant noodle (“Hey, you told me you like beautifully wrapped things!”). Sigh.

Things doesn’t get better. My parents give up choosing me gift around my teenage drama queen era (“But this cardigan looks old! And I don’t like this shade of pink!Yuck!) and continue giving me shopping voucher or “mentah”(means “raw” in English, but also could be use to tell someone “just give me the cash and I’ll buy whatever I like”).

The older I become, the less I enjoy Christmas. I feel it was greedily corrupted by consumerism. All the ho-ho-ho by fake Santa Claus with Chinese eyes, paid to have his picture taken by parents of innocent little screaming angels. Season Sale. And no beautifully wrapped presents below the tree. Sniff.

As long as I remember I’ve never had a romantic Christmas ala Hollywood. No brother of amnesia fiance who fall in love with me. No brilliantly located mistletoe. No fireplace with crackling wood and huge real life tree. For us, who lived in tropical world with no chance whatsoever of getting a White Christmas, the closest thing we get to the idea of romantic Christmas is to celebrate it with a bunch of family, preferably in decorated restaurant or party with a Michael Bolton Christmas record playing in the background.

Which we precisely did. This year, all four of us, went to Italian restaurant in Sanur area. Massimo was the name, obviously named after the owner. The guest was oddly mixed, what , with screaming kids and honeymoon-ed couple. There was a huge Christmas tree, decorated with green and red ribbons. The white columns covered in similar splash of Christmas spirit. Still, it doesn’t feel like Christmas.

So I gave up. Christmas, these days, just like Valentine’s Day. Overrated season, piously arranged by big companies and advertising industry. After my third glass of red wine and a fettuccine with lamb in pesto sauce, suddenly a distorted keyboard playing ‘Jingle Bells’ break my lamentation. Great. And suddenly to make it even worse, a falsetto female singing “jingle all the way, oh what fun….” Right.

Between my steak and the sixth glass of wine, I started to get used to it. Suddenly, a HOHOHO. A slim Santa Claus entered the room and the kids squealing in delight. What a joy to be young. He did his round, let adoring parents took his picture with the kids on his lap and giving, what else! Beautifully wrrapped presents! My heart starting to thud. I’ve been good this year. Graduated from uni. Made my parents happy.

When he reached our table, he gave away two parcels of biscuits and a beautifully wrapped present for me! I couldn’t help but grinning broadly and asked for having my picture taken with Santa (yes and I just graduated from uni. Like you could resist!). And suddenly I realized that Mr. Santa is Massimo himself! An original tropical Italian Santa. How surreal. Dali’s painting couldn’t be more surreal then that.

I went home, opened my “beautifully wrapped in red paper present” and found a wooden Wright’s airplane. Perhaps it’s a sign that next year, next Christmas, I would be celebrating some place else. Some place other than my 22 years of Christmas in Bali. Anyplace snowy.

It’s not a romantic Christmas but it is Christmas. Even with Italian Santa Claus, distorted jingles and humid tropical weather. Hohoho.

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Oscar Peterson (1925-2007)

“Some people try to get very philosophical and cerebral about what they’re trying to say with jazz. You don’t need any prologues, you just play. If you have anything to say of any worth then people will listen to you”, said The Maharajah of keyboard, Oscar Peterson. Jazz Universe lost another maestro when Oscar Peterson passed away on Sunday, December 23. God Bless His Soul. Links about his death and works can be find here.

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Royal Amusement

Who was the culprit? Few possible explanation of what makes Prince Harry laughed so hard:

1. King Philip has a gastronomic problem which caused him to be, uhm, gassy?

2. A private joke about "The Queen" which made Her Majesty as soured as plum and so prevented Her Majesty to stretch the smiling muscle.

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For M.

I am a mere mortal.
A mere big mouthed stupid mortal.
Once, I was trusted a secret and I, off-mindedly, leak it to the third party. My fault.
Only then the third party made a half-fictive blog out of it
and the one who gave me that secret, then, read the blog.
Chaos.
Chaos in life, in soul, in heart.
For I was cursed by guilt,
by fear,
of losing the best friend I ever had.
Of things that would possibly be
unsolved and damaged beyond repair
Rememberance of things past
and flying words
galloping
wild
which I yearn to diminished
into the frail air
of my humility.

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