Something different this time around. For those who keep asking me "Why blog about Taman Desa?" well, I think these 7 reasons will be good enough for the time being:
1. Close to all the major highways
Kesas Hwy, Federal Hwy, PJ-Cheras Hwy, Seremban Hwy, Sg Besi Hwy and Penchala Link. This is a property agent's dream but because most of them are dumb not all have cottoned on to this fact.
2. Hot Babes
Just spend some time ambling around the 7-11s and the shoplots and you'll begin to see why. Condos like Danau Impian and Danau Idaman also have their fair share of babes of all races.
3. Green Environment
Unlike SS2 or God forbid, most of USJ, Taman Desa and its satellite suburbs (Bukit Desa, Danau Desa) are pretty leafy and green, with huge shady trees to boot. We even have our own lake. Beat that.
4. Hot Celebrity Babes
Yes, just to up the ante on No.2 we even have celebs like Elaine Daly and Marsha Londoh (I worked with both on the drama series Kerana Karina) living in the area. Other celebs include Zally Hussain and Hansen Lee (whom I've also worked with on Kerana Karina and Gua Centre). I'm sure there's a few more, but just can't think of them right now...
5. Great Variety Of Food
Taman Desa may be a little pricey but we have among the best of it all: Banana Leaf, Malay, Mamak (at least a dozen), Hong Kong Chinese, Fine Dining Chinese and Western. In fact, you name it and we've got it. No fast-food though...
6. Accessible Amenities
Everything is really close by. Hospital, Bomba, Police (okay, it's a pondok) TM Point, and at least a dozen clinics. No need to crawl out of Old Klang Road for anything, really.
7. This is DAP Territory
Taman Desa sometimes seems like an oasis of hotbed politics among the lamb-like conformists around us. There are plenty of old fellas with ol-skool minds who are never too afraid to ask "Why?" and speak out for what they feel is right.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Thursday, November 08, 2007
The Fast, The Furious and A Bloody Traffic Jam
Something looked odd the other day in Taman Desa. Just down by the new part of my beloved suburb I found myself in a traffic jam that would’ve put the Federal Highway to shame. I could have read the latest GQ from cover to cover and still not clear the light.
Worse, I was frustratingly close to my favourite Mamak food outlet but found myself queued up in a rather quiet street. No passing traffic in front. Just a queue and pissed off drivers. That’s because in their infinite wisdom, City Hall decided that the rather quiet intersection in front of me (one so innocuous that most people didn’t they had to stop when approaching it) needed a traffic light. One that would actually keep free-flowing traffic to a standstill.
That’s essentially what a bureaucracy does. They decide on things/processes that slow life down to a stop. It kinda reflects how they work themselves.
It’s not what I like, to put it mildly. I recently took up an offer to get back into television again, a career path I sorely missed. I’d been on the lookout to get back in despite running my own ad agency for more than three years. Then Media Prima asked if I’d be interested in running their New Media video creation team for a new lifestyle portal they were launching. It would be like TV but it would be entirely internet-based, with short form programming and doing the kind of stuff you won’t get to see on free-to-air TV.
Workling life has been flying at Media Prima since I joined. And since we launched the portal, www.gua.com.my I’ve been on this amazing journey, being involved in a start-up once again, with full-fledged trade launch, media launch and going ‘live’ with our aim to deliver Malaysia’s best online content and be numero uno. Life is not complacent here. We live it on the edge. The cutting-edge.
So you can imagine what it must be like to get stuck in a lousy jam. It’s a sick joke and Taman Desans are also scratching their heads. More lights have cropped up in other parts of town and I bet the main contractor assigned to the task is happy to get more work, planning his next holiday in Koh Samui. It’s only tax-payers’ money, after all.
The present management of Media Prima turned the group around from debt-ridden a TV company to pile of cash-cow subsidiaries that dominate advertising expenditure.
Maybe they should be running the country too.
Worse, I was frustratingly close to my favourite Mamak food outlet but found myself queued up in a rather quiet street. No passing traffic in front. Just a queue and pissed off drivers. That’s because in their infinite wisdom, City Hall decided that the rather quiet intersection in front of me (one so innocuous that most people didn’t they had to stop when approaching it) needed a traffic light. One that would actually keep free-flowing traffic to a standstill.
That’s essentially what a bureaucracy does. They decide on things/processes that slow life down to a stop. It kinda reflects how they work themselves.
It’s not what I like, to put it mildly. I recently took up an offer to get back into television again, a career path I sorely missed. I’d been on the lookout to get back in despite running my own ad agency for more than three years. Then Media Prima asked if I’d be interested in running their New Media video creation team for a new lifestyle portal they were launching. It would be like TV but it would be entirely internet-based, with short form programming and doing the kind of stuff you won’t get to see on free-to-air TV.
Workling life has been flying at Media Prima since I joined. And since we launched the portal, www.gua.com.my I’ve been on this amazing journey, being involved in a start-up once again, with full-fledged trade launch, media launch and going ‘live’ with our aim to deliver Malaysia’s best online content and be numero uno. Life is not complacent here. We live it on the edge. The cutting-edge.
So you can imagine what it must be like to get stuck in a lousy jam. It’s a sick joke and Taman Desans are also scratching their heads. More lights have cropped up in other parts of town and I bet the main contractor assigned to the task is happy to get more work, planning his next holiday in Koh Samui. It’s only tax-payers’ money, after all.
The present management of Media Prima turned the group around from debt-ridden a TV company to pile of cash-cow subsidiaries that dominate advertising expenditure.
Maybe they should be running the country too.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
The Tax Alamo
The blog’s been held up, thanks to the government. Before anyone jumps to conclusions I must add that it’s been the taxman in particular. As the June 30 deadline loomed last month I was warned of a high tax bill stemming from profits from both my companies and various fees/salaries made to me.
Thus, the last month was a mad scramble to find lost receipts and juggle expenses into some kind of financial jigsaw that was finally coming together in the last few days. The tax that I have to pay is now what I expected. Like my idol Kerry Packer once said to his government: 'If anybody in this country doesn't minimise their tax, they want their heads read, because as a government, I can tell you you're not spending it that well that we should be donating extra!"
Well, I wasn't the only one thinking like that. In Taman Desa, it seemed every vendor, businessman, consultant, small business owner and freelancer was hanging out in a coffee shop, talking nervously to bespectacled middle-aged men about tax relief, depreciation and claimable deductions, etc. Coffee consumption was at an all-time high and so was electricity usage. Forget the environment, this was our money at stake!
It seems true that Taman Desa residents, or Taman Desans, are a street-smart, money-savvy and sturdy lot. And we’re proudly entrenched in the Opposition. We make up the four or five suburbs in the Seputeh constituency that falls under the Democratic Action Party (DAP).
Taman Desans in particular, are a tight bunch too. When crime rises so much as a sniffle above the minimal rate we take action into our own hands. No, not by doing a Clint Eastwood but by having citizens patrols and outsourced security guards on bike through a shared monthly cost.
But my mate Mike has a conspiracy theory that the government is trying to wrestle back control of Taman Desa. Plenty of Malay housing is flooding in. A mosque suddenly sprouted out of nowhere a couple of years back. More Malays here would tip the scales back to government favour, unless of course, these residents were supporters of the opposition Malay party PKR (People’s Justice Party) headed by former deputy prime minister Anwar Ibrahim.
Whatever the case, they'll have a battle on their hands. It'll be like the Alamo, with many abled Travis, Bowie and Crockett-like defenders.
Just in case, I’m going to finally register and get myself on the election roll. My mates Mike and Charles haven't figured out if they'll do it but I hope so. The feeling out there is that it's time for a change. If Malaysians are smart about their taxes I hope those of us who really want change will be smart enough to elect for it.
Thus, the last month was a mad scramble to find lost receipts and juggle expenses into some kind of financial jigsaw that was finally coming together in the last few days. The tax that I have to pay is now what I expected. Like my idol Kerry Packer once said to his government: 'If anybody in this country doesn't minimise their tax, they want their heads read, because as a government, I can tell you you're not spending it that well that we should be donating extra!"
Well, I wasn't the only one thinking like that. In Taman Desa, it seemed every vendor, businessman, consultant, small business owner and freelancer was hanging out in a coffee shop, talking nervously to bespectacled middle-aged men about tax relief, depreciation and claimable deductions, etc. Coffee consumption was at an all-time high and so was electricity usage. Forget the environment, this was our money at stake!
It seems true that Taman Desa residents, or Taman Desans, are a street-smart, money-savvy and sturdy lot. And we’re proudly entrenched in the Opposition. We make up the four or five suburbs in the Seputeh constituency that falls under the Democratic Action Party (DAP).
Taman Desans in particular, are a tight bunch too. When crime rises so much as a sniffle above the minimal rate we take action into our own hands. No, not by doing a Clint Eastwood but by having citizens patrols and outsourced security guards on bike through a shared monthly cost.
But my mate Mike has a conspiracy theory that the government is trying to wrestle back control of Taman Desa. Plenty of Malay housing is flooding in. A mosque suddenly sprouted out of nowhere a couple of years back. More Malays here would tip the scales back to government favour, unless of course, these residents were supporters of the opposition Malay party PKR (People’s Justice Party) headed by former deputy prime minister Anwar Ibrahim.
Whatever the case, they'll have a battle on their hands. It'll be like the Alamo, with many abled Travis, Bowie and Crockett-like defenders.
Just in case, I’m going to finally register and get myself on the election roll. My mates Mike and Charles haven't figured out if they'll do it but I hope so. The feeling out there is that it's time for a change. If Malaysians are smart about their taxes I hope those of us who really want change will be smart enough to elect for it.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Money Matters in Taman Desa
Every Saturday, the routine is simple and straightforward: lunch is with Mike Choo at the local 'mamak' restaurant. It's near my office, which is near my home, which is near Mike's home, which is near... well, almost everything we need.
'Mamak' is local slang for a restaurant that serves Indian-Muslim cuisine. Spicy, local delights and 'roti' (the Indian bread) make them popular with every single race in Malaysia. They're also very cheap and by operating long hours most of these businesses mint more money that your local bank branch.
Mike Choo and I have come to love the benevolent, bumbling guys who provide as much entertainment in the way they talk as well as the way they serve us. Put it this way: they won't win awards for best service. But like Avis, they try harder.
Forget AirAsia. These guys are the ultimate low-cost business. And the entire staff is comprised of Indian locals ('imports' as my friend Charles would say) who could pass of as Malaysian until they open their mouths. I don't know how many are illegal immigrants but there's a fair few of them. Most Malaysians couldn't care less anyway.
The hallmark of any 'mamak' is the outdoor plastic tables. You must have them. It's so stuffy inside these restaurants that outdoor eating is a must and car park bays give way to that. 'Mamak' staff will eye car owners in front of their outlet and quickly claim a parking bay once it's vacated. They'll block it with one, sometimes two, tables. It's illegal, of course (again, who cares).
But, it seems, a jealous Town Hall manages to come up with a win-win situation. They've been going around granting 'mamaks' up to four bays at certain hours of the day to facilitate business. But it will cost them RM400 a bay each month. That's RM1600 for your total al fresco enjoyment per month. That's a small fortune.
No, we're not talking administration fees or additional licensing requirements that need to be filled out. This is pure, cash kickbacks duly collected by senior town hall officers. Hell, for that kind of cheap price, I'd collect the cash myself too. Along the way, you get free meals for you and your cohorts too.
The affable 'mamak' restaurant supervisor isn't too pleased. But that's business, he concedes. Having to grease up to officials with meals and cash will be the only way to increase clientele and make more money. He doesn't charge more for eating outside. But the question remains, if it's illegal then why are officials making money out of it? Because money matters in Taman Desa, just like any other part of KL.
Yesterday, the government announced pay rises of up to 30% for civil servants. That's not bad. Maybe they'll charge less for allowing mamaks their al fresco spaces. Then again, maybe we should just wake up from that dream.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
City of Cars
In a bad way, an iconic thing about Kuala Lumpur and nearby city Petaling Jaya is the lack of adequate car parking spaces. Let me re-phrase that better: the total, abject lack of places for your car to park. Bad town-planning that is so chronic that even illegal spots are hard to find.
Just below my office in Taman Danau Desa (adjacent to my beloved Taman Desa), the car park bays fill up at about 9am. By ten, it’s a ‘free-for-all’ for the double-parked spots. Even parking tickets don’t deter us regulars. If double-parking isn’t available then the front of bus stops and taxi stands will do. It’s a rush to park your car where a 7 by 15 spot (or smaller) exists, no matter who you block.
This pattern continues way on till about midnight because the condominium across the road gets its fair share of nocturnal visitors.
Inevitably, getting out is the tough part as drivers attempt the automotive version of Houdini and David Copperfield. Often, attempts to squeeze out fail and Taman Danau Desa becomes a regular cacophony of car and truck horns activated by pissed off drivers. You can tell drivers by the way they horn too. Women make staccato-like beeps. Men put a little more sustained pressure on the horn, say 3 or 4 seconds. The more aggressive alpha males will slam the horn like a surgeon putting pressure on a burst jugular.
Every so often, this hooting symphony gets punctuated by the muffled thud of shattered glass – that’s the alpha male driven to breaking point, literally. A broken side window is all he needs to lift the handbrake and push the offending car forward, leaving a gap for him to pull out.
It’s getting so bad that people fear parking in legit spots for fear that they’ll get blocked by someone who’ll wander off for a drink and not come back for another hour.
So what causes all this? Over-developed commercial areas of course. I’m going to bring up a comparison with Melbourne, which may be unfair, but let’s compare the good with the not-so-good and get some ideas.
First of all, not counting the city area itself, I’ve never come across commercial shoplots in Melbourne that were more that 2 stories high. In Malaysia, it’s common to see 4 stories or even 5. In Melbourne, car parking is readily available and proportionate to the density of office space. In Malayia, parking's as easy to find as the Tasmanian Tiger.
A friend of mine left his town planning job lately. He’s going into advertising to find some sanity in the world, he says.
Now that’s saying something about town planning in Malaysia.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Blood On The Dancefloor
About 27 years ago, Martin Scorsese released a boxing epic on the life of heavyweght champion Jake LaMotta. The film itself was entitled Raging Bull, which was LaMotta’s apt nickname on and off the boxing ring. It’s a pretty brutal film with great performances by Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci. Scorsese earned an Oscar nomination and the film itself was voted ‘Best Film of the Eighties’.
While Scorsese is in contention for an Oscar come Monday night for The Departed, the spirit of Jake LaMotta lives on in salsa clubs like Salsa Havana, where Nim and I visit regularly.
We’re seasoned salsa veterans although I won’t profess to having the same slickness to most of my peers. These days the real art of salsa is to avoid the many Raging Bulls out there from doing damage to me and Nim.
I’m talking about flying elbows – courtesy of salseros bringing in too much of a ballroom technique.
There are heels too, both from the men and women. The men can come down hard on you and while women in stilettos are deadlier than a wounded Navy Seal bent on revenge.
Open breaks and ‘New Yorkers’ mean pointed fingers come in eyeball range while heavy-weight beginner females lumber aimlessly in their basic steps, causing collateral damage all over the dancefloor.
Women with long-hair are also deadly on full turns. The whip effect of their hair – akin to slap - can usually be avoided with a simple hair band. If you want to look like J-Lo then by all means, but take it off before your little ‘show’ on the dancefloor. Your Marc Anthony will appreciate it.
Basically, LaMotta would cringe at the injuries that are suffered each week at Salsa Havana. My Tuesday night futsal matches are less physical.
I’m having to constantly look over my shoulder before manoeuvering cross-body leads in case Nim or another dance partner is likely to suffer a head-on collision.
Sure, it’s great to have fun salsa-ing and to let your hair down, literally. But taking small steps is good manners and having those elbows tucked in is even better. That’s dancing etiquette.
On maybe Kuala Lumpur needs more salsa clubs? Every one of them seems to have the same problem – tight spaces and a dearth of observant dancers.
I’m finding ways to cope. For the time being, armour-plated heel protectors are top of my list next time I head to the mall. And here’s to Scorsese winning the Oscar for Best Director.
While Scorsese is in contention for an Oscar come Monday night for The Departed, the spirit of Jake LaMotta lives on in salsa clubs like Salsa Havana, where Nim and I visit regularly.
We’re seasoned salsa veterans although I won’t profess to having the same slickness to most of my peers. These days the real art of salsa is to avoid the many Raging Bulls out there from doing damage to me and Nim.
I’m talking about flying elbows – courtesy of salseros bringing in too much of a ballroom technique.
There are heels too, both from the men and women. The men can come down hard on you and while women in stilettos are deadlier than a wounded Navy Seal bent on revenge.
Open breaks and ‘New Yorkers’ mean pointed fingers come in eyeball range while heavy-weight beginner females lumber aimlessly in their basic steps, causing collateral damage all over the dancefloor.
Women with long-hair are also deadly on full turns. The whip effect of their hair – akin to slap - can usually be avoided with a simple hair band. If you want to look like J-Lo then by all means, but take it off before your little ‘show’ on the dancefloor. Your Marc Anthony will appreciate it.
Basically, LaMotta would cringe at the injuries that are suffered each week at Salsa Havana. My Tuesday night futsal matches are less physical.
I’m having to constantly look over my shoulder before manoeuvering cross-body leads in case Nim or another dance partner is likely to suffer a head-on collision.
Sure, it’s great to have fun salsa-ing and to let your hair down, literally. But taking small steps is good manners and having those elbows tucked in is even better. That’s dancing etiquette.
On maybe Kuala Lumpur needs more salsa clubs? Every one of them seems to have the same problem – tight spaces and a dearth of observant dancers.
I’m finding ways to cope. For the time being, armour-plated heel protectors are top of my list next time I head to the mall. And here’s to Scorsese winning the Oscar for Best Director.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Mortgaged In Malaysia
Going around looking for mortgages is a real eye-opener. One quickly learns how banks make their money. I call it legalized robbery and can’t wait for more liberalization of our local banking industry to make these fat cats a little trimmer.
Taking a leaf from the well-worn book of Cunning Advertising Clients, I shopped around for banks like they were ad agencies and I was the client: getting quotes and speaking to loan officers, all of whom promised that they were the One and kept calling me back too. While usually generous I sometimes can get tighter than a gnat’s ass, though.
With me calling the shots this time (apparently) I took great pleasure in scrutinising bank quotes and comparing total interest charges back at the loan officers, trying to squeeze as many concessions as I could.
I almost settled for AIA (cheapest overall interest rate) until I walked into my present personal bank branch and sat down for my turn at the counter. The rather gay loan officer knew I was shopping around for quotes but being the shark he was, he circled for blood and nosed in on me.
Sitting beside me, he gently told me about how banks can be so troublesome and underhanded in taking people’s money from them. Even (gasp) not giving the real information to customers. With a long sigh, he re-told the saga of getting a loan from another bank and the grief he went through signing paperwork, coughing up fee after hidden fee.
I wouldn’t go through all that, he promised. He was a customer too, he sniffed, a hanky dabbing his eyes a little.
I almost cried with him and agreed to re-read the paperwork. The clincher was when he told me that since I had two business accounts, a term deposit and a current account with the bank that he’d give more concessions on the loan. It worked, no other bank could beat his offer (they stopped calling me back) and I signed up.
Having paid my deposit, it was some time before I would have to pay the stage-by-stage lump sum payments to the developer of dear ol’ Casa Desa. Of course, should the loan be approved then the bank takes over and pays the developer instead. All I have to worry about are the monthly installments.
What I was told would take 2 months (said the loan officer) took almost 5 to complete. I became somewhat of an expert in all the banalities of conveyancing law and skull-numbing legalise like letter of offer, sale and purchase agreement (SPA) loan centre, loan solicitors, loan documents, facility agreement (bank euphemism for the loan), deed of assignment (DOA), power of attorney, bank's signatures, developer’s signatures, solicitor’s signatures, my signatures (lots of it), certified true copies, waiver of private caveat, stamping at the stamp duty office, registration at the High Court, confirmation of differential sum settled and drawdown advice.
It was a pain. Lots of leg-dragging by everyone and ass-covering by the lawyers. Finger-pointing by all parties. It was like decision-time in ‘The Apprentice’ except I couldn’t fire anyone.
I had to get my ever-reliable buddy ‘MC’, a seasoned conveyancing legal assistant, to explain everything to me. He practically pulled me out of the rubble of paperwork and legal terms and got the loan settled. Actually, ‘MC’ did brief me before all this started but, honestly, I did understand a word of it.
And where was my loan officer throughout all this saga? He was always busy when I called him. Never returned calls. Dodged tough questions. And basically screwed up on his figures.
A week before the loan was approved he resigned.
That’s Malaysia for you.
Ah... banks. Conveyancing laywers. Once is enough. But the next time I go through this process (second home in the not-too-distant future or if I should become a property magnate) I’ll be sure to have an battalion of my own personal lawyers to deal with them. Life shouldn't be this stressful.
Taking a leaf from the well-worn book of Cunning Advertising Clients, I shopped around for banks like they were ad agencies and I was the client: getting quotes and speaking to loan officers, all of whom promised that they were the One and kept calling me back too. While usually generous I sometimes can get tighter than a gnat’s ass, though.
With me calling the shots this time (apparently) I took great pleasure in scrutinising bank quotes and comparing total interest charges back at the loan officers, trying to squeeze as many concessions as I could.
I almost settled for AIA (cheapest overall interest rate) until I walked into my present personal bank branch and sat down for my turn at the counter. The rather gay loan officer knew I was shopping around for quotes but being the shark he was, he circled for blood and nosed in on me.
Sitting beside me, he gently told me about how banks can be so troublesome and underhanded in taking people’s money from them. Even (gasp) not giving the real information to customers. With a long sigh, he re-told the saga of getting a loan from another bank and the grief he went through signing paperwork, coughing up fee after hidden fee.
I wouldn’t go through all that, he promised. He was a customer too, he sniffed, a hanky dabbing his eyes a little.
I almost cried with him and agreed to re-read the paperwork. The clincher was when he told me that since I had two business accounts, a term deposit and a current account with the bank that he’d give more concessions on the loan. It worked, no other bank could beat his offer (they stopped calling me back) and I signed up.
Having paid my deposit, it was some time before I would have to pay the stage-by-stage lump sum payments to the developer of dear ol’ Casa Desa. Of course, should the loan be approved then the bank takes over and pays the developer instead. All I have to worry about are the monthly installments.
What I was told would take 2 months (said the loan officer) took almost 5 to complete. I became somewhat of an expert in all the banalities of conveyancing law and skull-numbing legalise like letter of offer, sale and purchase agreement (SPA) loan centre, loan solicitors, loan documents, facility agreement (bank euphemism for the loan), deed of assignment (DOA), power of attorney, bank's signatures, developer’s signatures, solicitor’s signatures, my signatures (lots of it), certified true copies, waiver of private caveat, stamping at the stamp duty office, registration at the High Court, confirmation of differential sum settled and drawdown advice.
It was a pain. Lots of leg-dragging by everyone and ass-covering by the lawyers. Finger-pointing by all parties. It was like decision-time in ‘The Apprentice’ except I couldn’t fire anyone.
I had to get my ever-reliable buddy ‘MC’, a seasoned conveyancing legal assistant, to explain everything to me. He practically pulled me out of the rubble of paperwork and legal terms and got the loan settled. Actually, ‘MC’ did brief me before all this started but, honestly, I did understand a word of it.
And where was my loan officer throughout all this saga? He was always busy when I called him. Never returned calls. Dodged tough questions. And basically screwed up on his figures.
A week before the loan was approved he resigned.
That’s Malaysia for you.
Ah... banks. Conveyancing laywers. Once is enough. But the next time I go through this process (second home in the not-too-distant future or if I should become a property magnate) I’ll be sure to have an battalion of my own personal lawyers to deal with them. Life shouldn't be this stressful.
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