Vampires

Now really, this post is essentially me trying to put the Twilight posters further down my blog so that whenever I look at my own blog I don't have to see it immediately. Also, given several more postings and it'll exist only in the archive. So, in order to achieve that happy notion, here is a theory of mine about how vampire lore came about. This is unresearched. I have never been to Transylvania nor taken a module in linguistics as anyone can tell you.

We all know that the vampire legend came about because of the nasty habit of a very bloodthirsty and violent prince aptly known "Vlad the Impaler" of staking his enemies. Arguably, it is also poetic justice that Vlad or at least, his vampiric incarnation would be staked by future generations, a practice entrenched by popular culture, with its own legendary capability of swaying hearts and mind.

But has anyone wondered why vampires are always portrayed as suave, mysterious, and above all, aristocratic? Unless Dracula is very fussy, and he would have to be nowadays as aristocrats are a dying breed, he'll have scarce food to rely on if he only fancies blue-blood. Kidding aside, but why blood-suckers specifically? Could, perhaps, the myth of vampires have a marxist background?!

My theory (or one of my bad ideas as kappa calls them), is that aristorcrats (or your bourgeoisie) literally sucked the masses dry by 1) not working 2)living a life of indulgence. Yup. This convenient pun lends even further credence to how vampires are coldblooded aristocrats - Counts and Princes and what not - because, they sucked their victims dry of the blood (and sweat) spent tilling the lands for a no-good boss who not only didn't pay you but demanded tithes all the time.

See. It fits in too. Vlad can't have been the only source for the legend. Perhaps some other little thing added to it too?

Attempts

Attempt 1:
And in one night, I learnt to play poker, blackjack and taiti. I used to suck so bad at these kind of games that I wonder how I even pick anything up at all.
Attempt 2:
In other things, origami folding still remains as dismal attempts by me no matter how long I spend twisting and folding bits of paper up. The paper crane looked as though someone put it through a rack (no pictures, fortunately). My sister on the other hand, makes pretty little sculptures while I sit there and flap bits of paper at her and whine, my vocab having being reduced to the following: "darn.", "shit.", "what do I fold now?", "help me", "arggghhh"
Attempt 3:
Then, finally, my attempts to rework a different blogskin has more or less ended with me sticking to the old skin anyway. I feel like taking out the Twilight poster. It's irking me.

Winter Games

A cheery game for the season of festive damp.

http://www.ferryhalim.com/orisinal/g3/bells.htm

Poster Talk: Twilight

First up, the producers clearly didn't spend a lot on marketing. I mean, just look at this: the girl actually looks nothing like her poster self in the movie. Then, what in the world were they thinking? That cheesy pose and bare-ness of the poster really really irks. Just because there will be a guaranteed crowd doesn't mean they ought to scrimp on publicity. Then, I do know that Robert Pattinson (aka Cedric Diggory) plays a vampire (Edward Cullen), but did they have to do the make-up like he was dead more than undead? One feels like thumping the table at the wasted opportunity.

The movie itself fares no better. Like the generic, lack of attention and any pretence at effort poster, the flick is utterly flickawayable. The idea of an American gothique in the film seems to be a lot of mist, drippy woods, and green and grey tones for the sets and costumes. While there were some lovely scenes, the cinematography, perhaps unconsciously influenced by all that meteorological wetness, was rather watery fare too. And don't go giving me that old but it's a teen flick adage. Romeo + Juliet was a well-shot teen flick. Titanic stole many hearts (young and old) and won an Oscar. High School Musical was not my kind of movie, but it didn't suffer from bad filming. And grievously, they didn't even follow the book closely, which might have accounted for the awkward dialogue. I found myself just waiting for the next scene to happen, given that the lack of momentum meant me talking to the lovely ladies beside me and ogling the audience instead.

Speaking of which, the audience sighed at Edward Cullen's every whim (wince) and when the lead vampire made his first appearance, there was I kid you not, a collective sigh from them (double wince). One can only wonder what the reluctant boyfriends are thinking. And gorgeous Pattinson may be, but he lacks the something to carry off the character - and gorgeous is nothing if actor and role do not suit. Kirsten Stewart did a better job though their roles aren't anything to compare by. A teenage girl is possibly easier to play than a century-old vampire though I have my doubts about this statement as it is.

In any case, one can only hope the book is tons better. For the sake of the rest of the living world.

Bus stuff

It has lately been observed that public bus fares have been exhibiting strange behaviours. Peruse for instance, the following four observations made by my colleague, Suz:

Trip #1: BUS 151 Kent Ridge Terminal to Jln Toa Payoh (aka longkang bus stop) = 133 cents

Trip #2: BUS 59 Tampines Ave Two to Bishan Interchange (via Toa Payoh) = 143 cents

Trip #3: BUS 105 Serangoon Ave Three to Jln Toa Payoh = 93 cents

Trip #4: BUS 135 Ang Mo Kio Interchange to Serangoon Ave Two = 31 cents (71 cents minus rebate)

Consider exhibit 4 again. Where did the rebate come from? I have no idea. But 31 cents was exactly how much I paid today. And as to why it costs 93 cents to go from my home to Toa Payoh and only forty cents more to get to NUS from there is to my mind, ridiculous. Consider that on very good days when and if I have the time, I can walk to Toa Payoh. No one walks from Toa Payoh to Kent Ridge. The difference in distance isn't a marginal 400 metres. It's kilometres of difference. And I just know that the 105 bus has something against me. As if it hasn't done enough making me either run for it, miss it, or is unfashionably late, arrives in an entourage and plies a route riddled with jams, crowds, and short roads with many turnings to increase my bus fare.

Alternately, I am baffled that I have a rebate on my way home. 31 cents from Ang Mo Kio to Serangoon? That's even cheaper than when I paid the 45 cent student fare.

Today in Three.

1. Hail

All hail December!
White snow, eggnog and sharp stones,
Tomorrow’s herald.

2. A Snail's Requiem

Poor poor little snail.
Humans, please watch where you step,
or i'll go crack crack.

3. City Lights

The shape of Jurong
Is etched in glimmers of light,
Islands dreamt awake.

Today in Ten.

Today.
Watched Manhattan glitter across the screen in monochrome splendour and felt strangely empty.

Today.
The bus broke down 2 stops from Harbourfront and I didn’t even get a souvenir ticket. Maybe I should have waited?

Today.
It started raining while I was walking to the MRT station and then the escalator tried to eat my foot.

Today.
I wondered what it would be like to shoot Singapore in black and white too, and decided that all the different shades of green on the trees wouldn’t come out nice against the cloudy sky. Or maybe it would.

Today.
Why hasn’t anyone discovered how beautiful Jurong Island looks at night? And it’ll look great in black and white footage too.

Today.
My nose is plugged, and there is phlegm in my throat. I feel ill, though better than yesterday.

Today.
Someone should discover if pathogens have developed a malicious genetic strain that leaves its victim weak and miserable right before and during exams.

Today.
What is love in contemporary urban living? Woody Allen has left me more perplexed and unsatisfied with second viewing.

Today.
I think the phlegm is messing with my brain. After all, if the ancient Egyptians could squish out dead brains through the nose, the two parts must be somehow connected.

Today.
I suck at the game Bubble Town on Msn.

Shoes.

On examining my poor knee yesterday, I found that it was still red and scrapped looking from a minor fall on Thursday. I can’t remember what I was laughing about, but that was exactly what I was doing before screeching loudly and tripping on the uneven tar between the Computing/Business Faculty and the Arts canteen. I had been wearing a pair of sandals which I detested and which on further examination, looked as though the shoemaker had never met a physicist during the designing stage. The base is narrower than the top. Which means that the centre of gravity is high. Which means said object topples at the merest whim. Possibly at the slightest thought too. So of course the wearer, and a careless one (me) at that is going to stumble around quite a bit, twist ankles, fall ungracefully and scrape knees. The thing is, I didn’t even know I had been bleeding until I rolled up jeans in the lift on the way home 5 hours later. Then, yesterday, I sat in front of the shoe cupboard at home and whined about my lack of footwear. My old flats had given way months back, and I was left with a pair of smelly brown ones which make my toes curl if worn for extended periods of time. I bought a new pair of shoes, and after giving me a bruising under my left toe nail, gave way not two weeks later. The rest of my shoes are heels, which are wrong for revising exams in, and both my pairs of slippers are in dismal shape. PY has seen the newer pair looking holier-than-thou and the older pair still survives in a semi-retired state out of some exaggerated sentimentalism on my part. My blue slippers have been all the way to Venus Drive, trudged through forest mud and river water and remained intact in spite of me having bought them since I was in upper primary.
Oh God.
That’s how long it has been???
Yes. And they cost me only 3 dollars. The newer pair cost 19 bucks and expired less than 6 months later. They just don’t make footwear the way they used to. So yes, I am now trudging around in borrowed slippers, which is upsetting because my mom’s feet are slightly smaller than mine, and I keep stepping on the edge of the slipper. The poor (this part is through. I feel miserable revising) starving (BK is eating all my money) artist (as in, I am from Arts) look is but a poor excuse for the embarrassing footwear I have at home.

Blognality

The Rhetoric Room according to the tests.

We think http://midnightmuttery.blogspot.com is written by a woman (67%).

link: Gender Analyzer

But according to their poll, they get almost as many misses as hits, so it's a debatable thing.

And according to uClassify, my blog is my evil twin. This would have been funny if it wasn't also just as distressing. Maybe I should stop laughing at engineers so much.

The analysis indicates that the author ofhttp://midnightmuttery.blogspot.com/is of the type:
ISTP - The Mechanics

The independent and problem-solving type. They are especially attuned to the demands of the moment are masters of responding to challenges that arise spontaneously. They generelly prefer to think things out for themselves and often avoid inter-personal conflicts. The Mechanics enjoy working together with other independent and highly skilled people and often like seek fun and action both in their work and personal life. They enjoy adventure and risk such as in driving race cars or working as policemen and firefighters.

And it looks as though me, or rather my blog (I sound just like Wemmick), is OCD.

Attention to details? What? I wander around half blind, and I can never find the stuff I need after I dump them in my cupboard. And I have a goldfish memory. However, clearly the test says otherwise.

Eye Candy: The Many Faces of Alice

Who is Alice?

And, because one gets fascinated by the oddest things, here are more pretty pictures to look at. There are plenty here by various artists over a stretch of time, and the list is certainly not inexhaustible:

Fig 1: John Tenniel's Alice. Tenniel is the original illustrator of the Alice books.

In class yesterday, we talked about visual archives, and how technology has helped to build this visual memory bank of images that become part of how we look at history and culture too. It's interesting that the artists below incorporate easily recognizable aspects of alice into their drawings, such that we know what they are referencing even if they are out of context.
A note before wonderland kicks in: The sources of the images are linked via the labelling for the pictures.

Arthur Rackham:

Fig 2: A series of Alices. Don't know if it's me over-reading, but two of the scenes are inverted horizontally (like through a mirror). The first Alice with all the cards faces left in Tenniel's version, while the mock-turtle and griffin in the 3rd picture faces right.

Lisbeth Zwerger: And except for the Wizard's coat in NYEDC'S OZ (which was modelled after The Matrix's Morpheus), Zwerger also provided some nice background ideas for an alternative Oz, though due to money constraints and the way the script was headed, idea got abandoned.

Fig 3: Her Alice is pretty darn unique too. Not blonde?

Ralph Steadman: The druggie version. And he wouldn't be half wrong too as somewhere along the way, Alice becomes symbolic of the phantasmogorical and amoral, though he keeps the satirical legacy from Tenniel:

Fig 4a, b: Seriously. the mad hatter is a yogi bear like creature?!

It's not all blue pinafores...
Yup. Even though the Alices all bear some resemblance to the original, artists have focused on more than just her dressing, which is one of the first few things artists are determined not to copy directly. Rackham, who is a famous children's books illustrator from the 19th, early 20th century has his Alice in a pink flowery dress, as if in opposition of the traditional Alice in blue. On the other hand, the striped stockings, crown, pinafore, bushy hair , cards, chess set, Victorian-esque setting and associate white rabbit are often retained in some form to remind the viewer that this alludes to the books.

In fact, moving away from Tenniel's political caricature roots, the Alice of today is definitely more of an icon of fantasy, gothic and Victorian periodization which subsequently fits nicely into consumer culture quite nicely - be it for gaming and video culture, manga, food, or films.

Fig 5: Miaki Kari. Looks like it ought to go on a chocolate box. Also looks like this:

Fig 6: Tenniel's original illustration. Also compare Rackham's above.

Some artists, and in particular those from pop culture, appropriates the Alice figure for themselves. For example, the topsy-turvy game-like rules of Wonderland and questing style of the Alice text adapts itself nicely into gothicky pop art well.

Fig 5a, b: The red or blue debate goes beyond existentialism...

Then there is Tim Burton, master of the macabre and wacky:

Fig 6: Mia Wasikowska as Alice. Very Victorian. Very pop culture. Very blue.

The stockings. As I said....

Fig 7: Vintage Classics edition of the book

Then there is the pinafore, which gives some people odd ideas.

Fig 8: The Internet is for porn. And for everything else.

And just for the heck of it...

Why indeed.

F.g 9: Stuio I.G. and CLAMP.

What kinds of cultural cache is there in the Alice? I wouldn't know. But it does make for a convenient signfier for the weird and precarious nature of society...

And in the end, there is no other Alice like Alice.

Fig 10: Drawn by E.T. Reed, one of Tenniel's successors at Punch, in response to the many imitators out there. Spot Rackham's? A detailed account of Tenniel's illustrations and the new illustrators after him can be found here.

Essaying at breakfast does odd things to the mind

I have 5000 words to write. I have to bake my breakfast. Which will probably double as lunch.

The Pizza Rant

HAD we but world enough, and time,
This pizza would be no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To bake and cook and take all day.
Thou by the kitchen’s side
Shouldst slowly knives find: I by the tide
Of morn’s passing would complain. I would
Wait ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
To bake till the conversion of the Jews.
My patience should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
The crisp golden doughy paste;
Two hundred to adore each slice,
But thirty thousand to turkey ham diced;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, pizza, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy goodness shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy oven vault, shall sound
200 degrees! Ding!: then worms shall
The preservative filled pizza try,
And its quaint honour turn to dust,
And into dustbin goes it must:
The bin’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on pizza still,
And while it transpires
That oven still has warm fires,
Let me if I may,
Assay my essay like birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us our brainwaves roll and all
Our depression up into a ball,
And bear this academic strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we can at least have fun.

-- Missfickle.
Adapted from Andrew Marvell's To His Coy Mistress

Postmodernism runs rank and anybody who takes this seriously can't see my point. Sigh. Breakfast smells too good though.

Updated: I realise that the last line didn't make any sense. Hence the change. It in all probability still doesn't, but what do I know?

Happy Halloween

Something on the side of macabre...

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love -
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me -
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud one night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we -
Of many far wiser than we -
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling -my darling -my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea -
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

-- Edgar Allan Poe

The Book Post: The Graveyard Book

Yes. I chose the kiddy cover

As a toddler, the night his family is killed, Nobody Owens* ( aka Bod) manages to wander into the neighbouring graveyard, where he is then raised under the relative safety of its ghostly citizens. The killer, meanwhile, remains undeterred from his unfinished task...

My most charming reader,

I must take this opportunity, while I am on another of my frequent, if short bouts of haitus from my essaying to introduce you to this lovely book. The author, Neil Gaiman, needs no introduction. He is afterall, the well known writer of Stardust, American Gods, and the Sandman series of graphic novels. He didn't draw the last one; Dave McKean, and some others did. Dave McKean also needs no introduction here; he illustrated the so-called "Adult" version of The Graveyard Book (as if different versions matter to the story, and is as such, a marketing ploy which I have been successfully suckered into), which in my opinion anyway, has a less exciting cover. Sorry, Mr McKean.

Back to Neil Gaiman. The Graveyard Book marks his return since awhile to fiction for younger readers, and much as bookstores have placed several copies of Stardust on the children's bookshelf, I am absolutely certain that this is the heavily edited version with several naughty bits snipped out of it. And so, technically, no, Neil Gaiman hasn't written anything for teenagers (and below) for some time.

Reading The Graveyard Book, this might have come as a surprise. After all, the book pulls you in quickly, thus keeping the attention deficit child of the Internet Age hooked quickly. The book has an easy prose, a likeable protagonist and quirky, endearing characters. It doesn't condescend to the child, and neither is it overly sentimental, which might put off the older reader. All in all, it's a book that manages to keep the balance in its readership.

One slight thing of note, which would be totally negligible if this is your first Gaiman book, is that there is the sense that Gaiman is repressing some of the grislier details. Understandable. This book is meant for a more general audience than say, Neverwhere, or American Gods. But this means the villains aren't very well fleshed out. There is a rather vague sense of menace that rolls off them, but they aren't seriously terrifying. On the other hand, as the book is more or less from a child/teenager's perspective, the lack of background information might be because a child, even one raised in a graveyard, would not have access to this kinds of knowledge, though the ending builds a promise of changing this, I think. I hope I haven't spoiled the book for anyone. But then, a well-spun story doesn't really need to go all out to make its point.

Overall: 4.5/5

*spot the pun?

The Neverending Cyber War, or Angsty Stream of Consciousness

UPDATE:
OK. It decided to work after all. After I worked up the nerve to swtich it on again that is. Don't know how long it'll last though.

At the risk of sounding like a choric extra out of some homeric epic, The Fates are against me. I had a nasty feeling when I saw the windows update prompt about downloading a new service pack just as I had sat down finally to do planning for the SEA Lit essay. In any case, this being an important looking update, I let it get down to whatever it (it, here being my laptop) had to do and I proceeded to do what I had to do. So, after coming to a rut in the planning, which from the beginning has been a painful and mind-freezing affair, I checked the service pack installing thing and it had hung. Typically. As per usual. Something had to go wrong at the wrong time.

Now. How did I know it had hung. I knew it had hung because the installing bar wasn't moving one peep. Having wisened up to the incredible and seeming incompatibility with me and all things electrical, I saved my work in my thumbdrive before forcing a restart, only to have that stupid blue screen staring belligerently at me. Only this time it had words on it, which went somewhat along this line: Your system configuration installation is incomplete (duh. whose fault? not mine. not exactly). Rebooting to previous configuration.

Am now sitting panic stricken in front of the desktop. I am absolutely certain that there is unsaved data in the laptop. Which at this moment looks unretrievable, because the stupid creature is still rebooting. The first step, as gd ol' lappie proclaimed is successfully complete. The second, which it is calling a rollback, is still in the midst of being completed. And has been for the past half an hour. Someone let me know if I should be pulling the plug yet.

Why why why now. Now. When I have essays. It could have been last week. Or the week before. Anytime would have been preferable to this week. I can't lug my desktop to school... or to work... I am so forwarding my plans to buy a laptop before I graduate to sometime soon.

Thank You

Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made
(Robert Browning)

Thank you for the drinks
Thank you for the fun
Thank you and you, and you.

Thank you for all the letters
Thank you for the dinners
Thank you, and you and you.

Thank you for being there
Thank you for being everywhere
Thank you to you, and you and you.

Thank you for the help
Thank you for the advice
Thank you for being nice.

Thank you for msn
Thank you for all these times
Thank you, all of you.

Thank you for the kind words
The encouragement
Thank you, and you and all of you.

Thank you for the good times
Thank you for the care
Thank you for
You;
And for more Thank Yous.

Notice

My damned phone (and may it rot in hell) died today. Will be completely uncontactable for a while. Watch this space for updates.

UPDATE:
It decided to work, mysteriously, after all...

F1?!

Kid you not, but I think I can hear the cars revving up from my home... I am hoping it is somebody's television...

Lessons

I do realise that I am blogging a lot about my sad life as a tutor, but please bear with me...

Lesson #1

Student (muttering indistinctly): oliveristerrible...

Me: What?

Student (giggling slightly embarrassedly): Oh, I got this classmate call Oliver. Because it rhymes with terrible, he called Oliver is so terrible.

(pause)

Me: But Oliver doesn't rhyme with terrible... (tries it out) oliver...terrible...
(nope. there's the 'l' which gives 'terrible' a lilt at the end that 'oliver' doesn't have.)

Me: Umm. It might be a very weak rhyme. It doesn't rhyme at all, unless you say "terrible" as "terriber", and even then...

Student (quickly): Oh, My classmates's english is lousy one. When teacher is explaining in class, all they do is talk and laugh.

Me (seizing oppourtunity, adds sanctimoniously): Aha! See! If you all had been paying attention, you all would be able to rhyme properly.

Lesson #2

A conversation sometime ago. Heavily edited by scabbed memory.

Me: But why do you always wear black?

Morphie: **********

Me: Is your cupboard full of clothes that's black?

Morphie: **********

Me: Boring. (Quickly realises that is not a question) Umm. Do you like black?

Morphie: **********

Me (is quickly exhausted): You know. There was a point to me asking all those questions.

Morphie: And that is...?

Me: Er... I was attempting to conduct an experiment a lecturer said we should try, and that is to answer a question with another question.

Morphie: You don't have to. You already do that all the time.

Lesson #3

Me: And so, let me tell you, children nowdays are incredibly gossipy and irritating. And its not even the girls.

B: What happened?

Me: The irritating kaypoh kid, and a boy mind you, asked me if why I was dressed so nicely in a floral blouse. I remembered ignoring him, and the twit went on to ask me if I was meeting my boyfriend. I ignored him and went to write something on the board, and he asked me if I was going to a candle-lit dinner. I said dryly that it was a little too early for dinner as it wasn't even 3 in the afternoon then. He then asked me if I was going out to study and I replied that I was going home after tuition. Let me repeat. Children are full of obnoxious questions.

B: But that's because you didn't answer his first question. He'll stop if you just explained why you wore what you were wearing.

Me: Oh yeah...
(To be honest, I hadn't even thought I was even dressed that nicely... But on helpful advice and hindsight, if I had chosen to point out that I didn't think I was dressed that nicely, I might have had an easier time that day in class.)

Further Proof that the World is some kind of joke.

First the laksa,
Then the Shoe.

And to add to the seemingly unending list of surreal moments in the land of tuition:

Today, I was making a sweep down the aisles to ensure that the kids were all copying their homework as dutifully as they should be when I caught my boss waving and beaming cheerfully at me through the glass window in the door. I beamed back and gave a slight wave, and because I had reached the end of the class, I made a turn back to the board to write the explanation for the next question. On turning back, I discovered my boss opening the door, "Oh sorry, excuse me. Can I talk to you?"
... ... ...
Oh.

Wedding Furore

After hearing my alarm go off early for my jog, I determinedly ignored my conscience and went back to bed - which was just as well as it started pouring minutes later. My slight guilt resolved, I had just snuggled comfortably into my blanket when minutes later, a car horn sounded loudly. I ignored that. If you live next to a carpark, you get used pretty soon to the sounds of motocycles firing up, speed demons raring about (occasionally), school buses looming in and of cause, car honking.

This morning was different.
First, one car honked, then followed by another and then another in a rising crescendo. I stumbled out, not as blearily as I would have liked, which shows how futile my snooze had been, and went to the window, convinced that some large vehicle like a lorry or van must be blocking the only exit/entrance to the carpark. Of course it wasn't. There was a wedding SUV parked outside the lift entrance to my block, and I knew then which twits had been the cause of my less than tranquil time in bed.

Muttering to myself, and still wrapped in my blanket, I stalked out of the room, slightly amused and rather annoyed. A quick glance at the other bed in the room indicated that my sister was apathetic to all noises and still asleep - I suspected on purpose.

And, so, grumbling about how the groom and gang was likely still high from their stag party, I went to the kitchen and found my mom at the window there. I joined her there and being busybodies, began commenting on their choice of wedding carriage, flowers, colour scheme etc. For the record, the SUV was silver, and bundled in white flowers on white ribbon. Apparently, the wedding planner had anticpated well in advance the uncooperative weather (more fit for a funeral) and the wedding entourage were sheltered from the elements by a matching pair of large black and white umbrellas and several smaller blue ones. Additionally, the men were all, as I noted with a snort, togged in palish pink-lavender shirts. Pants were black; they were clearly not that insane yet.

All normal so far, and I couldn't help but make snide comments about how men were generally idiots. My dad on the other hand, as the only male in the house and a misanthrope, was making his usual cynical comments that the bride was likely from China. I doubted it very much. Firstly, it wouldn't be the bride's fault, as she is the one waiting for her groom to appear, and such failure to abide by the usual custom seemed more the work of a contemporary Singaporean. Secondly, my dad tended to blame anything and everything on either the Government or China. My theory was that these lot had probably in their life up til then been part of some wretched well-meaning if ridiculous student council for them to commence with the further stupidity that would come next:

They got into their cars (I make that about 5 or 6) and getting into line with the wedding car in front, began a roundabout round the rubbish dump next to my block, honking for their worth and I suspect, grinning inanely at the cameraman, who squatted in the middle of the road to take their pictures. Then, abruptly, when the honking had reached its zenith, somebody in the block, to my right and downwards suddenly yelled in what appeared to be either a sleepy or drunken slur, "You B******! ASS****! Damn F****** P****S!" My dad, who has a puritan mindset worthy of the Aunts of the Victorian period, triumphantly uttered, "They deserve it! Probably from China!" The wedding entourage, which had still been attempting the slow roundabout came to a standstill, and the honking stopped. The rude yelling went on, and one could almost sense the wedding party wilting from the searing criticism they were receiving.

The sort amusement which I had not been enjoying in a while was wiped away in an instant both by the yelling jerk and my dad's comments. My mom replied by saying he was an unfeeling person, and while we both agreed that 6 cars honking early on a Saturday morning was a bit much, the wedding didn't deserved to be cursed and swore at. Someone could have just yelled, "Stop honking!" or "Quiet!" instead of all that. What could have been a funny early morning spectacle ended up being dampened by someone who clearly took life too seriously.

Then, of course, being that sort of family, the topic jumped from a vehicle of one sort to another, which is of the F1 variety. My dad still complained about the Government, I ended up on the opposite side and defended its decision to host the race... and such is one morning flown by even though I had wanted to work on my essay...

Free Rice

Do a good cause today!

Improve your grammar and vocab and donate rice!

Absurdia

And so... in a not so typical day at class... I ended up mending my student's slipper in class while issuing threats now and then from my precarious perch on the swivel chair. I had offered to give a call to his mother so that she can fetch him something to walk home with, but he didn't want me to, and insisted on trying to fix in class himself. The thing is: I could 1) let him waste 1.5 hrs on futile shoe-fixing and not do any proper work, or 2) shoe had to be fixed by someone other than him so that he can get some work done
Guess who. Still I am quite proud of that fixed slipper. Especially when I only had scotch tape to work with and it being impossible to tell little boys to work slowly or not yank on the slipper after it being taped.

Right. Tis one week after another.

The Book Post: Covers that suck

In any case, I feel slightly vindicated by this new cover from HarperCollins (which sucks by the way) as it proves my theory that the tiny little blob of the moving castle on this cover is a homage to the Miyazaki design from the movie. As I indulge further in more theorizing, the chicken feet castle from the film clearly has its roots not in Jones' description (since the book version of the castle lacks any form of limb-like appendages) but in a rather terrifying folk story personality from Russia; a witch known as Baba Yaga, and whose house has a pair of bird-feet to move around about. Her preferred method of transportation however, seems to be a flying mortar and pestle (if I did not remember wrongly). Goodness knows why Miyazaki modelled the castle on this, but nevermind...

What I really wanted to do was point out how the covers of Diana Wynne Jones' books seem to be getting from bad to worse. It's no wonder if children nowadays don't read her books. The same can be said for the Penguin covers of the Artemis Fowl series, which can be succinctly surmised as they think it is snazzy but is really ugly.

Meeting Point

Time was away and somewhere else,
There were two glasses and two chairs
And two people with the one pulse
(Somebody stopped the moving stairs)
Time was away and somewhere else.

And they were neither up nor down;
The stream's music did not stop
Flowing through heather, limpid brown,
Although they sat in a coffee shop
And they were neither up nor down.

The bell was silent in the air
Holding its inverted poise -
Between the clang and clang a flower,
A brazen calyx of no noise:
The bell was silent in the air.

The camels crossed the miles of sand
That stretched around the cups and plates;
The desert was their own, they planned
To portion out the stars and dates:
The camels crossed the miles of sand.
Time was away and somewhere else.

The waiter did not come, the clock
Forgot them and the radio waltz
Came out like water from a rock:
Time was away and somewhere else.

Her fingers flicked away the ash
That bloomed again in tropic trees:
Not caring if the markets crash
When they had forests such as these,
Her fingers flicked away the ash.

God or whatever means the Good
Be praised that time can stop like this,
That what the heart has understood
Can verify in the body's peace
God or whatever means the Good.

Time was away and she was here
And life no longer what it was,
The bell was silent in the air
And all the room one glow because
Time was away and she was here.

-- Louis MacNeice

This is a lovely piece of poetry. Makes me wish I was taking Irish Poetry class. Hopefully, there will be next semester.

Students' Nightmare

The Three States of Increasing Depression.

The image speaks for itself.

Teacher's Day

This here is a poem by Jack Prelutsky. Happy Teachers' Day indeed.


The Creature in the Classroom

By Jack Prelutsky

From The Baby Uggs are Hatching

It appeared inside our classroom
at a quarter after ten,
it gobbled up the blackboard,
three erasers and a pen.
It gobbled teachers apple
and it bopped her with the core.
"How dare you!" she responded.
"You must leave us...there’s the door."

The creature didn’t listen
but described an arabesque
as it gobbled all her pencils,
seven notebooks and her desk.
Teacher stated very calmly,
"Sir! you simply cannot stay.
I’ll report you to the principal
unless you go away!"

But the thing continued eating,
it ate paper, swallowed ink.
As it gobbled up our homework,
I believe I saw it wink.
Teacher finally lost her temper.
"OUT!" she shouted at the creature.
The creature hopped beside her
and GLOPP...it gobbled teacher.

Source: http://www.jackprelutsky.com/flash/parentPoems/CreatureClassroom.pdf

Incidentally, I received stickers with 'A+' and 'Perfect' from one of my students. How neat is that? It's oddly touching that they seem to think that you would want stickers like that, and kid you not, I do appreciate them.

The library as a sanctuary of study

I quite fail to understand how anyone can miss the point. Yes. by all means shush the crying child. It is after all, standard, responsible behaviour for a child's guardian or parent in the library - the sanctuary of silent study in nice air conditioning.

But, when the guardian's phone makes loud noises and her shushing *repeatedly* is louder than the child (now happily cooing), I seriously wonder at the irony of it all. Part of me wants to say: strangle the child, no noise! and the other part of me of course is doing the admonishing for saying such nasty things in the first place. The best solution is of course, not to bring the pram, the baby and the toddler in and seeing as the parent did not seemed inclined to read or borrow books or use a laptop, I really really fail to understand why anyone would come in here.

Creatively Written: Diary Entry

Welcome ladies and gentlemen! Step up this way to the first ever Borders Books and Movies Fair at the Expo!

Dear blog-san,

Today, I went to the Borders Book (and Movie) Fair at the Singapore Expo. It was a lot of fun. In the morning, after eating a delicious breakfast which consisted of bread from the bakery downstairs, I flipped through the newspaper and saw the advertisement for the fair once again. After a few minutes of indecision, I decided to just go for it, since it was so tempting. Hoping to catch a ride in my father's taxi to the bus stop, I went down quickly after dressing to meet him at the carpark.

Upon seeing my father and his relief driver there, I greeted the both of them cheerfully and settled down for the short ride. However, upon nearing the bus stop, my father made a turn towards Hougang instead, and I was left stranded in the car and headed in the wrong direction. As if to dampen my trip further, my bus loomed up just after my father had passed the bus stop. Red with silent fury, I sulked while my father dropped off the relief driver. To my relief however, my father offered instead to drive me to the Expo! I nearly jumped for joy, but recalled in time that I was in my father's cab!

Stuck on cloud nine, I could not resist grinning from ear to ear all the way there. On reaching, I made a beeline for the fair immediately. All at once, I seemed to be wading against a sea of human bodies, and it was all very exciting. As I browsed through the varied selection of fiction, all priced cheaply, I even found two copies of a school text that I needed for the coming semester. How lucky!

Here is the list of books I bought*:

The Harmony Silk Factory; Tash Aw
On Friendship; Michel de Montaigne
The Ladies of Grace Adieu; Susanna Clark
A Clockwork Orange; Anthony Burgess
The Republic; Plato
Plays; Anton Chehkov
One Hundred Great Books in Haiku; David Bader
The Secrets of a Fire King; Kim Edwards
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell; Susanna Clark
Mozart's Journey to Prague; Eduard Morike
The Ingenious Edgar Jones; Elizabeth Garner
Perfume; Patrick Suskind

Two hours later, tired but pleased, I made my way out of the Expo with my purchases safely stashed away in my backpack. I love book shopping!

Lots of love,
XXX

*Somehow, I don't see the persona of the diary writer reading this kind of books, but nevermind
_____________________________

Now. Admit it. How many of the phrases did you come across in your youthful days of composition writing? I can't believe I have to teach phrases like "jumped for joy", "tired but pleased" and "grinning from ear to ear" in my classes. The cliches are threatening to make my eyes drop out from rolling too much. Also, I really must find something else to harp on other than tuition....

Dream reads

Right. As some of you know, I've been reading ahead for one of my lit modules, and that book (Middlemarch) unfortunately, is thick, and while not exactly boring, is not exactly engrossing either. My life is being ruined by the Internet age. In any case, this book is suspected as being the first book to be covered during lectures, hence it being read ahead. Also, as to how badly this book is affecting me, I started having weird dreams about it last night, which essentially consisted of how the reading ahead was a futile attempt at getting ahead because, in my dream, Middlemarch isn't even the first, or second book on the lecture list but the 3rd, or the middle of the lecture schedule. As if that wasn't enough, a check with the ivle workbin showed that Eliot will only be covered after the term break, and as such, I doubt if I would even remember who is who and what is what in the book by then. Bleah. Wasted effort for now. I am better off going to refresh my memory of reading Alice in Wonderland...

Flower Feast

Singapore Garden Festival 2008
A photo selection.

P.S. The flowers are all real.

The Book Post: Artemis Fowl and the Time Paradox

Aurum potestas est
So claims the Fowl motto and if we are to take the glossy gold-cover of the book (see post below) literally. However, in the course of six books, one learns that paradoxically, all that glitters is not gold - that shimmer in the air may be an invisible fairy, or more importantly, as young Artemis finds out, what's precious need not be appraised in carats.

As the possible last book in the series by Eoin Colfer, the book takes up some of the themes that have been sidelined previously in lieu of the characters having to save the world. Having now recently adverted the latest threat to fairy and humankind, the plot turns towards the long-suffering environment for the next adventure. Artemis' mother, Angeline, has fallen prey to a debilitating disease whose cure lies in the brain fluid of an extinct lemur. Hence the title - Artemis has to travel back the years to outwit his younger self, the culprit behind the extinction of the particular lemur species and rescue said lemur. No doubt, in comparison to The Arctic Incident or The Opal Deception, the scale is not as epic (no trolls, no mob attacks etc), but with this as the last book, for now, it is nice to see a return to character development. Little Arty is growing up *sniffle*, and things are changing. In some ways, this is good; the readers of the books won't stay ten forever, and the Growth of a Character is very important in children's literature. You know... so that they get life lessons out of it or something.

On the other hand, when parts of that character development, the establishing and maturing of the relationships between the main characters also consists of what I suspect to be fanservice, I can't help but feel a pang of loss. I flipped back to the very first book in the series, and I find that the first few lines still make me laugh. "The language," and here I quote my sis, "is really good here." I agree. The wit and humour sparkles and crackles with an energy not seen in the latest of the series. This is why, perhaps, I'm not sad that Colfer is stopping the series for now. The series is growing fatigued, and as one says, one should leave it while the going is still good. And it still is, even with me grumbling how the insides of the book do not shine as much as the cover.

Overall: 3.5/5

Ity and Bity

Children nowadays should not be underestimated.
See here, the (almost) accurate true-life accounts from a first-hand source.

Lost Notes from the Memory Bin
Exibit #1
At the tender age of 9, they curse better than hardcore sailors:

Go to _ _ _ _
S_ _ _
Various choice Hokkien epithets.
I F_ _ _ Y_ _ (said to me) *you idiot. I am not into being a paedophile. Plus, the next second, you complain that phrases like kiss and make up are "eww" and "gross". If ONLY you know what that word means.*

Here, one must wonder. If I point out that F_ _ _ is a bad word for "kissing", do you think they'll buy it and stop using that damnable vulgarity?? I expect angry parents would go after me instead.
Of course, vulgarities are not directed at only me, but more frequently, at each other.

Exhibit #2
They whine better than anyone else.

It's not even the vulgarities that kill me. No. Not when certain of your friends and the TV use them all the time. (Thank you, TV, and friends, for building up my insensitivity)

It's. the. whining.
Everytime one of the boys says something rude, the girls will start protesting: "teacher! Teacher! TEACHER! TEACHER! XX USE THAT WORD!"
*yes. I heard that. Now stop whining. I'm getting a headache*

Teacher clears throat: "XX! Stop using vulgarities! It's very rude!" *sigh. groan*
XX: "S_ _ _ lah" (glowers at other boy, who says something just as rude in return)
Girls *altogether now, 1,2,3*: "TEACHER! WHINE..WHINE...WHINE..."
*uggh. stop! stop! Your whining is worse than the swearing! Ignore them! If you show that you aren't bothered by their bloody (oops) swearing, they'll get bored and stop! Stop whining already!*
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Exhibit #3
The Artful Dodger (Singapore Edition)

Flashback:
Teacher: "JJ! What are you doing standing on that chair? Why are the tables and chairs like this?" (gestures at classroom, which has been turned into a maze after class has ended)
Girl 1+2: "His name is not JJ."
Teacher (baffled): "Eh?"
Girl 1 bangs on the table.
Teacher (intelligibly): "Huh? Table?"
Girls giggle. "No. He's called Knockknock!"
*I see.*
Girl 2: "Actually, before this, he had another name."
Teacher: "Oh? What's that?"
Girl 2: "He is called Food-stealer!"
Teacher glowers accusingly at JJ: "Did u steal food?" JJ protests: "No!"
Girl 2: "Yes! He stole my sandwich before. The small kind."

-End Flashback-

It is the end of class. Deja vu anyone?
I pack, and am ready to leave when I recall that I had lent one of the students my pen.

Attempt One to retrieve pen: FAIL
(notes: imitating the trademark coy, wide-eye innocence of student does not work)

Attempt Two to retrieve pen: PASS
(notes: but now, the marker (on loan from office) is in student's possession)

Attempt Three to retrieve one's own item: NEVERMIND

As I leave the class, the evil artful dodger decides that it'll be funny to pick my bag. Naturally, having anticpated this from Day 1 since I got this bag, the only a pickpocket will be able to steal will be something useless, like my water bottle, which is of the old, cheap plastic variety. It's a pity, after wrangling all my items back, I forgot the stupid bottle. It's not something that I miss, but I was rather thirsty on my way home.
______________________________

It's odd. But even with all these nonsense, I seem to well, enjoy meeting them week after week.

Decisions decisions

Do you see here. This is Artemis Fowl 6. And it's available in the Borders in Wheelock Place ahead of the official UK release. How suspect. This windfall. But since I am a Times member it seems I shall have to wait it out, unfortunately.


Then, do you see this here? This is Middlemarch. A Study of Provincial Life. If I am even going to be able to survive next semester, I am going to have to start reading ahead.





Guess which I want to read.

Ekphrasis

Insomnia Forgotten
=
As the sky dims, the clouds recede softly into the lengthening darkness. Down below, across the slanted bars, each window gleams, a bright faceted gem framed by concrete and steel. The descending night gently draws back a curtain of lightly falling rain, each raindrop forming a crisp rap against exposed surfaces. The shower quickens abruptly, and the rap becomes a swift rush of water from above, glinting silver and gold, melting hard lines, soldering them to the running rivulets of water making their quick way down the edges of rooftops and drainpipes. Sleep washes over, a comforting coverlet brought by the distant hiss of a car on wet roads while the last swallow of the evening chirps faintly; a sound to drift away from, insomnia forgotten.

The Book Post: The Historian

Now. Who knew research could indeed be vampiric, literally?

I know this book was pretty popular quite awhile back, but I hold to the adage that good things stand the test of time, and this book, fuss or no fuss still remains a downright creepy read. I may not have finished it, and I might end up eating my words, but I doubt if a sucky ending will have any effect in dinting how enjoyable a read it has been so far (which is slightly more than halfway) for me.

So what're you waiting for? Go, go, go read it.

Elizabeth Kostova's The Historian

Really?!

Went to the ICA today. In typical Singapore fashion, there was already quite the spectacular queue outside the building though it was not yet 8am, which is when the building "officially" opens. Queue notwithstanding, it seems that the building has quite the ability in swallowing whole crowds, which disappeared into the inner belly of the ICA pretty quickly in spite of heightened security checks (as if terrorists wake that early (just kidding)). The IC floor was miraculously deserted, which suited me and my sis (who lost her IC, the unfortunate girl) nicely. Everything was going smoothly, and we didn't have very long to wait to see the officer, iwhose room was in this group of officious looking offices tucked in one corner of the floor.

This was when things stopped being so nice. The officer thought I was my sis's mom. Gee. Thanks. I am now going somewhere far far far away. Don't follow. The door (locked on inside) says:

DON'T DISTURB. LIVING IN DENIAL. I NEED A REJUVENATING GETAWAY.

Whatever happened to the other modules??

I can't believe I have a paltry FIVE core modules to choose from for the coming semester. That list had better be incomplete. And I wouldn't even be complaining if not for the fact that two of modules that I want to do already clash. Arggh!

Poster Talk: Wanted

Wanted: Six Dollars Back

Or that's what my sis, the veteran gamer says even before we've left the cinema. On hindsight, I suppose this poster should have warned me:

Firstly, Angelina Jolie is NOT the main character in the film, in spite of her taking up two thirds of the poster. Those of you who have some communication studies background should be able to deduce this as poster as being a sneaky attempt to milk the crowd with a well-known sexy A-list star, regardless of actual screen time and plot.

Like the poster, the film didn't seem to require more than a superficial level of acting from the cast. Jolie just has to look sexy and mysterious all the time, which shouldn't take much effort from her, and McAvoy seems to just have to say a particular four letter word while doing the narrative and dialogue all the time, which I suppose, doesn't take much effort either. The only thing that probably needed work was looking buff for the screen. Still, it's a slick movie. Too slick in some ways. The gun fights are cool, but at the expense of screen time that would have been better off dealing with character development. The plot twist was really cliched, and came too late into the film to be properly resolved. I mean, yes, this is an action flick, so there doesn't need to be much character development, but to the point where I don't feel anything for the characters??? Enough said here.

Before I pysch everyone who reads this into thinking "sucky movie", Wanted isn't actually down in the pits yet. It's an average-ish sort of movie, but I admittedly don't think I'll tire of watching them (meaning the cast) curve bullets around bits of meat and each other. Those were some of the coolest scenes involving slow-mo bullets since The Matrix, and that's saying something, considering how the rest of Wanted was so completely lacklustre.

On another point:
Trust the Japanese to come up with a poster that defies the usual Hollywood advertising conventions (no Angelina Jolie in it!).

Images sourced from: http://www.worstpreviews.com/review.php?id=818

In Defence of Pink

Warning: To be taken tongue in cheek, seriously.

So, what am I, a known loather of this stereotypically girly shade doing defending this colour against those who have shot it down repeatedly? Firstly, as someone who has no particular liking of this colour, I feel that I will be in the best position to talk about it without being biased towards it. Anyone who has heard me complain greviously about having suddenly acquired lots of pink items would understand. Secondly, having said that, I would like to add the caveat that this subconcious acquiring of pink-tainted goods seems to mean that I am no longer able to say that I fully dislike the colour, on the other hand, it seems to point to a subconcious attraction towards it.

As Hash once said long ago, it appears that I am a closet pink lover. This information I think, would fail to raise eyebrows since some of you already think I am batty and have odd taste, and Hash was only too delighted to have a good laugh at me. The rest of you probably knew that pink exacts a detrimentally addictive influence anyway... Once you start, you continue.adding to the collection.

Coming to the point above, I suppose I had better produce some valid reasons as to why Pink is a misrepresented colour.

The big one at the top of the list is of course, the centuries of being inversely socially conditioned to detest this colour. How many of you ladies out there shudder at being associated with the colour? SOME of you, as you very well know, only wear navy blues and blacks (like some funeral if you ask me), and others detest it with a passion. Speaking of passion, I would like to mention that those of you who obsess over particular colours analogous to pink on the colour wheel (such as red, Lavender, violet, crimson etc) are but one step from converting to being a Pink. Already, I suspect that some of you out there are already experiencing similar addictive habits (concious or otherwise) concerning the colour of their choice, much like a Pink lover already posesses (see above).

Elaborating further, it doesn't help that pink is commonly demarcated as part of the blonde realm, which is rather unfortunate since that means that the colour will also be associated with anything bimbotic or brainless. Sad really, considering that the colour has a lot of aesthetic merits and shouldn't be shunted aside just because of a dubious reputation.

It is a common misconception that people who look good in pink are blonde. In fact, the colour has been known as being exceedingly good in complimenting Asian skin tones, and unless I am very much mistaken somewhere, they're not blonde the last time I checked. Having bleached hair obviously doesn't count, and it has a tendency to make people (esp if you're chinese) look pasty anyway (so said the newspaper once).

Plus, in terms of acessories, a splash of cherry or bright pink on your dark coloured bag/clothes/shoes really adds to it. And when I do have to pick a colour, pink stands out because it looks nice in small quantities. A blue pencil case just doesn't cut it compared to a pink one, because light blue looks faded after awhile. I was making a perfectly sound judgement you know, when I picked the pink one over the yellow (which I detest), the green (which I liked, but didn't look cheery) and the blue. The point is, it is possible to like pink for valid reasons. Or so I would like to think.

So yeah. Go pink!

Tagged.

#1. If your lover betrayed you, what will your reaction be ?
Indignant definitely. And I'll probably be beating an effigy of him with my best stiletto heels (if and when I own a pair, or maybe i'll just buy a pair for that purpose). Then sad. And wonder where we went wrong.

#2. If you can have a dream come true, what would it be ?
Umm. That I'll wake up one day and find that the world will be a better place? Less pollution, less political machinations, less morbid stupidity. That. And a large room with wall-to-ceiling shelves full of books, comfy and elegant armchairs and a sketchbook with nice, smooth blank paper and 2B pencils that never need to be sharpened. The view will have to be a field with long grass and a tree in the middle of it.

#3. What will your dream wedding be like ?
You're asking me here? Now? I probably could fill pages and pages with minute details (like table decorations) that no one wants to know. But yeah. I envision it with me, him (duh) and surrounded by friends and family. NOT in some hotel ballroom. I'll fly my guests to some small island booked for the very purpose of humouring two very self-indulgent (me, him) persons.

#4. Are you confused as to what lies ahead of you ?
Yeah. Somewhat. The future was a pretty solid thing till recently. But I'm still teaching, so maybe I'm not so much confused as still slightly disappointed and shaken?

#5. What’s your ideal lover like ?
*rolls eyes* The question that never fails to to be asked. Tall dark and handsome. Sweet, kind and funny. Yeah. Right. Everyone else will want him too. Actually, it goes more along the line of him being gorgeous, kind, smart, sensible, has aesthetic sense, and willing to put up with me being less than these things.

#6. Which is more blessed, loving someone or being loved by someone ?
Eh? Sounds painful either way since they both sound pretty much unrequited. Though that could be me being confused by what the question means.

#7. How long do you intend to wait for someone you really love ?
Till I'm 20? Wait... That is over already. I expect I'll change my mind tomorrow though.

#8. If the person you secretly like is already attached, what would you do ?
Siiiiiigggggghhhhhh. I'll be sad of course. Who am I to stand in Love's way, even if I strongly believe he is mistaken (blindfolded what), so I suppose I'll let them live their happily ever after lives and secretly hope that they'll break up.

#9. Is there anything that has made you unhappy these days ?
Not really. Other than vague anxieties typical of me.

#10. What do you want most in life ?
Happiness. Satisfaction with myself and the world around me. Then everything else will fall nicely into place.

#11. Is being tagged fun ?
What do you think?

#12. How do you see yourself in ten years time ?
Old. I'm already being called auntie. *pouts*

#13. Who is the current most important person to you ?
Me. Myself. And I. See #10. I believe that what one wants most reflects who you care about most.

#14. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is ?
That one ah.

Has curly hair and is
a great friend who should deserve
Better luck and joy

#15. Would you rather be single & rich or married but poor ?
Can't I be both married and rich?????

#16. If you could have any animal for a pet, what would it be ?
A cat. Not the persian sort which sheds all over the place of course. Or maybe a talking dragon. You did say ANY animal...

#17. What are one of those things which you would prefer not to do ?
Sit on the Tower of Doom. At least not anytime in the forseeable future. Oh yeah. I would also prefer not to meet any caterpillars by chance or otherwise.

#18. What kind of person do u think u are ?
Hopefully, a better person than last week.

#19. What do you define as a bad day ?
When everything that could and would go wrong goes wrong. And the light at the end of the day is a weak and bleak one.

#20. If you have to choose between love (as in boy-girl relationships) and friendship, what would it be ?
How should I know? I've not experienced the first one. But I think it's rather unfair to compare them, since I think they ask different things of you. There doesn't seem to be a basis for comparing. Like asking to choose between puppies and ice cream...

who are you tagging next? Ah. You. The reader.

One more post before I leave

Thank the world for the blessedly enquiring and candid minds of children.
- Five Foot Broadway mini drama in the audience.

It is times like this that induces one to gush about the cute innocence of children, but never mind. It is a horrible unearthly 4.45am in the morning now and what inspiration I had for this post has been lost in an oncoming headache. Don't ask why I was up at 3.30 am either. I should have been enjoying my sleep.

Notice: Going Away

Tue-Thurs. I will be in Malaysia. Specifically, a particular mountain (hill?) where there is usaully very low visibilty and lots of people go there to risk their lives either at the table or the coaster. Or maybe they just risk their lives blundering about in mist and fog. Will be back in Singapore sometime Thursday night. Till then.

Blitzz

Right. I am sooo charmed. All I did was stand next to my sister's laptop and she gets a mysterious error code. Sheesh.

Poster Talk: The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian

Everyone knows what this poster is. No need for introductions I think. In any case, skipping the poster harping that has accompanied my movie posts in recent months, I just want to forget the unpleasant staff and slow-crawling queues at Cathay Causeway and just focus on the sole fragment of light and hope for mankind in the whole of a pretty bad day. We entered the cinema in medias res no thanks bloody slow staff, and by the time I'd settled down, I expect I had missed some ten minutes of the film.

I liked the movie, because Andrew Adamson, the director, has made the film his own. It's pretty much nothing like C.S. Lewis at all. Which does remind me... I recall not really liking (loathe is too strong a word) Lucy of the four Pevensie children, but really, the choice of casting is pretty darn good, and the on screen chemistry of the siblings seems to have taken off quite nicely in this sequel, which, if I may add, is really really nothing like the dull, stuffy book version. I do recall, in spite of the years seperating us, that Prince Caspian (the book) was not one of the better Chronicle of Narnia as I was reading the series in secondary school... My favourites are the ever famous The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe; The Silver Chair and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, which is the subject of the next film in the Narnia franchise. (Yay). It's a pity that Adamson is not directing, as I think he made the films a lot more palatable to a general audience in some ways, for example, by being less morally didactic and emphasizing the value of imagination. Very very important, the latter.

Warning: Spoilers ahead. You can still read though.

The concern of course is that without Adamson helming the third Narnia film, it remains to be seen if the franchise can play catch-up. Already, certain all too familiar images are appearing on the screen, such as walking trees and mild-mannered little New Zealand streams suddenly materializing violent and rapid flooding that kill off a good lot of the enemy. There are of course a few little other details that may also suggest the same production company had some dealing with another famed trilogy, but that is speculation for another day. In any case, I suppose imdb has all the gossip and data to make the comparisons. Alternatively, one may argue that seeing as Tolkien and Lewis were such pals anyway, it is unsurprising if this is Adamson's way of paying homage to that friendship. Or maybe the trees and the river already were in the book.
I honestly can't remember. In any case, I hope it wouldn't turn out to be another X-Men-Ratner debacle. What a way to end the series.

Singapore Arts Fest Opening Act: Complaint

As an econs tutor once said, "if you pay peanuts, you get monkeys", and if you pay zilch, you don't even get monkeys; instead what you get is a ridiculous crowd squeezed against the border of Boat Quay in the sweltering heat. grumblegrumblegrumble.

Sure, there were tricks with flaming rods and cyclists pedalled on the watery surface of the river, but still, it was not worth the heat, the unfriendly security or the monkeys (hanging off trees) that have come to watch a free show too. grumblegrumblegrumble.

The performance, as PY remarked, was untidy; one doesn't know where to look - the pretty fireworks spiralling dizzingly above our heads or the acrobatic act below us in the river... The indecision can be costly - in fact, I missed the end half of the closing scene. Humans. So easily distracted by pretty shiny things that make loud noises. grumblegrumblegrumble.

This is a street show. Whatever happened to the free and easy attitude that comes with open performances? I like where I was standing and I'm still a little annoyed that security kept nagging at people to not stand on the benches. I expect for the security, heat and stress led to bad tempers flaring up, but I fail to see the point in even trying to get people to behave in the appropriate way at what is supposedly a big spectacle. A street show is carnival, and as the word suggests, indicates that social customs are about to go topsy-turvy. Who cares if it's pure madness to climb a tree in the middle of the CBD? On a day like this, one can hang off the branches and no one (unless you're in danger of being hit by wobbling branches) is going to care.

Considering the maxim adopted year after year by the Arts Festival, the arts is supposed to be something everyone can enjoy, and I however, for one didn't feel quite so welcomed thanks to irritable staff lurking in the dark. As I've discovered, its nonsense to say that Singaporeans are straight laced (the people crouched in funny positions on trees and benches are definitely not), it's the staff. Still, the organizers should just live and let live - being oppressive at an Esplanade concert is one thing, but at a street performance?? Why?? It's the opening act! People should have been having picnics, laughing and smiling and wowed by the performance. I don't know about other people, but I left feeling distinctly unsatisfied by most aspects of the opening act.

Remind me to go for a ticketed performance next time.

House

I need something to cheer me up while I wait for August.

Eye Candy

This is Yoshitaka Amano's work. His style tends to be more widespread than I am making it out to be here, but I just happen to like those with flowy lines best.



It reminds me a little of Aya Kato's stuff, or this short anime OAV called Kigeki. If some of Yoshitaka Amano's work seems a little familiar, it'll likely be because you'll might have spotted some of his artwork in the Final Fantasy series, or alternatively, if you're not the gaming sort, the illustrated horror series Vampire Hunter D. (also adapted as an anime).

The above two images are from Hiten, his first exhibition, which exhibits a very wide array of what Amano is capable of. His latest works in progress in fact indicate him going back to his animation roots (Speedracer ugh). As it is, I seem to have a penchant for the German Expressionist-ish style... But then again, some of the best illustrators do seem to come from Germany too...

Another familair big-wig name attached to Amano would be Neil Gaiman, whose Sandman series got a freelanced watercolour treatment from the artist. See below: Lord Morpheus, as envisioned by Amano

Image sources

(Hiten): http://gallery.aethereality.net/

(Morpheus; Lord of Dreams): http://www.elevenland.com/amano/amano.php3

Stumbled on a memory

And so, it’s not quite the height of summer boredom, nor was it set in a deserted house, but the contrary, a well lit restaurant, and rather than sitting amidst rank weeds under a full moon, I was surrounded by the low buzz of inane chatter and happy diners. Still, ghost stories don’t wait for the so-called appropriate moment but for the importunate moment (I was eating, mind you) and the setting in any case, recedes into being immaterial once one is hooked.

So, after a couple of creepy stories, my friend told me the one her brother told her – one of those army ones that always seem to have an inexplicable ring of truth to them. Actually, this one sounded totally far-fetched, but as they say, human beings have the most amazing capacity for making connections where there are none. Hence, what you will get here are some of those random connections that came to my rambling mind:

As the story goes, an army colonel is making his way down the stairs one day (or night). Being a careful man not in a hurry to make his way to his destination, he held on to the staircase railing. Unfortunately, while the colonel was making his sedate way down the stairs; (he wasn’t as young as he once was you know), he, in spite of the precautions, in spite of holding the railing – fell anyway. The lackeys who were before him rushed up the stairs while those behind rushed down to his aid. Here is the interesting part. Out of the many recruits bustling about, one who stood at the top of the stairs remained where he was. His expression was grim, and several of the recruits could only wonder why he did not make a move to help the higher-ranked officer who was, incidentally, below him that day.

The recruits talked about it later that day, and someone finally dared to ask the lone soldier about his odd behaviour. The answer came calmly enough. Coming down the stairs, the soldier explained that he’d seen the colonel fall over an old man who had been sitting on the staircase, and even as his room mates hurtled to the colonel’s rescue, the old ghost, unnoticed, had been rubbing his injured arm in an irritated way. It seemed, the colonel had had the misfortune of tripping over a ghost…

So, the story is not the usual creepy kind, but it does lead in several interesting directions. This is the part where you, the reader, will have to suspend belief and assume that this is a real situation. Or maybe not.

The reasonable mind would have pointed out that it seems pretty far-fetched that with so many people coming and going on the stairs, each and everyone of them would have tripped over the ghost, and not just the colonel. A mistake by the reporter? A loophole in the account? In any case, ghosts shouldn’t be able to feel pain – they’re dead after all. In fact, they shouldn’t even be able to trip anyone since they aren’t even a physical obstruction.
Or maybe not.

The reasonable mind can also point out that of course, if the ghost can materialize a solid arm to trip colonels over, they arguably would also feel the sharp pinch of pain due to the contact. No? Yes? In any case, what in the world are ghosts? A slip of memory; a shadow of the past that lurks behind? I remember my physics teacher in secondary school and his wild conspiracy theories. Apart from being convinced that China had managed to conceal a high-tech military facility under the Forbidden City, he spoke about the “4th dimension”. This, he claimed, is the other-worldly world where fragments of time and space wander freely, and when the time-space orbit of our world bumps into this other-place, the outcome is essentially a ghost sighting. Memories of past, present and future? Had this fictitious colonel bumped into an illusory sliver of time realized?
Or maybe not.

Shoes

Because I am insanely proud of these ugly shoes.

The Film that Might Have Been

And so, in an alternate dimension, an altenate me might have been watching the Mamoru Hosoda version of Howl's Moving Castle had he stayed on with Ghibli for the length of the project. It looks to me like it would have been a more faithful adaptation of the book and looking at the storyboards, I can't help but wish that he had completed the project.

The picture above is actually a scene that existed in the book, though of course there are slight differences. The one below that shows the Witch of the Waste is also closer to the way her physical appearance appeared in the book. The man (I suspect he's Gaston) obviously can't be Howl. If you've watched the Miyazaki version or read the book you'll know what I mean.

What do you all think?

credits for images: http://www.pelleas.net/aniBBS/viewtopic.php?t=400&sid=0b4150aa477a9687252ab4d3e0f2369f

Your 'if' is the only peacemaker, much virtue in 'if'. - As You Like It

Now that my arduous three weeks of revision and exams are over, I am so looking to using my brain for happier things. Cheers for the holidays!

Countdown

3 down, 1 2 go!

Poster Talk: Sky Crawlers Update

image source: http://www.animenewsnetwork.com/news/2008-04-28/oshii-sky-crawlers-trailer-officially-posted-online

I take back what I said about how this was going to be old school animation with less CGI. The new poster, with the added figures (presumably main characters) says its going to be CGI-heavy. Sigh...