This is an extended, coffee-table speech about my life. For the stuck-in-the-elevator speech, cut to my bio.
Name: Lynette Chiang
GROWING UP AN ABC (Australian Born Chinese).
I was born with what I call a "cultural schizophrenia" being Chinese (all study, no play) in Australia (all play, no study - according to my Shanghainese father). At age 5, I had a passion for art and making things with felt, paper scissors. That is, until my dad tore up my paintings, dragged me into the living room and, pointing to an oil landscape on the wall, said, "Now that is what you call art." He didn't know any better - most parents are just dealing with it, the best way they can. I've never painted anything since - just holding a pastel makes my thumb go numb. At age 6, I was writing conversational prose with correct grammar and punctuation. How fun to put apostrophes around a bunch of words, just like in the copy of "The Tropic of Capricorn" someone left lying around! I was good at pattern-matching. At age 12, I enjoyed being asked to design posters for the school social using big fat colorful markers, under the watchful eye of my woodwork teacher, Mr Harding. In my rapturous pre-teen marketing fantasy, these socials became "Harding's Disco". I worshipped Australia's greatest satirical pop group, Skyhooks, who sang about life in the Aussie 'burbs. I read between the lines of the incisive lyrics, and dreamed of one day meeting the songwriter Greg Macainsh, one of only two "celebs" I've ever cared to meet. The other is Steve Martin. I did meet Greg, later in life, and I credit and curse him with introducing me to all manner of self enquiry, beginning with the Landmark Forum. I saw from an early age that to combat the schoolyard racism I experienced, the answer was not legislation against the word "Chink", but for someone - perhaps little me? - to infiltrate the arts and entertainment world. It was cool to be black because of Eddie Murphy, Michael Jordan, Michael Jackson. It wasn't cool to be Chinese. We had Bruce Lee and heart surgeons and brainy people with names that all startd with Ch or W and ended in ng or au. It taught me that knowledge isn't power - influence is power. I owned a Gibson Les Paul copy guitar and thus vowed to become the first Asian Suzi Quattro (48 Crash,48 Crash it's like a lightnin' flash, a lightnin' flash ... remember?). After all, she was 5 foot nothing like me, how hard could it be? Well, I did not become a Suzi, but I did write some sad travel songs many years later when I started traveling. At age 16, I won 'best story' and 'best poetry anthology' in a high school expressive writing course. The poetry anthology took me half and hour to write, using some studied angst that made me look like I had talent or depth of not both. The short story took a little longer, but was equally wrought with someone else's drama and a bit of Wayne Dyer thrown in for good measure. I felt like a fraud. They Inc. were right - Asians are meant to be scientists and accountants. Except for a freak Distinction in university abstract algebra (I was entranced by groups, rings and the sensuous Klein bottle), mathematics has always been my weakest suit. What kind of Asian was I?
EARLY LIFE IN COMPUTERS.
To my father's dismay, I was not good at being Chinese. I did not get into medical school as he'd hoped. I did get into pharmacy and optometry. "There'll be no starving artists in my family - and no pharmacists either," he declared, not realizing what a killing pharmacists and optometrists make, and showed me the door ('you just go girl' was not part of the Australian-Chinese vocabulary at the time). He meant well. He just didn't want me to end up what he called a civil service drone. He should know, he came over as a 15 year old student who spoke little English, studying by night and loading wharves by day, only to suffer life and xenophobia as a government worker in a carpeted cubicle. At age 21, not knowing what to study, I took the advice of a classmate and completed a Computer Science Degree at the Australian National University - part time, while working as a scantily clad technical assistant at the CSIRO Division of Computing Research, Canberra. My first job: Technical Assistant (Junior) for a group of beslippered scientists at the CSIRO Division of Computing Research, Canberra, letting the paper run out of a small inkjet plotter. My first professional panic: writing a memo to the boss with an intern looking over my shoulder, and realizing I could not write to save myself. My first serious relationship: at 23, I settled down to cosy urban life with a nice bloke, nice house, coffee table books and fastish car. Just as nature intended. I spent 10 years thus, as an Oracle database programmer analyst, doing time in the Australian government (Dept Defence), private enterprise (Computer Sciences Corp), then as an independent contractor, when money in that game was good. It's still good, and if money was everything, I'd still be there. I was never a brilliant computer programmer. I think I was a far better talker. I much preferred organizing the company Christmas party, and writing their recruitment ads - which use to reel in "interesting people who knew people who knew people with the qualifications" said my boss, archly. I once had a raise reversed for being "unprofessional" - hawking merchandise on a client site, according to a pair of unhappy colleagues. Hey, if people wanted to buy that hydroponic plant on my desk, how could I not help them get one? Besides, it made the office a less sterile place.
SECOND LIFE IN ADVERTISING.
One day, at age 30, I saw a small ad for a laser tattoo removal clinic. What kind of person does ads? I wondered. Three lines popped into my head as I folded the newspaper: Get rid of the old dragon. Do away with your mum. Now you're sober, come and see us. I applied for the industry-run Australian Writers and Art Directors School and was rejected. I reapplied in 1992 and won top Student Honors that year. I was not a popular winner - I not get a copywriting job in advertising for over a year. John Doorley gave me my first break, in his small agency. I am grateful to John. He tells me he protected me from the wild and crazy stuff happening all around me, because he knew I was there on a mission. Indeed, all I saw around me were people working soberly and industriously. After spending three years trying to be more clever than cluey, I sat in front of a small client one day and realized my naive $15,000 radio campaign was be their rent and food money. I belatedly started to act my age. I joined Chiat/Day/Mojo after my art director and I launched a merciless direct mail campaign on CD Sean Cummins (newly a father) to get hired: like a picture of us in a baby photo frame with "Congratulations! How about adopting a couple more?" Or a coin with our mugs on both sides "Still tossing up whether to hire us?". And getting a friend to hang a mobile of our image about his desk "We'll keep hanging round til you call us." That's what you did to get seen. If you can't market yourself, how can you market someone else? Better to be looked over, than overlooked, drummed my mum. By the way, we did not stop when Sean told us to stop. We did, however, stop short of programming his phone so every button called our number. While freelancing in 1992 I did an ad which won a Cannes Bronze Lion in 1995. This is a biggish deal in advertising. Next job was copywriter for Saatchi and Saatchi Advertising, Melbourne, and the chance to work for a very fine human being, Philip Putnam. A few other nods (Caxtons, AWARD pencils, appearance in D&AD annual, London Int'l Ad Awards finalists) and I knew I had to get out of the glass tower which was preventing me from giving a damn about people. I quit and left the country on a folding bicycle. THIRD LIFE ON A FOLDING BICYCLE.
In 1997 my first journey was the classic UK bike journey, Land's End to John O'Groat's . Ireland followed, including stints as a waitress, trainee chef, then copywriter at Saatchi & Saatchi Dublin. My best memory of Dublin was about getting a pool table installed in the middle of the office. I don't play pool, and never in fact lifted a cue, but someone had to do something to give the place a pulse. I spent a freezing winter getting my UK motorcycle licence, thinking it would be a great way to cross the USA, but after taking one look at the long, long, McDonalds and Wendy-lined interstates, I have never used it. Got the Harley Boots though ... Someone in an Irish pub who hadn't been to Costa Rica, told me to go to Cost Rica. Next day I met a woman on a train platform who invites me to visit her family in Costa Rica. I turned down the offer of the Saatchi Dublin Creative Director job, bought a lonely Planet Costa Rica book to see where it was, and went to Costa Rica. It's the subject of my next book (in progress). I traveled Costa Rica , Nicaragua, Cuba and other places on my Bike Friday, finally succumbing to the lure of advertising again - and the need to earn an income. Rice and beans are cheap, but you still have to pay for them. I became the Creative Director of Saatchi's Costa Rican outpost tasked with raising the creative standard of the agency within three months. I soon learned that my task was less about nurturing creative, and more about dealing with culture. "Why should we listen to her?" my team asked my boss. "She's not Costa Rican." Nonetheless, we managed to get some nice work printed, with less words and more picture filling the page. That was an achievement. I took on the challenge of being a cook and manager of a mountain top hotel in Costa Rica called Avalon Reserve. Armed with the Joy of Cooking and some common sense, it reinforced the cliche that you can do and be anything if you fancy hard enough. It gave me plenty of time to start writing The Handsomest Man in Cuba, following a solo expedition there a year earlier. I would rise at 4am, write for 2 hours, then get breakfast for the guests ready at 6am, staring across at Panama in the distance over the vapor from my signature (i.e. bastardized with diced celery and sweet pepper) gallo pinto Former NYT Bureau Chief in Argentina, Barney Collier, spotted my words in the local English Speaking rag, the Tico Times, flew down from New York, trudged his way to my cabin in the cloud forest, loaned me a laptop, and said, "finish the story".
SINCE THEN.
In August 2002 I started officially working for Bike Friday as their Customer Evangelist. My first task was to brand the already cultish brand with the "What Do You Do On A Friday? " campaign. No clever visual puns, just simple photos showing the magic of who you can be, when you slide your butt on a Bike Friday, whether you're young, not as young, fast, not so fast, fit, famous, female, busy, hardcore, super-human, or otherly-abled Aside: one of my ads was recently glimpsed on America's Funniest Home Video in 2003. If the maid hadn't stole my reel in Costa Rica, I'd have it here to show you. You'll just have to believe me.
See my print ads and other design work In 2003, Random House Australia/NZ published my first book, The Handsomest Man in Cuba . I returned to Australia for the first time in 7 years to be treated like John Grisham for a week on a Random House book tour. And, I could get my hands on a jar of Promite at last! In 2004, I designed and published the book under the name of Small Wheel Press and embarked on my own modest USA book tour with a tremendous amount of help and kindness from the whole Bike Friday community. In 2007 it was published by Globe-Pequot in Connecticut, thanks to a Bike Friday customer and author Dennis Stuhaug and my agent Peter McGuigan.
And then?
Now surrounded by people having babies and wondering if I made
the best choices, maybe it's time for another sad travel song
This is my 70+ mother Irene. She's into techno, trance, belly dancing, jazz, jewelry making, poledancing and basically having a good time after many years of hard work and no real fun.
REFERENCES | RESUME | STORE |
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LIKES:
Authenticity. Surprisingly hard to come by. Electronic music (IDM = intelligent dance music), as does my mother Irene . In desperation for like minded electronica buffs out of nappies in Eugene, OR, where I am paused, I founded The Electronic Grooves Appreciation Society (Eugene, OR) Quesadillas without too much cheese (Apparently these three qualities makes me a cultural creative says a good friend and customer Bruce.
SHUNS:
Negative people unless they're very, very funny or very, very right. And no one is that right.
I my opinion all of the above causes increased consumption of four the four salves of modern society: therapy, alcohol, anti-depressants and television shopping.
BEST FEATURE: Searching, questioning, free-associating mind.
WORST FEATURE: See Best Feature
IDEAL GUY: Someone who just 'gets it'.
NIRVANA:
Not cycling up Mt Everest with a blimp-assisted bicycle.
NEXT PERSON I'D LIKE TO MEET: Steve Martin, after hearing in his play, Picasso at the Lapin Agile: "What is the difference between a writer and a genius?
- A writer says things well, a genius, well, says things."
FAVORITE THINGS: Anything cheap'n'choosy Promite - a thin scrape on hot buttered Great Harvest white toast and eaten upside down, because 'your tastebuds are on the top of your tongue'
YOU TOO CAN EAT LIKE ME: I start each day with a cocktail of (organic) 2 carrots, 1 big apple, 2 sticks celery and a slice of fresh ginger, whizzed with filtered water in a Vitamix - that is, retaining all pulp. A little bit of Stevia powder sweetens it when necessary. Apart from that I eat very little meat, bread, or grains.
FAVORITE SUGAR RECIPE (if you must) Brookrod's Friend's Grandmother's Aunt's Choc Pudding Recipe (from when I lived in Duma Community, Eugene, Oregon, an intentional community house) Use a mug as a measuring cup. Combine: 1 cup flour (wholemeal/white), half cup walnuts, half cup chopped dried fruit say dates, apricots, sultanas, coconut (optional), 2 tsp baking powder, quarter teaspoon salt, half cup sugar (I sometimes use 1/3 cup fructose or combo with stevia), 2 tbsp dark cocoa (try to find the rich dark organic kind, the Aussie Bournville is a bit weak). Stir in: 2 tbsp melted butter, half cup milk (I use soy). Pour mix into a greased ovenproof dish. Sprinkle on top: 1 cup brown sugar mixed with 2 more tablespoons of that dark cocoa Pour over: 1-2 cups boiling water Bake in hot over 190 degrees Celsius 45 mins. The water should create a gooey sauce - don't dry it out. Serve warmish with ice cream.
There's more, but ... as They Inc. say: the more you say, the less people hear.
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Last updated: November 2008