Rhetoric Room

So Long and Thanks

2010-07-30T09:32:00.003+08:00

It's been a good blog *pats it* but as a person, I have simply moved on. I am an advocate of not deleting and a sense of continuity - I want to keep myself warts and all, but that I see now, is a far more difficult task than I ever thought possible. So - when push comes to shove I can only follow that motion out and into elsewhere. A reboot is in order.

You may now find me here:

thoseanodynes[dot]wordpress[dot]com

Jaunt to Japan II

2010-05-30T20:46:00.003+08:00

And because I took too many photos and it'll be silly not to share my favourite shots, converted to monochrome so you get to see the silhouettes and contours and lines clearer...

Because I am fond of Tokyo in black and white...

and the tranquility of temples. [May Lord Buddha watch over me for tomorrow] I am not a believer, but when you stand under eaves that are thicker than a man's waist, and watch the

tendrils of incense smoke curling up into the air... and, for that moment it is very easy to feel connected to something larger. And I don't mean the crowd.

And because it is rare to see an empty alley in the heart of a city, even if that city is just waking up...

It's a new day brimming with excitement.

Ladies and Gentlemen out on a walk...

and a shot of my dad which I actually like. The ominous atmosphere suits his personality.

Because I like atmospheric photos, and this is my favourite shot.

Xiao Long agrees.

Soliciting under the lights of Shimabashi and the quintessential plastic umbrellas.

Everybody loves a good show.

And ducks. Who doesn't love the cute duckie?

And fantastic dawns rising over the ridge.

Because I am easily amused...

2010-05-30T09:40:00.010+08:00

I don't know if it's because I'm a seasoned anime watcher but I take to Elizabeth's Shaolin moves and Darcy's Kyoto training with good cheer. And yes, beware, if you're a true-blooded fan of Austen's Pride & Prejudice that the following chunks might not sit well with you. Heh heh...

Mr Darcy's shameful boast of what misery he had been able to inflict, gave her a keener sense of her sister's sufferings. It was some consolation to think that he would soon fall at the end of her blade - and that in less than a fortnight she should herself be with Jane again, and enabled to contribute to the recovery of her spirits, beginning with the presentation of Darcy's heart and head.

She could not think of Darcy without remembering his cousin, for agreeable as he was,Colonel Fitzwilliam was also the one man who could assign the guilt of Darcy's slaying to Elizabeth.He would have to be dispensed with as well.

While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the door-bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself. But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr Darcy walk into the room. In a hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health, inputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She answered him with cold civility, scarcely able to believe her luck at his happening by so soon, and waiting for the first opportunity to excuse herself and retrieve her Katana...

excerpted, with a great deal of laughing, from Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Seth Grahame Smith, with 85% contribution by Jane Austen.

Jaunt to Japan

2010-05-20T23:07:00.014+08:00

Ok, no alliterations, at least not good ones, and I refuse to use the official Japan tourism slogan (Yokoso Japan!). It's hard to think of a good one which starts with "J". Japan Gem? Ah well. But it was a good five and a half days (not counting the first day which was spent in an SIA plane, and the last which was also spent in a plane).

There were too many good things on this trip, of which this photo collage only shows a sliver of. I would expect to upload more stuff in the next few days. But here are these for now, and a quick run through of the major places I've been to on this trip:

Day #1: Osaka/Kobe

This is the Kobe Chinatown, which is a tourist trap and about as Chinese as any tourist trap is, but offered plenty of interesting photography opportunities. I was also a little more enthusiastic and gung-ho with my camera on Day #1 too of course. The other photo is taken from Kobe Harbourland. Apparently, this was where they filmed the finale of Ultraman, but I wouldn't know since I never watched it. But, I took several pictures anyway.

Osaka Castle. No pretty cherry blossoms framing picture, I was there in the wrong season and constantly reminded that the parade of greenery would have been pink a mere month ago. You can look at the amazing architecture though. The multi-roofs are supposed to prevent ninjas from getting in easily. There is a gigantic moat around it, with little outposts. Built by Hideyoshi Toyotomi, one of the three major shoguns in history (he was eventually defeated by Tokugawa Ieyasu, another big name in history)

Shinsaibashi, downtown Osaka. As you can see, I have the most amazing luck with the weather. On one hand, the rain was pretty, on the other, it was extremely cold and I was extremely unprepared to meet it. Spent most time trying to avoid puddles and trying not to shiver.

Day #2: Nara/Kyoto

Nara Deer Park and Tōdai-ji (ji means temple). This particular temple is dedicated to the Buddha, and with the deer outside it, I am strongly induced to compare it to the deer park in India... (Isn't the dear* just cute?)

Day #2 is the day of temples. This is Kiyomizu Temple, and a Unesco World Heritage Site. The image above is of the queue for people lining up to drink from the three fountains which purport to promise wealth, academic success, or longevity. Hung around trying to decide which was which... and end up suspecting the most popular was likely 'wealth'...

*caught the pun?

Day #3 Owakudani Valley/Mt Fuji
Took a bullet train from Toyohashi to Hamamatsu, which was a stop away and then hopped back on to coach to Owakudani Valley, a volcanic area with steam spouting from the ground and characteristic black hardboiled eggs.

The first is one of my absolute fav pictures from the entire trip; the latter is the black eggs I was talking about, and they're transported to the shop in the valley bottom in a little cable-cage (see below).

Antartica much?

And, speaking of unpreparedness, I was practically frozen halfway up Mt Fuji. Even with four layers of clothing and a windbreaker, I was still nipped by frostbite and the light snow (amazing, but I was really cold), and we all huddled around the shops, gloveless and hatless, reluctant to leave the warmth. As you see, people were wearing that on Mt Fuji. I wasn't told mountaineering gear was the way to go... Anyway, the pinnacle of Mt Fuji couldn't be seen as it was a misty day.

Day #4: Kawaguchi-ko/Tokyo
We overnighted at Lake Kawaguchi, an onsen retreat spot. Nobody wanted to go into the baths with me, so I DIYed. Photos are obviously not allowed in there, simply because one would have to be a pervert and secondly, there's so much steam, it's a waste of the potential pervert's efforts. It is also my fav hotel of the trip, partly because of the onsen, which was good, and also because of this:

Cherry blossoms! In the middle of May!! And it's not Hokkaido!! I think I went mad with the camera for a while... P.S., that's the hotel I stayed at. It was a very traditional one with tatami mats and sliding doors. Contrastingly, it had the largest LCD screen of all the hotels I stayed in, and the rest were the modern kind.

And to reaffirm what an onsen is, - yes, you get in with your birthday suit, and yes I got in with said suit. It's not like on tv where they are wrapped in towels. In fact I initially wanted to wait up till 1am, where everyone was likely to be asleep and then go for it, but the more I dithered, the more I wanted to back out, so I eventually went at the very early time of 9 plus when my sister threatened to fall asleep and leave me locked outside in only a yukata.

We then headed to Shinjuku, Tokyo, where the yakuza apparently hang out at night and are supposedly identifiable by their spiffy black suits and shades. Unfortunately, just about every Japanese male office worker wears a black suit to work, so I don't see how you're suppose to differentiate them on sight. Their menacing expressions perhaps... Then, it was off to Asakusa, where we visit another temple, this one dedicated to Kannon (Guanyin). The main temple was unfortunately under renovation, but there was a religious festival on, so we hung around watching that instead.

P.S. I like the oba-san's kimono, but I guess she was shy or something...

I was kinda hoping we could go back to a hotel after that, but guess what... we had to go to Ueno for its flea market first, where the most amazing octopus tentacles were being sold... The flea market was also pretty interesting, since it stretched under the rail tracks.

Day #5 DisneySea aka Simulacra

I swear... they really know how to fake things. For instance, the "sculptures" on some of the walls are really only just paintings, but it looks real enough in photos... As for each of the themed locales... I'll leave you to wonder where in the world I am.

This is Cairo (not).
There's also a remarkably Venetian looking photo up there...

Day #6: Narita
I was in a hotel before hanging out in a mall. Hotel had the prettiest carpark I'd seen. It reminded me of the daffodil poem by Wordsworth - something about a sea of stars or some such thing.

That's all for now. Good night.

Note 2 Self

2010-05-01T22:18:00.002+08:00

I swear children write the weirdest things when asked to write about being marooned on a deserted island. Apart from the gun containing mysteriously infinite number of bullets, there is also the remarkable use of the word "pierce" for everything from the worm on a short branch for fish bait to caught fish on a sharp branch to two sticks pierced into the ground. And don't get me started on what glass was used to pierce in the jewellery store epic.

So what note is this? This note is to remind myself never ever to give this scenario as a prompt again. It gets them all dramatic and boy-scoutish. From this one composition alone, I learn that it is possible to distill pure water from seawater using only two leaves and the flaming afternoon sun...

Work, which is weird

2010-04-25T17:15:00.006+08:00

You know you are a teacher when your student comes up and insists that you are old-fashioned. Even when you tell them that the reason one does not wear miniskirts is simply because one does not want to benefit (or rather give eyesores) the person two steps below you. I'm practical, you know. But don't get me wrong, I think miniskirts are very pretty. I can see why people might wear them, given the right place and time But class is not one of them... especially when you're the one doing the teaching... Jeez. But it won't do for me to shed my less than cool image anyway - not that the kids will believe it any more than I want to be er - cool even if I think my translucent blouse is pretty exciting. *sulk* Stupid D. (another kid) called it a night gown. I've, it seems, somehow managed to build myself into a certain breed of teacher. Which is sort of good. One day I'll go to class in a spaghetti top and leather skirt...

And then she (not D) tells me: If you were the same age as me, we'll be friends. This, coming from a twelve-year old girl is... I think it was some kind of moment.

Later on, I spot a "Signor Sauer" complete with fake series number in the hand of a robber which has recently used it to blast the brains out of some hapless sales person in her compo. I end up snorting with laughter. Somebody has been reading Artemis Fowl...

In case anyone is wondering, no it's not a Signor Sauer, it's a Sig Sauer...

Teaser: Karigurashi no Arrietty

2010-04-21T17:38:00.014+08:00

When I heard last year that Hayao Miyazaki's* next project would be an adaptation of Mary Norton's (a children's book writer) The Borrowers, I wasn't sure I'll be thrilled. I remember feeling not too pleased with their adaptation of Howl's Moving Castle, but hopefully with no last minute director swapping, the plot will not suffer this time. Besides, I am unfamiliar with Norton's work and I currently have no strong feelings attached to it being adapted.

But more importantly, after Ponyo, it looks as though Ghibli is going back to that absolutely lush animation style which I first fell in love with as a kid watching My Neighbour Totoro. The teaser trailer is also one which I'm insanely obsessed with already - those few shots of the house and the tempting way which the borrower (i.e. the little pixie like person) is blocked off from the screen by the big leaf is a major draw for me already, not to mention that it has a suitably haunting theme song to go with it. It's well teased, this teaser. But I add that I'm usually a sucker for Ghibli productions anyway, so it won't take much to make me this excited. Unless it's Ponyo again of course.

So yeah. Enjoy.
*Ah. My mistake. Karigurashi no Arrietty is directed by newcomer Hiromasa Yonebayashi. Screenplay is by Hayao Miyazaki though.

For Posterity

2010-04-04T08:18:00.003+08:00

It is common knowledge that I and anything technological do not get along. Today, this relationship has been one-upped by my word processor disagreeing with me about the content of my essay.

I see the potential contradiction in "appearance" and "disguise" but still... you, MSWord, need not argue with me.

Egypt Exhibition

2010-03-20T21:32:00.002+08:00

I remember going to an Egyptian exhibition once, long enough ago that all I remember was darkness, a lot of people pressing together in a cramped, dimly lit space and the las room which contained a sarcophagus and a mummy, tightly wrapped in fine white linen. No really - my impression, as I leaned over the glass was that of a strong and flexible ivory coloured material that on hindsight, is oddly clean, that is, if my memory is even reliable to begin with. It wasn't at the National Museum though, I think it was at the old location of the Asian Civilizations Museum, situated in a narrow lane somewhere near the old MPH flagship store - you remember - the one with the sky painted on the domed ceiling.

Some things never change, as this new Egyptian exhibit at NMS shows. The mouth of the cave-like entrance stretched upwards cavern-like and it was invitingly dark. The small lights illuminating the interior is the kind to be found in museums, even then and I feel an odd sense of deja vu. Then again, the Christian Delacroix exhibit last year was just as dimly lit. It was bloody crowded. We had to queue outside for about 15 minutes, though it could have been longer; it certainly felt that way. One thing new though - sufficiently creepy music was echoing off the recesses of the exhibition hall. I don't know if it was the music or the exhibits themselves, but it felt creepy to be surrounded by so many statues and objects, all neatly laid out, clinically. There is something dead about these things, and I sense, oddly, desperation and urgency in the men and women who created these things in their colossal scale. It felt, somehow, like reaching back across eons, or of bridging the centuries. Here was this stone fragment from 1200BC (or so) and here was me, roughly 3000 years later staring through glass and fuzzy light at it. I can understand PY's itch to touch one of them. Looking, I can't help but wonder what the people who made them were like - same as the Lourve exhibit, same as the Lacroix one but with the Ancient Egyptians, there is the sense of being that much closer to eternity.

Which Dreamed It?

2010-03-14T07:50:00.005+08:00

Hello there Alice. After a year or so of eager anticipation Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland arrived with the expected fanfare and everyone has been of course talking about it. Critics have complained about it being an okay film if not mind-blowing. I myself am honestly a little tired of Depp playing so many weird characters. That man needs to do something else that doesn't involve period dressing or eccentric dressing, period. But then I'm a Depp fan and I don't want to have to eat my words and complain about the dearth of Depp-in-kooky-films later either.

When my sister asked me which my favourite character was, I sighed and said the Mad Hatter won by default (see paragraph above) but on more consideration, I definitely liked the Cheshire Cat, which incidentally shared my liking for the Hatter's hat and Ann Hathaway's White Queen. That woman is amazingly funny and I only wished there had been more scenes involving her.

Having gotten the fangirl rant bit out of the way, I want to go on to defend this film (in all its scripterly mediocrity). First of all, it's the first really successful Alice screen adaptation. Of course, that could just have been the audience moving on since the first botched attempt by Disney and other lesser entities and you'll have to admit that there has been a significant increase in dragons, trolls, elves, knights, wizards (and certain vampires) etc lately. Still, this doesn't detract from the film getting a number of things right and that's what counts. You can make a perfect flash in the pan like Twilight and then you can make something like Alice.

The plot suffers of course and I find the good-triumphs-evil dichotomy problematic, especially since both Queens are treated sympathetically and one ends up feeling sorry for the Red Queen (not that she wants your pity - Off with your head!). On the other hand, it does capture the spirit of the original books pretty well. The film keeps a sense of wonder going strong, though haunting may be the better word for it, as Wonderland seems to have experienced rather a bit of wear and tear since Alice first fell down the rabbithole. The castles (both white and red) were fantastic to look at, and Burton obviously had a very good look at the sources of Alice images because certain of the scenes looked almost true to how Tenniel imagined them - that is, before Burton adds his whimisical and sometimes cheeky interpretation to them. I am thinking of the 'Drink Me' scene with all the extra doors. I don't think they were there in the original book... And my personal favourite - the cherry tinted sunnies on the Red Queen's nose as she plays croquet is a clever addition to the scene.

Still, a word of warning: don't go looking for Carroll's Alice in Burton's updated adaptation. You'll be sorely disappointed and while I find myself enjoying the movie, it's hardly a substitute for the novels. (Beware lazy lit student who thinks watching the film is as good as reading the book) This is good. It's about time somebody considered re-inventing Alice rather than try to slavishly copy it or worse still, water it down till the punch it ought to have made has absolutely no impact...

Rating: 4/5

Snooze-a-lot

2010-02-26T00:21:00.004+08:00

When I had my old Nokia, and this was years ago, I had a snooze button that actually worked. With any length of time I could choose to set, the snooze buzzer was set at 20mins interval. This was an excellent choice as I soon realised 20 mins was neither here nor there. It was both too long and too short and the discomfort of it made sure I more often than not, awake before that button even had a chance to work. Irritated by the thought of being rudely awakened at the 20 min mark - which is about just the time for me to get properly asleep (again), I get up to switch off the thing before it has a chance to grate my ears a second time. Getting up. Clicking many buttons to disable the snooze function. Who wouldn't actually stay up. Your eyes may be drooping and your actions slow, but you're more or less conscious and in the realm of being awake.

But those were the days. My Sony Ericsson, as all SEs, have only ONE option for the snooze buttong. 9 minutes. Too short by far. I keep falling asleep. Repeatedly even after I set two alarms, each with their respective 9 min snooze. I end up waking an hour after my alarm goes off. Or later. It doesn't work. Maybe that's the point of the SE snooze button, it not working. But maybe it does for some people. Perhaps I've been pampered by the 20 min snooze, or I'm feeling my age. Or maybe it's FY-Syndrome. Whatever the reason[s], I am sleeping in more, and it grates slightly that I'm getting up later and later than I want to.

K is for Kafkaesque

2010-02-05T16:07:00.003+08:00

MsFickle's Dictionary Guide to Life

Kafkaesque; or used to describe an event or activity that seems bizaare, illogical or both.

Have you ever had a memory of something occuring which couldn't possibly have? Once, I distinctly remember catching a bus from Suntec (opposite Marina Square, Conrad side) to NUS and feeling a very great sense of satisfaction. Here was a bus that led from the interior swamps of Clementi all the way to the heart of the city! I could have wept tears of joy! Kissed the steps of this heaven-sent bus! The bus even took the outer route, and didn't weave in and out of the CBD, which was even better! It took all of half an hour to get to Harbourfront and I hastily committed the number of the bus (30) to memory.

Of course, anyone who plies to NUS frequently will be able to inform you that bus 30 does not go to Suntec. It does to NUS though, so I've no idea what magical vehicle I took that day, because I distinctly recall sitting on one. Kappa laughed derisively when I told, no, insisted that such a bus existed. When we double-checked, not only was the number 30 not on the bus-stop plate, it doesn't even visit Suntec. How tragic. And not to mention, I had to suffer Kappa's smirking the entire day and insinuations about my less than sane state.

So yes. What bus was it? And what on earth was I doing that afternoon I supposedly took a bus to Harbourfront? Who knows. I certainly don't...

Doubles or Nothing

2010-01-16T22:43:00.002+08:00

It begins innocuously enough at Settler's. The air is fraught with tension, if only because I am unable to speak, my hand flying across the page as I scribble triangle after triangle. In frustration at the cries of "Pyramid! Pyramid!" I spread my elbows out to indicate wider - Egypt is what I am looking for, and instead I create a brown Nile when I knock over my ice lemon tea and stain my grey corduroys.

Nevermind that - Morphus insists, small comfort though it was, that she has been the perpetrator of such countless acts (of creating Niles and Amazons) and I shouldn't be too distressed. After moping up at The Cathay, we wander back over to PS for Cartel, where promptly, as the Leng decides to get up from the table for bread - my pasta fork flips from the table and splotches onto my white top. I do not think I've had so many accidents in one day - it's appalling. And I had to resist running into Cotton O. to get a new skirt - or - a new something.

It's been a long time since I spilled things down my clothes but at least the stain's mostly out. Good.

First post of the New Year

2010-01-13T14:40:00.002+08:00

Hello and welcome to the first post of the new year; belated yes, but at least it's here. I am a superstitious person but I shall endeavour to not jinx myself right at the beginning. I believe, irrational and ridiculous as it sounds, that blogging in direct relation to school work always ends up, in my case, in unplesantness in that area. As such, I shall refrain from naming names and allude in obscure ways to the events I want to talk about. Ask me directly if you really want to know.

Anyway, a couple of fantastic happenings and thoughtful lectures have made me begin to enjoy doing my major again. In the end, it is, like all academic focuses, incredibly puddle-like and which makes me understand, now more than ever, people's desire to go on learning, whether in the form of a second degree or a masters or phDs. Either way, I am glad for the good things that have dropped my way so early on in the semester and for lectures that have rekindled my desire for learning and for that I am thankful. I do not know what this year will bring but perhaps, now, I feel as if I can run out and meet it - monsters, demons, dragons and all.

Happy 2009

2009-12-31T20:12:00.002+08:00

It seemed silly to end the year with a Christmas tree post so here it is, the obligatory last post of the year. As I sit here listening to the wind stirring the wood mobile going clack-clack-clack against the window I don't feel any different. The anticipation hit a long time back. One year ago I was at the PY's watching The Gods Must be Crazy with two lovely women. We had chips, we cracked lame jokes, Hash complained the PY snored and somehow we ended up watching the fireworks from my house and harassing my hamsters. Truly, I didn't think anything then but certainly the gods must have been slightly less marbly after all because it turned out to be a crazy year. I am looking forward to seeing the new year through - I'll be graduating (fingers crossed), the world will be a warmer place, I'll go traveling, maybe I'll finally pick up driving, maybe - a whole lot of maybes lined up. And then, in another three hundred and sixty-five days, the world would see the first decade of the century.

I want to touch the curve of the sky, hear the wind in the trees, smell wet rain falling and watch the world spin on its slow axis to the sound of its own rhythm in space. I want to walk the streets of Greece and Rome, watch a kabuki play, chase the star-bursts down the promenades of Paris, visit haunted castles and museums and wide heaths and icebergs. I want to keep the scent of old books and the tranquil hush of the libraries by my side, the late night tappings on my keyboard and the echo of shoes on the many staircases too. I want to keep the nights out, the chilling out sessions, the tea, the uneven, narrow side streets and the numerous books and anime and films.

A toast to the old and to welcome the new.

2009/2010.

Merry Christmas

2009-12-24T23:26:00.002+08:00

It was a good day out today despite the hellish crowd. Thank you.

Merry Christmas to each and everyone of you. May 2010 be all the better!

B.A. in Idiocy

2009-12-23T08:31:00.008+08:00

Introduction:

Welcome to the year 2009. It is ending now but I wanted to say a few friendly words before we part ways, forever, temporally speaking. I can only physically move forward, even if I think that I'll always have an eye turned over my shoulder to this point in time. Now that we are nearing the end, it is a time for reflection, for thought and for internalizing. The added bonus is unburdening, but we'll see about that.

Chapter 1: Zetsubo-sensei

Do not despair. Please kindly refrain from ever using this word (except in jest) if you ever have to mark someone's essay. I believe my professor was being kind but such things just kills. It doesn't help when at the same time, you're undergoing a crisis when you've suddenly to take on a majority of household chores because your mom's injured her arm.

It may seem very sad for me to say this but I really agonized over which to prioritize. I felt that my essays were very important, but my mom felt a shiny floor and not eating out was. And one of my deep core beliefs that my parents cared about my education sustained a deep and irreparable crack. They certainly cared, they want me to have a stable job and money and a comfortable life, insofar as their own convenience was not unduly jeopardized. As, I was, naturally thinking the same, though in reverse (I didn't want to jeopardize my essay grade), I can't say I can fault them too much.

The fact is also that I wasn't always working on essays, which I had half given up the battle for made the guilt of not helping out more even more aching. It was a relief to hear somebody, anybody tell me that I had helped out more than enough even if I didn't believe it, it was nice to hear. Naturally I felt even worse because it indicated simply, the minutiae I can do for my parents, especially since I took on the housework very grumpily and fanned the flames of discontent a lot at home.

I'm a disappointment, really. Which is why and here is a lesson to all future parents: Never tell your child that she is useless. It is damning. It is also contractual. There was a point in time, when I ought to have been thinking about my ISM proposal that I was thinking more of a 5000 word essay on Tyranny.

Chapter 2: Bitter Fruit

This one is a joke made by another person. Every time we meet up and I've an opportunity to explain why I wasn't doing a thesis, she'll laugh and say, "Leong sounds so bitter every time". I don't. It was probably a good thing as I on average, score better grades in fields outside my major. The proposal exercise proved that I wouldn't have been able to sustain the rigor of a thesis. I lost interest in my topic. It was a struggle just explaining what I had in my head and I became frightened that I had sustained some kind of permanent mental damage. There is no way you can write clearly if you can't even articulate coherently your own ideas to yourself.

My CAP went back up this semester, but just when I seriously needed a confidence booster, my grades were on a downhill slide. I would have liked to believe that I could do a thesis. I might have been less unsure of myself. But all those mights don't account for anything in the here and now, other than that in a way it is tedious the way it, like the early string of As I was getting this semester buoys hope up when all I had wanted was the peace of having accepted that I was an average student and average person.

I understand that I've not made as sustained a description of what bogs my academic life but some things remain too sore a point for me to talk about. Then I discovered that my opinion matters very little in the great scheme of things and that I should not be so concerned that I was wasting people's time having to bear through listening to my bewildered proposal.

Chapter 3: Death Wish

This has nothing to do with family or my education. It has to do with the only other thing left. This involves a person I knew from school, though only as an acquaintance. In a way, what I'm writing here is so watered down that it isn't even what transpired but I shall summarize pithily. It involved a bench, my idiocy, and a suspected perv. I don't know. I felt sorry for him but that has, in increasing days, turned to blood boiling. I was asked if I had a death wish following the idiot to the park at night. In a way I was outmaneuvered but still - I spent most of it being very uncertain if I was mistaking a fellow schoolmate of unholy designs or if he just liked me and was just stupid. And I was too polite. And nice. As usual. I have a very big range for accepted idiocy and strangeness in people you know. Just... don't take advantage of my open-mindedness. You'll induce me to feel pity - not very flattering for the person and anger. You would think alarm bells would be going off in my head and they were. And which goes to show how right Freud was when he spoke of the uncanny. I simply believed that Singapore was very safe and I was with someone I sort of knew, even if that someone was giving off very strange vibes. But everyone knows "safe" and "know" are easily turned on their heads. I just didn't think I would be the sort of person to attract creeps.

I however take this as a learning point and wake up call. There were several very strange things leading up to this

Conclusion:

This might come across as a surprise to some people but, no, I don't trust myself. I said that maybe I ought to start but there are a lot of difficulties, and not two days after telling myself that, I committed the same mistake. No, I don't trust myself because I believe that people are inherently selfish and that includes me, of course. Being magnanimous is actually a struggle and a pain and it doesn't come easily and this year has been a dry year. I told a friend over prata that it would hardly matter if I simply disappeared; the world will go on and possibly even be the better for it. Less humans is always a good thing, these days and I point out, as a current example, Avatar. A human directed film where blue aliens trump humans - doesn't that say something?

It has been an eventful year for me and I am grateful for small things. Tuition, while a sore point in terms of time constraints and aggravating children are all the better for making me feel happy and satisfied. I feel like I'm doing something for somebody, and the satisfaction it brings cannot be measured. I hope I will like teaching. The horror of my mom's friend's daughter when she heard me say that I was going to teach is priceless.

So, too bad. This person doesn't want to be a blue alien. I want to finish my education. I want to see how chapter 3 turns out. I want to watch movies. Rediscover my love for books. I want to feel sunshine, listen to the rain and enjoy the sharp smell of wind. A salute to Life, and to Art.

A couple of things

2009-12-19T17:29:00.005+08:00

Children are morbid.

"The old lady had fractured her arms and legs. But she is fine."

Will all the forces of everything good and pure tell me how to mark this in compositions?

Unbelievably, I am going to say the following:

Avatar, in spite of being obviously and disgustingly overhyped, is actually worth your 6 bucks (if you're a student). I have it on good authority, trust me.

The meaning of happy

2009-12-12T15:07:00.006+08:00

I love the view from up here, it is _____________.

1) pretty as a picture

2) gay as a lark

3) pleasant as a wind breeze (or obvious equivalent)

4) I forgot what but you get the sense of what is being asked.

Ask children what "gay as a lark" means and all I get are delighted smiles. Thank you, twentieth century for producing such a happy alternative meaning to the word.

Note: The answer is 1)

UPDATE: And did I mention? I have to teach them cheesy composition phrases like "as eager as a bridegroom". And everyone knows what it is that the bridegroom is really getting excited about.

The Book Post: The Favourite

2009-12-09T09:45:00.003+08:00

For the longest time, if anyone asked me what my favourite book was, the answer I had given was Yann Martel's Life of Pi. The story of an Indian boy (the epnoymous Pi) whose ship capsizes enroute to Canada to start a new life with his family, Life of Pi was no regular castaway tale. It can't be, not when one of Pi's liferaft companions is a full grown Bengal tiger. The book was special to me for a few reasons. It was funny, humurous and one of the few thoughtful and life affirming books I had read. What is writing? What is life? Why is art important? This book was the stuff of books and one of the few which I had re-read with pleasure time and again and I still urge people who haven't read it to go and give it a try.

But lately, I find that I do not immediately think of this book except as a fond memory. What is my favourite book? This is a tough one. I have many books that I love but none which I can say moved me above the others. I have moved on since I declared Life of Pi to be my favourite book. I am probably not much wiser or sadder than I was two years ago, when I was asked in an MOE interview what my favourite book was and I gave an admittedly unflattering answer because I was so stunned that they were asking weird things like this. But two years is a long time and even if it is only a little, I've moved on from then, taste wise.

I can however think of a few authors whose work(s) have given me that special feeling. Diana Wynne Jones. Eoin Colfer. Susanna Clarke. Neil Gaiman. Phillip Pullman. Yann Martel. Daniel Keyes. Eva Ibbotson. Margaret Atwood. Jane Austen. Oscar Wilde. T.S. Eliot. Edgar Allan Poe. J.R.R. Tolkien. J.K. Rowling. Enid Blyton. Isabel Allende. Georgette Heyer. Joanne Harris. The list goes on. And on. Not of all these can profess to being very literary. They can however, all profess to be books that people have enjoyed and possibly even loved and cherished by someone out there. If there is something I entered my major believing and will go out of it thinking, it is that books are meant to inspire and move its audience in all spectrums of emotion and thought.

So what is my favourite book? This is a difficult question with no forthcoming answer. In all honesty, there won't probably ever be just one again. There are too many good things out there for me to just like one.

Note: Martel has not published for a while and in lieu of this post, I did a google to find out what he has been up to and to my delight, it seems that he'll have a new work, Beatrice and Virgil out next year (which is another reason why 2010 will be a good year in terms of books and movies for me)

Scenes from Around Here

2009-12-07T23:33:00.005+08:00

Elegy 8.6 KV

Here lies Sir N.U.S. Cable,

Who went to great lengths

Against the forces of darkness.

The Happy List

2009-12-03T00:45:00.002+08:00

The Princess Bride
Great Gatsby
Middlesex
Year of the Flood
Blueeyedboy
The Enchanted Glass
Artemis Fowl and the Atlantis Complex
Possession (gah! Finish already!)
Coraline
Anna Karenina
Alice in Wonderland
HP7
Bright Star
Summer Wars
Sherlock Holmes
Susanna Clarke's sequel to Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (I can wait. I can wait.)
Black boots
Grey tops
Navy tops

Turtle Tale

2009-11-30T14:06:00.002+08:00

What happend to the turtle at home when there is no one but moi to feed it?

Yes. That turtle. The one that lives in the toilet.

I've never fed it before and it can't go without food for the 3 days my sis and mom are in Malacca. This turtle is a creature which I live with extreme ambivalence and I could draw up a list of all the whys of both feeding and not feeding it.

No, Not feed:
1. It is smelly.
2. It is gross.
3. It has claws.
4. The dried prawns which I've to feed it with stinks
5. The tank is gross.
6. The tank is also smelly.
7. I've to touch it if I am to feed it because I've to put it back in its tank
8. It doesn't look light

Yes, Feed:
1. Only because my conscience asked me to

So, after umm. possibly more than a decade sharing the bathroom with that creature whose sex we've yet to determine but which we all decided couldn't matter anyway, I doned two plastic bags over my hands and picked it up. It was surprisingly light, but I wouldn't be able to describe how it smelt like because I was holding my breath. I then placed it back in its tank.

We both stared at each other.

I stripped off the plastic bag and refilled the tank and fed it, holding my breath again when I opened the lid of the prawn can. My mom and sis claims it has the same aroma of prawn crackers. I would like to point out that if prawn crackers really smelled like that, no one would buy them, least of all, me.

The turtle didn't look happy to see the food. Or maybe it was just not happy to see me. It flailed about and tried to escape. I ignored the flailing and scrabbling and sprinkled the water with the food (all the while holding my breath) and quickly fled when I was done.

When I checked back several hours later, all the prawns were gone and I was feeling a little satisfied, that is, until I remembered that I would have to repeat the whole fracas one more time the next day.

Dog Tales

2009-11-24T09:33:00.002+08:00

Everytime I visit Pet Safari I end up having to reaffirm why I am a cat person. Seeing all those doggies, those puppies and those little woofies and I can see why people are enamoured with them. Come on - those eyelashes on the golden retriever puppy are so pretty~ I am still a cat person and I will one day own a sulky black tabby (you know, the striped kind) called Milton. But, before this turns into a loving paean to all things feline, I should get back to why I think dogs and animals in general (with the exception of caterpillars, illamas, sea cucumbers and most manner of insects and some reptiles, amphibians and fishes) are so well-loved and cherished by humankind. This is a story as to why dogs anyway, are so well-loved.

Cindy was my uncle's dog. But because he worked and lived in IMH (he's a nurse in case you're wondering) where animals weren't allowed, he gave it to my aunt to take care of. Now, Cindy is not one of your fancy pedigree types and is by far more intelligent than most of her purebreed cousins - or - at least that is what I like to believe, having next to zero experience with real dogs. Now, once Cindy made a - as they say in a certain parlance used commonly with tai-tais on their chihuahuas or inane parents on their babies - boo-boo of a monumental kind. My grandma was livid. And to point out how just how angry she was, she took up a cane and whacked Cindy. Before you get the impression that my grandma is some deranged old woman, I should point out that it is my grandma who cooks Cindy her food, it is my grandma who shops for her sustenance and who, in all the decade they had owned Cindy, never once laid a hand on her.

Cindy was of course pissed but being a dog and an affectionate one at that, she simply ran away. So, later during the day when they realised that she wasn't in fact skulking in some corner of the house, my grandma panicked because Cindy is the beloved of my aunt. She then went out to search for her. After hollering the street up and down to no avail, my grandma went back home to cook dinner. She was clearly still worried because she went out a second time after that, and was successful in spotting Cindy trotting homeward, but - truculently covered in muck and about as apologetic as the indignantly righteous.

This is a dog I would have liked to have known better. Heh. Naughty dog.

Face Up

2009-11-23T19:53:00.002+08:00

Having said that, grades are not everything but they are the most superficially in-your-face thing that I can deal with. There was a long period last semester when I asked myself what I was doing, whether I was suited for an academic life. Last semester was horrible – the constant string of B-minuses was crushingly depressing because I had worked at my essays. Each one, as far as I was concerned was a dialogue between me and the module and the measure of not only how much I understood from the module but a measure of me as a person. When you are a student and your life revolves around academia, grades while not everything, is at least a way of measuring oneself. That you, after 3 years still fail to be:
a) clear
b) organized
c) pertinent
d) reflective/insightful

is a crushing thing to hear.
I chuck those essays aside. And that, I quietly tell myself, is yet another sign of inherent failure of me – not as a student but as a human being. How will I improve?? Can I improve? I am on an inherent and unstoppable train further into failure because I dare not face up to that B-minus. I cannot read it without feeling disappointment, without feeling inferior and insufficient – in discipline and hard work and intelligence. And I dig a further hole because I can’t face up to how I will never be disciplined, or organized or insightful enough.

I am scared of failure – both how it is manifest outwardly as a grade and how it might be a sign of inward failure of me as a person, and that fear is so crippling that I can’t even look at it. This time round, I have yet to look at it closely either. Can I chuck it aside? I might and I will tell myself: you can do better than that. But, as a person I cannot do that when I haven’t even seen what is wrong about it. So, tonight I will look at it. And though the grade isn’t everything; it is a lot of things to me and it is something I want to give due to by facing up to it.
And maybe it’s there where I can start to be those things. It’s not too late. I am not a B minus person. It is a grade which I am given and I can take what it is and maybe that is where I can begin to be not a B minus. Denial

To tell myself that grades are not everything is to not accept that I do find them important. But should they be? I don't know. After looking back at little more about what we've said today, I think they are. They can be so much pleasure and why should I belittle disappointment because it's unpleasant? Denial gets me nowhere.

Monsoon

2009-11-07T08:51:00.002+08:00

I put up there 'Monsoon', but when I think monsoon I think of wet plantations, coconut trees lashing in a murky grey landscape with rain at a 45 deg angle - things which are not happening here. You'll be hard put to find enough land for major crop growing anyway, here in sunny Singapore-land. So, really, maybe this post has nothing to do with the geographical imaginings though because it is the tropics, the rain we're having is probably part of a common geographical phenomenon in these parts.

It has been raining. And I have been feeling lazy, partly because the weather is so lovely but also because for 12 academic years, whenever it rained, it meant holiday. I'm feeling the instinct of 12 years telling me in that insiduous whisper, "Kick back. Don't you hear us? It's the end of the year. Time to chill. Time to do the things you like again. No more obligation to textbooks." So yeah, when the North wind doth blow, I feel unaccountably willing to throw that book/essay/proposal aside. Holiday is in the air and I do so love it even though it won't, technically, be here for another month.

The Week in Three.

2009-11-06T09:04:00.004+08:00

1. Ice

Welcome November,

Good friend to wind, rain and ice.

A time to reflect.

2. Loathing

Come, essay time,

Like some rank, o'ergrown carpet

Requiring a trim.

3. After rain

There is much to love

In watery days, milky light,

And murmuring of chimes.

October Meltdown

2009-10-31T10:56:00.002+08:00

Ok. Long post coming up. I've several things I want to talk about but which I hadn't for the past month because my vanity wouldn't allow it. The month of October is allowed only 5 posts, and as you can see, I made use of the first 4 in the first 4 consecutive days of the month. Those of you in the know would know why 5 posts. Remember - vanity. Anyway, onward!

#1 Ang Mo Kio Fiasco

Out of the goodness and kindness of my soul I attempted to help this nine yr old girl who was crying on the streets outside AMK Hub. Oh the meanness of the Singaporean soul! Nobody else walking up and down the crowded streets even bat an eyelid at her!

For good reason it seems.

I asked her where her mom was and she said 'at home'. I then asked her where she lived and she told me she lived in the very er, "very far away" Ang Mo Kio Ave 10. However, I suppose, when you're 9, anywhere more than 10 mins from your front gate is far. Being unfamiliar with the suburbia of AMK, I asked if she knew what bus to get home and we then proceeded to walk to this bus stop ahead (88 bus stop) which she claimed had her bus. Which, as it turned out did not in fact. We wandered back to another bus stop perpendicular to it (159 bus stop via Sengkang). Which also didn't have the bus. Mercifully, before I decided to resort to a cab (at the taxi stand outside the train station), I spotted one of the buses she mentioned turning into the very Hub which we had walked away from. My heart bled.

And so I took her back there, making yet another perpendicular right, though this time utilising the underpass as I could not bear waiting for the traffic lights anymore. Those of you familiar with that area would realize that I spent a precious 30 mins walking from one bus stop to another around the traffic junction near AMK Stn, trailing a sniveling girl with me under the evening sun. So yes, I hereby permit you to indulge in envisioning this pathetic sight for personal entertainment as long as you want.

On reaching, she recognized her bus and walked eagerly towards it, and leaving me to stare bewildedly at the board and wondering why the bus she wanted to take did not actually go to AMK Ave 10. Anyway, I was done with her. After giving her some bus money, I hastily fled to the upper floors, not daring for an hour to come back down in case she had taken an entire round trip on the feeder service and ended up at the interchange again.

#2 The Death of Duckie, aka Sheep-like Sotong, aka hamster

Rest in peace fat Duckie! You were always the stupidest. But that's ok. We still love you very much.

He is a sheep-like sotong for the simple reason that he was the fattest hamster with the longest fur and sheep appearance. He was also, in local parlance, very 'blur', like sotong.

Allow me to indulge in one reminiscence.

Once, I put him on this long wooden bench at home for walk. He trotted along the edge of the seat happily and then suddenly slipped off. He hung for a split second by his paws, blinked and then fell. Bottom too heavy I suppose. There was no strong sudden gust of wind. Nobody pushed/pulled him. He just trot and fell. So clumsy.

#3 Birthday
Spent it wretchedly with essay submissions. Thank you the lovely ladies who got me Chewy Junior and my presents!! I heart you all.

#4 Halloween Post
I posted some of my favourite poetry that had some relation to Halloween for the past 2 years. Stands to reason I'll do it again this year. I had originally intended Keats's The Eve of St Agnes but it's too long if it's sharing a post with other things. Keats incidentally was born today in 1795, if Wikipedia is to be believed. So, what I have is an excerpt instead:

I
ST. AGNES’ Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was!

The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;

The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass,

And silent was the flock in woolly fold:

Numb were the Beadsman’s fingers, while he told

His rosary, and while his frosted breath,

Like pious incense from a censer old,

Seem’d taking flight for heaven, without a death,

Past the sweet Virgin’s picture, while his prayer he saith

’Hark! ’tis an elfin-storm from faery land,

“Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed:

“Arise—arise! the morning is at hand;—

“The bloated wassaillers will never heed:—

“Let us away, my love, with happy speed;

“There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,—

“Drown’d all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead:

“Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be,

“For o’er the southern moors I have a home for thee.”

XL.
She hurried at his words, beset with fears,

For there were sleeping dragons all around,

At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears—

Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found.—

In all the house was heard no human sound.

A chain-droop’d lamp was flickering by each door;

The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound,

Flutter’d in the besieging wind’s uproar;

And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.

XLI.
They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall;

Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they glide;

Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl,

With a huge empty flaggon by his side;

The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide,

But his sagacious eye an inmate owns:

By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide:—

The chains lie silent on the footworn stones;—

The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groan.

XLII.
And they are gone: ay, ages long ago

These lovers fled away into the storm.

You can see for yourself how long it is from the numbering above the stanzas. The original can be found here.

October. The Crazy Month. For all kinds of reasons.

Quote of the Day

2009-10-04T16:12:00.002+08:00

"were all men always attentive to life, were we constantly to keep in touch with others as well as with ourselves, nothing within us would ever appear as due to the working of strings or springs" Henri Bergson, "The Comic in Situations" trans. Brereton and Rothwell

And quite, quite suddenly, I think I might be beginning to understand Deleuze and Guattari from 19th Century class

The Original Letter from Crazy Peoples

2009-10-03T16:52:00.003+08:00

This is what happens when you are doing research for essays and you come across this again. Below is a short excerpt which one critic cited and then cheerfully called the author "unmistakeably...a megalomaniac"

William Prynne (1600-1669)

Histrio-mastix.

The players scourge, or, actors tragædie, divided into two parts. Wherein it is largely evidenced, by divers arguments, by the concurring authorities and resolutions of sundry texts of Scripture, That popular stage-playes are sinfull, heathenish, lewde, ungodly spectacles, and most pernicious corruptions; condemned in all ages, as intolerable mischiefes to churches, to republickes, to the manners, mindes, and soules of men. (the second full-stop here) And that the profession of play-poets, of stage-players; together with the penning, acting, and frequenting of stage-playes, are unlawfull, infamous and misbeseeming Christians. All pretences to the contrary are here likewise fully answered; and the unlawfulnes of acting, of beholding academicall enterludes, briefly discussed; besides sundry other particulars concerning dancing, dicing, health-drinking, &c. of which the table will informe you.

Observe how the second full-stop is really a technicality, since he goes on to start the next sentence with "And".

Notice (updated)

2009-10-02T07:50:00.003+08:00

Oh lookie. Deja vu.

My phone has died again. There really is something about me meeting up with my sec sch friends that it really doesn't like. Or something. Like how it wants to infuriate me in my fav month of the year perhaps.

Update: My phone died again in spite of the new battery. It looks as though I'll be using my dad's ancient nokia for a while longer. Sigh. My ear. my ear.

TV has never sunk so low

2009-10-01T21:10:00.002+08:00

The scene - a nippy bankside at one of Singapore's water catchment areas
The cast -
one standard clandestine young couple meeting secretly
one standard story line about young girl being sent overseas by ambitious parent to pursue music career. They are about to be separated for 3 years.

They cross the small distance to clasp each other's hands. The girl is visibly distraught. She is, as they say, stuck to be filial, pursue her own career, and in the process leave her boyfriend behind. The young man is understandably upset but what happens next doesn't make sense, even as cheesy R&J speeches go.

Girl (rough approx of lines): It can't be helped, my mother has already paid them the money. I'll have to leave for 3 years!
(They hug passionately) Both are miserable at the cruel twist of fate.
Boyfriend: But, can you bear to let me go?
Girl (shaking her head in frustration): I don't know! I don't know!

Yeah. I sure don't know either. Let me go sounds kind of pathetic when it comes to comforting your girlfriend and it's unnecessary to ask such a stupid question in a scene that is already visually coded to yell happily-in-love-couples-to-be-separated.

Just wanted to say

2009-09-27T14:02:00.003+08:00

Memoirs of a self-professed professional jaywalker

Today I had a brush with death - in the form of being nearly knocked into by a cyclist when crossing the short space between the bus stop seat and the bus. And I never even put one foot down on the tar.

Campion's Bright Star(s)

2009-09-20T21:58:00.004+08:00

This just proves that if a teacher needs anything literary that has been made into a film, the BBC will have had a hand in it somehow. But still, this looks like a lovely portrayal of the life and love of John Keats. *rubs hands*

Poster Talk: 9

2009-09-11T18:43:00.001+08:00

I apologize. Blogger is acting up and I can't attach pictures of anything, so you will have to do with another non-picture edition of Poster Talk again.

I want to talk about "9" - not "District 9", just "9" alone, the motion capture feature from fresh talent Shane Acker, who developed his award-winning silent short film into a longer adaptation with the backing of Tim Burton and a screenplay by Pamela Pettler (Corpse Bride). The cast features, among others, the voices of Elijah Wood, Jennifer Connelly and Christopher Plummer. With such luminaries backing Acker, it is a pity that the fluid and detailed animation (to rival Pixar's) is let down by a weak story.

Just look at the posters (which I can't put up) - they are bursting with potential. But, at just slightly over an hour, there is little time for anything but exposition, let alone for developing nine characters which had great potential. Mankind has been wiped out in a war against machines, and the last shred of humanity resides within the 9 little dolls that have been brought to life by a scientist to defeat his other creation, The Brain, which had been responsible for the destruction of practically everything living.

In Acker's defense, rather than let the characters do the talking, much can be gleaned from the landscape, the buildings and even materials as well. For example, it may be significant that Number 9 along with a few other dolls are made from burlap - the same material that is used to make sandbags - the material that form the last line of defense against the enemy. An architect by training, Acker is adept at infusing the scenery with symbolic meaning. As the "stitchpunk" (a term coined by Acker) dolls become divided over how best to deal with the mechanical threats in the post-apopcalyptic world, the more conservative and close-minded Number 1 opts for safety in the sanctuary of an abandoned church. Meanwhile, the others seek answers in a gothic-Baroque landscaped library complete with alchemical treatises and faded newspaper cuttings.

Having said that in favour of the film, it is still pretty annoying that the plot follows pretty much the convention of RPG games, going so far as to include some scenes that were shot literally like one of those mini sequences that accompany boss fights. A waste! A pity! Darn! Quality animation should never take the place of a good story. The premise of Acker's short film was, I feel, intriguing enough for it to be explored in much greater depth than it had been. An allegorical warning about Man playing God? Certainly. A warning against ambition and the corrupting force of greed and power? Duh. Science versus faith. Check. Going beyond this convention of sci-fi genre? Sigh.

All the same, a visual delight, bleak though the film's tone is for most parts.
Rating: 3.5/5

Mid-sem aspirations

2009-09-08T22:50:00.003+08:00

When I grow up, I want to be able to write 4000 word essays and not feel a thing.
When I grow up, I want to meet a Zombie, a Ghost or an A** Student.
When I grow up, I want to eat Yong Tau Foo that tastes like it did before the canteen was renovated. Ditto the Western stall, the Japanese stall and the now non existent Cold Pasta and Deli stall
When I grow up, I want to be an A** Student.
When I grow up, I will have survived the Terrible October.
When I grow up, I will stop making an ass out of emails to professors.
When I grow up at the end of the semester, I will be academically enlightened.

When I grow up... ...

Time is subjective

2009-09-03T23:24:00.000+08:00

Time is subjective - to old age. What else. I am at week whatever and I have a terrible schedule. It'll be nice if time stopped last week. I'd have been really grateful.

iTweet.

2009-09-02T10:43:00.002+08:00

And under the auspices of Ms PY, I am now on twitter. Believe it or not. I still think the name is highly charged grounds for lame puns though, such as "Hi twit", "I twitted today" and "You twit!".

The most difficult 800 words

2009-08-28T00:45:00.003+08:00

The most difficult 800 words has to be this stupid report that I am banging out right now on my laptop. I have moved into the room which may sister usually occupies when gaming and the table faces the window, where a very, very drafty wind is blowing in and attempting to freeze me to my seat. While the draught has been very refreshing, it is also mighty annoying in the way it keeps expertly blowing aside my blanket or nipping insidiously at all the places where the blanket doesn't reach or cover. I feel ready to throw in the towel.

To live in tabula rasa

2009-08-22T07:58:00.002+08:00

Yesterday, I attended my first archi seminar (aka what we at Arts call tutorials). We were discussing Koolhaas's vision of Singapore's architecture as being built on a tabula rasa. According to Wiki, (less reliable source that it is), tabular rasa (blank slate) refers to, among other things, "the epistemological thesis that individuals are born without built-in mental content and that their knowledge comes from experience and perception".

In discussing architecture specifically, this term "has been used in arguments against what were criticized as insensitive design strategies employed by a monolithic Modern Movement" since the 1950s (Wikipedia). Ahah! One wants to cry out - "This is exactly what happened to Singapore in the fifties!" No one who has gone through the Singapore Education System needs to be reminded of our nation's struggle with problems both of a practical and metaphysical nature. Well, okay, the textbooks mostly chronicle the practical ones but I do think how it's impossible for anyone designing the textbook not to have some ulterior motive pertaining to the latter.

Insensitive - yes - mostly because to start on a blank slate is not as pretty or easy as it sounds (the textbooks and I concur on this point). It means a determined bulldozing of the land's past. As Koolhaas suggests, it is hard put to find any building more than thirty years in Singapore (1011). Shocking, to anyone who has lived in Paris (for example), where the charm of the city is built partly on its carefully preserved architectural past. Everything else is shiny and new in contrast here.

My point on tabula rasa is that it is a brutal process - modern skyscrapers standing cheek to jowl with matchbox like shophouses, and now, contemporary structures in the most flamboyant shapes like Vivocity, the Esplanade, Ion Orchard and the upcoming gambling dens springing up in rejection of the . In these different types of buildings, one can almost map the way Singapore has changed to suit the times. It's not merely that the grey slabs are ugly or are vastly inhuman in scale, they represent the stripping away of a past, literally built on the ghost of the old shophouse, the dirt and squalor. I don't know about you, but when I step into the market in Chinatown, the one that has been recently opened again after all these years, I still subconsciously smell the horror of the damp, wet market when I first visited it as a kid. I also still mince my way between the stalls even though the smell is almost all gone, and the floor is much drier. Ghost of the old building? Check. Tabula rasa is not built on a clean slate - it's a slate that bears the tenacious traits of The Past. In psychoanalysis, it is suggested that which we keep under the carpets boils over all the worse the further it is buried. The same can be said of the anxious way in which living in tabula rasa all my life boils over constantly - progress and develop, but never forget the tenets of our little island home - we are yet always four races at potential loggerheads. We must never fall behind. Don't be complacent. Don't get left behind. We must always strive towards the light! (No rest for the good orthe bad.) We are simply, an eternal work in progress, absorbing and rejecting what's good for this little island without ever being sure where this light is (First world status, maybe?)

But perhaps, that is all changing - we've begun to build monuments to our glorious state -Ion, gambling rules relaxed (if hypocritically), the Durian etc. This is where, in a slice of tabula rasa, I see as the first steps to building permanence rather than change - the Fullerton and Raffles Hotel of the present. What they may mean to you and me is a different thing altogether, something which has not altered while bulldozing. We look back at the shophouses that have survived the demolitions and cranes and heave a sigh of relief - we then go on to insist that they're haunted - by what? A more exciting past, when the threat of death was far more real? When the piss and garbage filled streets which we abhor have been lent the nostalgic tinge of rose tinted distance? I am sinking to the low of rhetoric, but there, I've made my point: I may hate the bulldozing, but I am grateful for it. I may regret that my physical environment is denuded of its history but then, I don't want to live in the past either.

Reference:
Rem Koolhaas, ‘Singapore Songlines: Portrait of a Potemkin Metropolis… or Thirty Years of Tabula Rasa’, in Rem Koolhaas and Bruce Mau, SMLXL (New York: The Monacelli Press, 2005), pp.1008-89.

Bordering on lousy

2009-08-09T14:03:00.002+08:00

Yesterday, I went to the Borders Sale. Just to show you how far their fiction sale standards have fallen, here is the haul I got from that place: 0.00000000000000000. Compare please, with last year's statistics, which is 13 books, the full description which may be found here. I ended up deflecting over to the Metro sale and I even wandered into Harvey Norman's - that by the way, would give you an idea how depressing I found the Borders one, which I had even rushed over to after tuition and totally skipping my lunch.

And not to make comparisons or anything (I totally am), last year's Borders sale was of the genuine kind, where they not only had the books tossed in a disorganised heap in big cardboard boxes, they did not even bother to put said boxes on a shelf - they were all on the floor.
This year, the books were all more or less neatly stacked, and I did not even see anything going for their purported $3. The majority had 30-40% discounts or started from about $5. Granted, there were a lot of hardcover non-fiction, but can anyone blame me for not showing any interest in The History of the Army and such titles? Plus, even though a hard cover edition of The Prince by Machiavelli going for $12 is still a cheap buy, it seemed pointless to join the queue for one book, especially since I got a Penguin edition of Plato's Republic for $4 the year before.

As Morphus said, the wonder is that the queue is as long as last year's (and as slow moving). Still, I suppose I should have known something was amiss when 10 to 1 shoppers leaving the expo were carrying Metro bags and few black Borders bags could be seen. Ah well. I'll just wait and see next year then though my hopes are not very high. Perhaps Borders has learnt not to overstock.

Not an intelligent thing

2009-07-30T22:56:00.001+08:00

Today, I hit my head on the side of the train.

Me: Oh. Owwwww.
Sanah: That... was not an intelligent thing to do...

Yes. I quite agree... since I clipped myself on the temple region, which meant it throbbed like nothing for a good half hour after that. So yes, in other news, I shall try my best to restrain from laughing at people who miss their train stops. Yup.

Welcome to the Land of TV Tropes

2009-07-24T10:55:00.004+08:00

Click me! And I promise you, this site will suck your life in, twist it into multiple pretzels and you'll go away not being the same again.

No. Seriously.

Hurtling towards the end

2009-07-23T17:21:00.002+08:00

Four years ago, I was presented with my own hardcover copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince as a birthday present. I'd been rudely spoilered about a major event in the book, which *glares at kappa* still grates slightly whenever I am brought to remember it. Other than that, my relationship with this lovely series is all mostly water under the bridge by now. A fond memory, is what I associate HP with nowadays.

But now that we're reaching the end, I am reminded again of what this book meant to me.

Book VI is my favourite, (not counting the VII, which everybody more or less liked) and the only one which I can safely say, makes it to competing ground with my other staunch favourite, II. As far as I was concerned, it topped I, which is all that mattered when you had then only read I, II and III. But, on to the point of this rambly post.

Harry Potter remains the only book series which I was fan (mad) enough to sit at an unprotected public bus stop with a friend for over two hours to discuss our theories regarding the books. So there. That sort of trounces any of those pointless rallying cheers that we were forced to do to get the class to bond together... I say Harry Potter! The Boy who Lived unites the world in not just the battle against evil, but in a singular tribute to the wonderful, wonderful world of the imagination. It's also the sort of thing that gets perfect strangers talking to each other - and what more spectacular thing is that?

Now... try to remain calm. I in fact believe, as I am typing this, that the bus stop thing didn't happen once... it happened twice... once for VI and one more time for VII... I think? Oh dear.

9 - Shane Acker

2009-07-17T23:45:00.003+08:00

This is the original short film titled "9" by Shane Acker which is currently being adapted into a feature length by Tim Burton and Acker.
It is creepy, slightly depressing and rather endearing.

Anecdote for Educators

2009-07-16T08:22:00.004+08:00

O dearest, dearest boy! my heart
For better lore would seldom yearn,
Could I but teach the hundredth part
Of what from thee I learn.

-- W. Wordsworth

Ah, Wordsworth. What were you thinking? Much as you love your son and children in general, I cannot say the same.

I was teaching my tuition class as per usual on Saturday when I encountered my first crying new student who refused to enter my den. As expected, my class wanted to know why I kept disappearing outside after they'd caught wind of a rumour that they would be having a new classmate and they all trooped outside to gawk as me and L attempted to persuade her to join the class.

Attempt #first and last went down like a lead balloon.
I had gotten the class to all give her a very warm welcome by simulataneously saying hello and waving as she walked in, but all she did was shrink back. (mouse! mouse!)
Shit! Shit! I mentally cursed and went back outside to try and placate her while being tailed by multiple monkeys.

L suggested that I go back and try and teach something because I did afterall, have 9 other kiddies to supervise and I agreed. Back in the classroom, no, den, I was faced with wretched hobbit-height terrors running amok. "Teacher, teacher!" some of them shouted. (And for pity's sake, I am not Miss Long) "Why is she crying?"

"Well, she's scared because this is the first time she's gone to tuition." I replied. Most of them scoffed at this. "I wasn't scared," they said. Sure. Loud and noisy beings like you would have happily reduced your first classroom to debris. "Well," I persisted, "didn't you feel scared on the first day of school?" "Noooooooooo!" was their delighted reply. "I even made friends on my first day," someone added proudly, and which was followed by a dozen more incoherent accounts of first days. Ok. "Okay, okay!" I cried above the excited horde. "But if you saw someone who was scared, would you help them?"

"Noooooooooo!" came the second delighted answer.
Oh gee.

The boys in particular, except for one who openly declared he liked them and got roundly teased and maybe two, dislike fairytales. Is that somehow connected to why their moral compass is as screwed up as it is? Or maybe it's their fey-like amorality that J.M. Barrie more rightly captured? But that, is a musing for another day.

Unpave my road please

2009-07-13T18:39:00.002+08:00

"JOYCELN: As a child, I could never sleep the night before the first day of school. The night before my first day of teaching was no different. I didn’t know what to expect but I knew that I was going to help kids learn, be the best teacher, and make a difference.

At my first staff meeting, the principal screened an image familiar to all new schoolteachers - the Prism. Like a magical crystal ball, the Prism told many things. It could predict how well students entering secondary school with 4 subjects at PSLE would do for the ‘O’ levels. With the Prism, we could evaluate each student’s potential grade in literature based on his/her PSLE grades and then tell if our school had “added value” to the child’s education.

Looking into the Prism, the principal announced that while she was concerned about the various aspects of development - Intellectual, Aesthetic, Moral, and Physical - “This year, our school will focus on the Intellectual.” By this, she meant that as teachers, we should all ensure that we stretched the potential of the students so that they performed “better than expected” at the ‘O’ levels. I noticed in the subsequent years that we never decided to focus on any other aspect of development. There was never an Aesthetic, Moral or Physical year.

The conversations in the staff room educated me considerably about the concerns of teachers.

“Oh, I heard you bought the new condo in Bukit Batok, that’s a good investment…”

“So which piano school are you sending your child to now?”

“Do you want to go buy diamonds with us, we are going to buy diamonds this afternoon.”

In my naïveté, this came as a shock. Why weren’t teachers talking about helping students learn or improving instruction?

And when they WERE talking about improving instruction, it was invariably:

“So what questions do you think will come out for this year’s ‘O’ levels?”

“Yes! Yes! I spotted the right questions!”

“You have to make sure your students write 5 ‘compositions’ and do 5 ‘comprehensions’ this semester.”

And when questions were asked, the answer was inevitably “Can’t change. That’s what the principal wants to see.”

The culture in the staff room was a mix of different groups:
· the Tai-Tais, women who had married well-off husbands, and who admired, respected and competed with each other for their Ferragamo shoes and Louis Vuitton bags.

· the few unmarried men who were mothered by the Tai-Tais as they were regarded as “good” men (i.e. hardworking and honest) but ironically insufficiently compelling marriage material (for why on earth would a functioning, virile, desirable man become a teacher?).

· the married men who usually lived in HDB flats (unlike the Tai-Tais and their non-teacher husbands), who generally kept to themselves.

· the older single women who were diligent in ensuring that all forms are handed in on time and helping students who need extra help get the preferred grades. They were usually more conservatively (and cheaply) dressed, and did not generally interact socially with the Tai-Tais.

· the expatriate teachers who were generally avoided by the other teachers and not expected to do very much because they either could not be trusted to do the work, were too difficult to communicate with, or were too troublesome to work with. And when they got together, they made plain their disdain for Singapore and its school system of which they were a part. Stereotypical as it may sound, those I’d met had invariably come to Singapore either to heal from a broken marriage (in which case, getting involved with a local woman usually came with the package), or had fled an unsuccessful career so they could return home and say, “I spent a few years in the Orient.”

· And the young teachers, bright-eyed and bushytailed, who believed they could make a difference, and who usually started out immensely popular with the students. They organized extra activities which they were not required to do, sat with students for long hours when they had problems, and generally tried to innovate with teaching. The Tai-Tais usually tried to matchmake the young single female teachers with single men they knew, but never the single male teachers. Seasoned teachers generally sat back and placed bets on when the neophytes would eventually burn out.

I didn’t know a single lazy teacher - everyone was extremely hardworking, taking work home, often physically running around as they hurried to different parts of the school. The teachers hardly had time to rest and reflect. It was as if we had been trained to work hard, but not to think."

Excerpted from:
PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS:
How living in New York has illuminated for us the difference between the Singaporean Dream and the Singaporean Plan
By Colin Goh & Joyceln Woo Yen Yen

Singaporeans Exposed: Navigating the Ins and Outs of Globalisation (published to commemorate the 10th Anniversary of the Singapore International Foundation, 2001, Landmark Books)

Heaven (while we are on the topic of how all good intentions lead to hell) help me, but I don't ever ever ever want my school to be like that.

Grandfather Story

2009-07-10T22:58:00.005+08:00

This week, my mom once again brought up reminiscences about her dad, who is also my maternal grandfather, a man whom I never knew because he died a week before I was born. Among the things that he is remembered for is the following situation.

Now, my grandfather was a loner. He detested large company, and during chinese new year, had been known to flee as soon as he got wind that visitors were coming. As someone who kept to himself, there were some times, when out of the blue, he would disappear from home without anybody's knowledge of him leaving. It remains a mystery how he is capable of such stealth that no one, not even my grandmother noticed when he packed at the crack of dawn and left the house, not to be seen for the next few days.

The only time he left a note, it was to remind my mother to water his plants.

While my grandfather never disappeared for more than a week each time, my grandmother would fret each day until he returned, laden with the booty from neighbouring countries. Once, he even brought back what looked distinctly like Thai souvenirs, including a nude sculpture of a female dancer. This figurine soon had its modesty recovered when my grandfather made a Tarzanesque outfit out of some furry and spotted material that he found. The dancer was also simultaneously equipped with a mini dagger at the hip, perhaps against would be molesters and pervs.

And, my grandmother would greet him with a mixture of relief and anger, and demand, "Where did you go? Why didn't you tell anyone you were leaving, you had me so worried." To which, my grandfather would retort, "What's there to worry about? If anything happened to me, you'll hear from the matah (police)." And that would be the end of the matter.

2009-07-04T17:32:00.003+08:00

And look what I found when I was perusing my anthology of Irish poetry:

Leaf-eater
Thomas Kinsella

On a shrub in the heart of the garden,
On an outer leaf, a grub twists
Half its body, a tendril,
This way and that in blind
Space: no leaf or twig
Anywhere in reach; then gropes
Back on itself and begins
To eat its own leaf.

from Contemporary Irish Poetry ed. Paul Muldoon

And for me, I would have been incapable of writing anything about it except as some kind of unutterable horror, which in some sense, is what this poem seems to be about. Though, given its political bent, it is not so much unspeakable as nameless, and not so much horror as anxiety and frustration for the Irish condition.

Poster Talk: Weird things and Tim Burton and Alice in Wonderland

2009-07-01T22:02:00.008+08:00

There is something fishy in the air, only it ain't mermaids. Will the person who is cooking blaachan at a very inappropriate time please desist?

And, of weird things in the air, look what Johnny Depp and Tim Burton did for Alice in Wonderland. And you thought Willie Wonka was weird.

For this edition of Poster Talk, I will also be refraining from placing publicity material of the movie of discussion in the post. This is to ensure that no reader will get hurt, suffer any injuries, physical or mental on having to repeatedly look at Johnny Depp's rendition (apparition) of the Mad Hatter when it finishes loading and pops out at the top of my page.

Disney, in the vein of the Pirates series have released several posters each featuring a different character from the film. So far, spotted include Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum (sharing one poster), The White and Red Queens, the Mad Hatter and Alice herself. All of them feature circusy looking backgrounds that are colour coordinated with the indivdual characters. In Depp's case, the background is a lovely peridot green with a painted looking texture and the silhouettes of little black top hats radiating from the centre of the poster in an outward spiral.

If that doesn't sound psychedelic enough, look at Depp in Hatter mode. That shock of orange hair springing out from under the battered hat stuffed and pierced with bibs and bobs, that really ugly bow tie, that hideous make-up. He looks like a walking child molester for goodness sake. Or-or a walking mistake at the very least. Putting aside the purple eyebags that suggest that the Mad Hatter has been imbibing on caffeine for far too long, there is that taut, leering overstretched grin and a generous layer of white powder to rival Robert Pattinson's.

And yet, such a mess of a look which hardly looks like the effort of a rational person and more of a certain escapee from Arkham Asylum was in fact put together with a lot of careful in-depth thinking which makes my own academic experience of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass look like a walk in a park. With such effort on the part of Depp, I can only imagine that the mad hatter, which has played a secondary if memorable role in the novels, would have a more central one in the film.

No doubt, Burton's adaption of the text would be a looser one, something which may breathe fresh air and significance for a well-loved and familiar text if executed well - see Cuaron's adaptation of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Disney for one, seems determined to put behind the apparently bad cartoon version that they released in 1951 and is gunning for Burton's rising clout and a audience raised on and innured to the temptations of vampires, gothic-chic, LOTR, Harry Potter, anime, fantasy, and horror. Weird is cool again. It's now or never people, if you want to don a bowler, loud checkered tweed and gloves while walking down Toa Payoh.

No doubt, even if Burton doesn't stray far from the original, and preliminary reports* seem to hint that he will be, the visual mishmash which looks like the twisted dregs left over from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory are a far cry from how Tenniel and the Golden Age Illustrators for Children's Books like Rackham envisioned Wonderland - less tame and a lot more dangerous for one - if the deep and intense hues of the poster are anything to go by.

*scroll down. down. somemore. look for the article called "Burton's "Wonderland" Revealed", which gives some insight into how the world of Wonderland works.

Query - Is it better to give or receive?

2009-06-30T23:57:00.003+08:00

Is it better to give or receive? The common adage holds that the blessed receive and well, the other lot give. But truly, is it that terrible to give?

Charming Chiangmai

2009-06-27T10:18:00.011+08:00

I really love those alliterations that tour agencies always use to describe their touted destinations of choice. Alluring America. Romantic Rome. Enticing Europe. Tastefully Turkey.

The author regrets to inform readers that she did not take the new airbus A380. She was instead sitting in a SilkAir A320 that was dusty. The author then spent most of her next two and a half hours concentrating on trying not to sneeze in the aeroplane because people tended to stare in horror.

This is Centara Duangtawan, a very lovely hotel. And for someone who has had to endure the cubicle sized hotels of Hong Kong and Genting (which was also bloody missing the shampoo dispenser), this happens to be a godsend:

Look at that! A bath tub! And a sitting area with a very neat lamp!

For me, the nicest bits of the trip had to be Doi Suthep's Wat Prathap (Prathap Temple). Even though there were many tourists and devotees milling about, the temple retained its sense of tranquility and quiet. Though, with roughly 600 years behind it, Wat Prathap is probably capable of enduring more than intrepid explorers.

Prayer bells occasionally tinkling in the breeze, Temple cats have good lives and

More of Wat Prathap's dazzling golden roofs

The shopping opportunities are vast. Unfortunately, because I went to their cottage industries on my very first day, I got fleeced quite badly for a bangle which could have been gotten at a fraction of a price at the night market less than 50 metres from my hotel. In my own defence, I've never bargained before. And, if I am going to Thailand again, I solemnly swear that I will try to cut prices even further.

Pretty baubles

And this is actually the low season for tourists

A couple of tuk-tuk waiting for tourists to hop on

Then, there are also the neurotically white temples with white flowering shrubbery and white fish in the white stone lined ponds still under construction even after twelve years, hot springs that smell of sulphur, crazily speeding tour vans, rice sticks and border towns to lure one on to the next location...

Okay, I take it back

2009-06-22T00:01:00.003+08:00

This is just to say, I take back what I said about Angels and Demons (the movie)and how it is actually waaay better than I anticipated. I suspect however that my enjoying the movie has also to do with how long it has been since I've read the novel and I was kept in suspension for the film because I'd forgotten the plot. That, and how I now know who Bernini is and Ewan McGregor as the Camerlengo also helped.

Ubin

2009-06-18T13:14:00.018+08:00

Thence up he flew, and on the Tree of Life,

The middle Tree and highest there that grew,

Sat like a Cormorant; yet not true Life

Thereby regaind, but sat devising Death

To them who liv'd

Ubin, or; The Kampung Paradise in Singapore that You Need a Boat to Get To.

One of the last remaining pockets of Singapore that remain embalmed in a past era. The houses are made of wood, there are no street lights (or not much), there are a lot of trees and telephone wires half rusted and half coated with moss. Getting on the boat is like getting on a time machine. You hop on from a shiny new terminal on one side and get off in what physically looks like backwater Malaysia, only you don't need a passport to get there.

Time moves more slowly there in more ways than one.

Some facts for the intrepid explorer: A small island roughly 10km sq off the north-east coast of Singapore. A small agricultural outpost of sorts, it was also at one point in time, a granite quarry. Both the farming and mining have subsided, and if not for the abandoned prawn ponds still dotting the landscape and the unmistakable red, upturned soil and granite boulders lying around, the island seems to have remained mostly undisturbed.

This is the point where I'm supposed to say something nice, like, maybe, an ode to the blue water, but happily, I am not going to try and embarrass myself.

Like any place of seeming unearthly beauty, Pulau Ubin is also a sinister death-trap. Cycling accidents including those of the fatal variety seem to abound. Seeing as there are no ambulances on the island nor first aid boxes at every corner, this is not very surprising. Also, given that the nearest entrance to Chek Jawa is a jungle trail that consists of bumpy, uneven and slippery slopes, one must be thankful for small miracles, such as everyone getting home unscathed. I myself got mud splashed, bird shit on the back of my shirt and what looked like paint and mud on both my elbows, and grease and scratches on knees.

That is actually trivial, but I wanted to complain about the bird shit.

The main point about Ubin these days do not however, seem very far from its previous purpose of mining and farming. Chek Jawa is an ecological haven. In one day, my family spotted 4 hornbills in two different locations, or maybe 8 if they happen to be different birds each time, a colourful pink and green pigeon, several noisy birds with fan-like tails, swallows, a waterhen, loads of tiny crabs and mudskippers, two schools of mud coloured fish and the cormorants.

The ghost of a jellyfish

Anthracoceros albirostris aka Oriental Pied Hornbill

This is not Chek Jawa. This is only a photograph

You can't really see the barnacles on the rocks in the picture, but there are actually a lot of them sticking on every available surface and the water is surprisingly clear. I can readily believe that there are starfish and sea slugs hiding around here. A pity that we missed the low tide.

Already, I want to go back there. And perhaps I will, another time, when the tide is low, and there is the scent of sea grass in the wind.

Hello nice weather

2009-06-12T18:18:00.001+08:00

Hello nice weather. Hello sharp tang of rain and ice cold wind. Hello soothing thunder of raindrops.

Poster Talk: Blood: The Last Vampire

2009-06-10T21:17:00.005+08:00

Oooh. Whee. Another vampire movie.

First of all. This is very very loosely based on a Production I.G. animation of the same title. The title of which is Blood: The Last Vampire. First up, this poster does not suck. It is very difficult nowadays to make a sucky poster, as backed by the producers of Crouching Tiger and Hero would ensure that the publicity would at least do the film justice. This is clear from the way my sister was jubilant that there was a life-action adaption of the anime version. When I complained that the poster looked dubious and B-movie-ish, she'd been excitedly raving about it, mostly because of the trailer (which was not bad) and because she had a lot of time to fangirl over the oversized poster in dim lighting at the cinema in AMK. When I, in my dimwitted way (which is what I sound like about any anime that my sister has watched and I haven't) that she has funny eyes my sister cheerfully said that her eyes glowed red because the main character happened to be half vampire. Ookay. Only the poster girl seems to have eyes of a funny silver colour like the evil mutant person whose name I can't remember from the 2nd installment of the X-Men series.

Prior to watching the film, most of the conversation about the same title seemed to be about two different things.

So, I say. Are you sure this is based on Blood+ and the anime film version?

Sis: Yes!

Me: Uh. I thought she had short hair. She's got pigtails in the trailer you know?

Sis: She did in the anime also! But she uses only one sword. The poster (frustrated sigh) shows her with two.

Me: Umm. And is her mother the evil white vampire?

Sis: No! What are you talking about?

Me: But it looked that way in the trailer...

For the record. She does only have one sword in the film, and a very neat way of extracting said kantana from the long container she hides it in. The Powers that Be knows why the publicity shows two in some of them.

But onward to the review proper. Ignoring the signs that this movie was made on a lower budget than most Hollywood blockbuster season flicks, it was an okay watch. There is plenty of hacking and slashing and rooftop action sequences for those who like that kind of thing and well, pretty much nothing else for everyone who doesn't. The plot is thin. The I am your mother schtick is as old as Star Wars (original series). My sister bemoaned how nobody ever does these things nowadays, but they unfortunately did... so yeah. I have mercifullly, not watched the animated version, so I can forgive that a cinematic experience like this usually calls for some semblance of plot and character growth which may have been unnecessary in a shorter animated version. Also, once again, ignoring some of the not so well shot action bits, the movie was quite enjoyable in an average sort of way. I only wish there were more scenes of Onigen (aka boss villain). She is utterly smug and cool in an evil vampire way and about the only thing with class apart from Saya (main character) on screen. I however wish she used Japanese instead of Engrish, as the latter sounded quite terrible. Still, as proof of the coolness of the actress, she still conveyed the evil sexiness of the character in spite of her awkward prounciation, and that is always difficult to execute at best.

Rating: 3.5 / 5

I suggest Terminator Salvation. If you're going to go in blind to a series, watch that instead. I think it was much better. Even with the CGI Arnie in the buff.

Picture sourced from here.

Why I make one hell of a tutor

2009-06-07T18:31:00.004+08:00

Today.
Me shouting at kid.

K, who moves his tuition bag to the front of class says solemnly, "Teacher. I feel sorry for you."

My mind whirls. Eh?

K continues on earnestly, "Because you keep having to scold N."

Am I being pitied? By my student?

In a better frame of mind, I might have asked him why he didn't feel sorry for N instead, who was after all, the one being scolded.

The Awwww Factor

2009-06-02T10:05:00.006+08:00

A couple of days ago, I was at the Pet Safari with mum and sis oogling the hamsters and puppies. Suffice to say, it took all my powers to resist the very squeal worthy adorableness of the puppies on sale. Most of them were about 3 months old and very very. very appealing. So much so that I had to tell myself, "You are a cat person! You. Are. A. Cat. Person!" This silent mantra to the self was promptly forgotten the minute two of the Schnauzer puppies got into a mini tussle and I spotted this very dignified looking Japanese Spitz puppy in the glass enclosure* below them. There was also this Shih Tzu puppy that had its tail in its food dish and was sniffing said tail in a puzzled manner. Heh. And so we three oohed and ahhed at the puppies for goodness knows how long and while neither my mum or sis displayed any outward anguish at struggling against their inner cat nature, that is, if they have one. I was telling myself fiercely that these were all Just Evil Distractions That Are Too Cute For Their Own Good. The part of my brain that wasn't simulataneously ooogling them happily while mentally screaming in stress decided that I ought to just enjoy the cuteness of puppies on the basis of themselves and not any initial prejudice I might have been harbouring. And so that was what I did.

I still want a cat if I ever get my own abode. That doesn't change one bit. I adore cats for reasons that do not, as I realise while drafting this post a few days ago, pertain to the cuteness/adorableness/puppiness of them (the awww factor, you can call it), but for a certain...cattiness about them. There isn't a way to put it other than that cats tug at different heart strings for me.

*You will have to pardon the authoress. She is clearly in denial that this glass enclosure is in fact a cage.

So now what

2009-05-06T16:18:00.003+08:00

Bitter things are the hardest to chew and swallow. But yeah, cut and dried like dead meat as this year tastes like, (no thanks to It) I'll just sink my teeth into it. I keep telling myself. Treat it as a break. Treat it as a break. Treat it as a break. And then I think. Now what? Three months of debauchery? It'll just add up to the disappointment I feel already. Nothing comes to fruition. It's just as well this would probably blow away since I am too lazy to stay cynical.

What.

2009-04-22T09:03:00.003+08:00

=p Fact of the day: Apparently, people with bipolar disorder really like opposing colours, in particular, blue and yellow (in that combination). Vincent van Gogh, whom one art historian mentioned (I can't remember who) really really liked yellow, and incidentally, his most most cherished works, in particular, Starry Night is painted in a splendid combination of vivid blues and yellows. Vincent van Gogh as history tells us, was also known for being intermittently in and out of hospitals and suffered from said disorder. This is rather fascinating. Is his art a sympton of his illness, or did his illness allow him to paint with such vibrancy? Which also goes to show why artists with neither eyesight issues or mental illnesses resort to artificial chemicals to produce the same effect...

The Beautiful Sublime

2009-04-20T13:24:00.002+08:00

"When the starry sky, a vista of open seas or a stained glass window shedding purple beams fascinate me, there is a cluster of meaning, of colors, of words, of caresses, there are light touches, scents, sighs, cadences that arise, shroud me, carry me away, and sweep me beyond the things that I see, hear or think. The "sublime" object dissolves in the raptures of a bottomless memory. It is such a memory, which, from stopping point to stopping point, remembrance to remembrance, love to love, transfers that object to the refulgent point of the dazzlement in which I stray to be... Not at all short of, but always with and through perception and words, the sublime is a something added that expands us, overstrains us, and causes us to be both here as dejects, and there, as others and sparkling. A divergence, an impossible bounding. Everything missed, joy - fascination".

-- Julia Kristeva, Powers of Horror trans. Kelly Oliver.

The Week at a Glance

2009-04-18T10:34:00.003+08:00

Bought stuff yesterday at the John Little sale at PS. A dress, and two tank tops, mine first in a long while. (The ones my aunt gave me came with other stuff attached to it) and which are justified by the heat wave currently sweeping through er, well just generally sweeping through. The next things I am determined to buy are Stardust by Neil Gaiman and Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which seems to be an interesting parody of Austen's well-loved (and well other things, like winced at) novel. Yay! The annoying bit is that to utilise my Times membership fully, I shall have to go to their new branch in Tampines to fully utilise the in-store discount. Does anyone want anything? I feel like I'm on holiday already, which is kind of sucky because I still have a paper to write. Siggh. And if anyone can tell me where to buy cheap and nice wrap around skirts or regular ones will be endowed with my heartfelt thanks. I can't seem to find any anywhere, to my annoyance.

So bewildering it could be true

2009-04-06T05:40:00.012+08:00

Franz Kafka International Airport... courtesy of ONN.
Note: One edge is slightly cut off, due to me being bad at embedding players. (It's better than getting one end to stick out)

Prague's Franz Kafka International Named World's Most Alienating Airport

Never Ever Gamble

2009-04-01T09:48:00.003+08:00

The situation: Your sister is doing a coin flip and you're supposed to guess which will be the facing side up. Heads, my dear, or tails. According to probability laws, it's supposed to be 50-50 (assuming that sides are equal and that your sister is not cheating).
However, it is my belief that 50-50 does not begin to describe the odds I have because really, who is to say I am not getting all ten or so times wrong out of a potential thousand? Perhaps, you know, it's just the odds against me for now...

Things are falling apart

2009-03-09T14:59:00.002+08:00

There is a 12 page paper for my philo class?! Why is there an at least 12 page long final paper all of a sudden. I've done film modules. And they were only 10 pages long. And that was the maximum. Why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why

UPDATE: After seizing up in horror on Monday, my lecturer informed us that the paper is now 5 pages long. That is a nice, sane, number. Only it is now due on the same day as my Milton paper. The looong one. Argh.

Post Over-nighter

2009-03-07T10:15:00.004+08:00

Hereafter, I will always be grateful for a chair which I can lean into. I'm not even asking for it to be cushy; it just has to have a back for me to lean mine on.

Hereafter, I will always not procrastinate to this extent ever again.

Hereafter, I will not complain about not meeting ghosts anymore, not because I met one, but because my whining is clearly driving them away. That night was severely disappointing.

Hereafter, I will ensure that I stake out a bench in AS4 early. That block seems endowed with the correct bad fengshui - it's cold, the garden outside looks perfectly creepy and definitely exudes a an air of being deserted.

Hereafter, I will do my work on time.

Hereafter, I will stop beaming at the camera at 1 am in the morning because I apparently just look really anguished. I was trying not to laugh. And I still can't believe I smiled at the camera like that.

Get away Freud!

2009-03-03T06:30:00.003+08:00

Last night, or rather early this morning, I dreamt that I was doing my presentation for psychoanalysis class and TR asked if anyone knew who Kierkegaard was. I raised my hand and said "Heidegger" trimphantly.

My group members and TR stared at me blankly. But the worse bit of it was that I had no idea why.

And as to why I would be dreaming about existentialism in a psychoanalytic class is anyone's guess. I am just glad Tamburlaine didn't show up and bore the class to death with his high astounding terms.

And now it's too bloody early. I feel sucky and I am rambling.

Because lightning is scary and rain is good

2009-03-01T15:50:00.003+08:00

In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain.
- T. S. Eliot 1922

It is raining like mad and each time the lightning hits the condo opposite me, I wince. Which makes it a lot of winces. I am also procrastinating. Just so I can look back at this post and roll my eyes at how hopeless I am in focusing on something.

Additional note to self: I change my mind about living in a penthouse. I don't want my house to keep being struck by lightning as the penthouse opposite keeps being. Yup. I don't want one unless it happens to defeat the purpose of owning a penthouse by being the shortest building in its vicinity.

I like my wordle too

2009-02-28T22:36:00.001+08:00

wordle!

Mistaken Identities

2009-02-27T16:45:00.003+08:00

Yes. Me. As per usual.

People that I have been mistaken for up till now:

A student at Mayflower, or now that I think about it, maybe it was St Marg's
This was when I was attempting (and mostly failing) to sell Encyclopedias at the World Book Fair a couple years back. But, hey, this case of mistaken identity caused the family who thought they were speaking to a well-loved family friend aka me, to sit down and be subjected to a pleasant chat, or well, sales pitch.

A neighbour when this tuition kid's mom stayed in Ang Mo Kio
This was at the staircase when I smiled at a mother bringing her child to tuition and she said I looked familiar and asked if I stay at AMK. When I said no, she insisted that I must have at some point or other stayed there before.

Caroline
When we were introducing ourselves in tutorial, and my professor who said I looked familiar (and well I should since I took his module the previous semester) asked if I was such a person.

That I am Malay
This, coming from tuition kids who don't know better and thinking they can talk behind my back in chinese. This, also coming from a Malay auntie only just yesterday, is a little too much.

That I am Eurasian.
Also, this again from tuition kids who don't know better. I pretend not to be either. "Hey, teacher can understand chinese!". I feel like I'm not there, or conversely, that I am there, as a lab show.

Poster Talk: Summer Wars preview

2009-02-18T21:59:00.004+08:00

Already I am excited. Summer Wars puts itself on my must watch list by default that it is helmed by Mamoru Hosoda, whose last directorial effort was the excellent The Girl who Leapt Through Time. They are clearly gunning for the winning formula again, since the writer-director-studio team is the same as observed from various sources.

The last time they came together, The Girl who Leapt Through Time trumped Studio Ghibli's Tales from Earthsea in terms of both public and critical reception (that is how good this film is). This was an amazing feat, because Mamoru Hosoda is a virtual unknown next to Ghibli and Miyazaki. In fact, the irony is that Hosoda had been attached to direct Howl's Moving Castle but stepped down. And, up till now, I have not stopped wondering what the alternative would have been like.

I love Studio Ghibli. But I am also completely interested to see what Hosoda, Satoko Okudera (the writer) and Madhouse (the studio) will give us this time. For one thing, they clearly got a budget raise. The poster is amazingly stylish. There is something futuristic in the chunky font, but the silhouette of a girl clutching a traditional banner/flag seems to point to a less space-age look. It'll probably be something like The Girl who Leapt Through Time which has sci-fi elements but is set in modern Japan.

As for the story, depending on who you ask, it could either be about a young girl who drags her family through a bunch of adventures, or a family on an adventure with an old woman. Sketchy, I know. Nevertheless, I am already suspecting lots of green scenery - like set somewhere with lots of trees. With blue skies. That last one is a cliche for adventure type plots as it is. Basically at least enough bushes to conduct woodland wars in. It is summer after all...

Sources: Twitch, Yokaze, Anime News Network

Yesterday in Three.

2009-02-15T20:28:00.003+08:00

14 Feb

Midnight slinks unseen

Past. Some things may change, but this

Would last forever.

Hot nights

Screw this bloody sore

It hurts so much even as

I enjoy ice-cream.

Tuition

Ink stains, the mark of

Industrious scribbles that you

Write, with unsure hands.

The Koala named Sam

2009-02-12T21:38:00.003+08:00

Say hello to Sam.

Sam is the unofficial mascot for the fire victims of the Australian bushfire. She was rescued by a firefighter on the 1 Feb and is pictured here drinking water from his waterbottle.

Makes you wish all over again that the flood over in Australia would spread itself out and go put out the fires raging in Victoria instead...

image source via Google Images.

SHUT UP PY

2009-02-10T19:34:00.002+08:00

I know what I did to deserve this, and I am now making a belated new year's resolution.

Never. never, ever, eat green tea ice with PY again.

UPDATE: I don't suppose anyone is being sympathetic. In any case, it was tough trying to eke out this post when I had to behave like a guerilla warfare soldier hogging her miserly blogspace while preventing the big evil PY from typing weird stuff into my blog yesterday at the comp lab.

Rosy memories

2009-02-09T19:08:00.002+08:00

I suddenly remembered today that back in secondary school, during bio lesson, we once had to draw flowers for the plant reproduction practical lesson. My lab partner, who incidentally is Kappa, is clueless with the pencil, and I ended up drawing her flower for her with a lot of muttering. Most of the grumbling was because, of all the flowers she had to bring, she brought a rose.

A. Rose.
With lots of petals.

I hurriedly drew one for her (hey, it was almost the end of class), and then did one for myself, with what I believed to be slightly more effort. In the end, she got an A+ while I got an A.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Blind tennis

2009-02-07T15:24:00.003+08:00

Today, was sitting in the bus on the way home, minding own business by spacing out, when was struck on the side of the face with the end of a tennis racket. The racket had been poking out at a rakish angle from a JC student's bag and his girlfriend?sister? managed to rescue my face from further damage by stuffing the racket back into to the bag. The reason for this debacle, which I didn't even have time to react to (since I had been stoning) was that the student seemed to have sustained some form of eye injury and had tissue stuffed behind his spectacles, hence resulting in a lack of any kind of vision. Speaking of lack of foresight, it seemed they had randomly hopped onto the bus while not being sure how to get to their destination.

This makes the second time in a week that I have encountered an injured student, but these two did not seem to be heading to a clinic. They were instead discussing how to get somewhere by bus. But, judging from the way the girl was literally dragging around the guy, I seriously think they'll be injuring themselves further by, 1) falling off the steps of the bus, 2) trip, or worse still, 3) poke someone's eye out. I suspect however, that they'll continue to wherever they need to be via bus because, not oddly, they seemed to be amsued by the situation they were in. An odd couple they did make. I on the other hand, felt like a reluctant audience to some soap opera, because the guy was clinging on in this desperate way to the girl's hand, but the strangely touching scene (I am mostly thinking girlfriend now) was quickly reduced to a farce when we all alighted at the bus terminal and the girl ended up half-dragging the fellow around in an ungainly manner. They hadn't seemed to have decided where to go either and were walking about in various directions. The racket and the towel hanging out of the bag however, should help things. If you can remain injured and still have your towel with you, you're bound to be able to cross galaxies, let alone across one tiny island. The blind leading the blind indeed.

Out of the Blue

2009-01-29T21:02:00.002+08:00

Yesterday, I went to watch the Science Faculty production of Neil Simon's California Suite. I will admit that it was essentially because it was the Science people putting up a play that induced me to go watch their performance rather than read my John Donne poems. As it were, it probably didn't need much encouragement to part me from my work.

First of all, the sound and the set were gorgeous. This is what you get I suppose, when Barang Barang probably sponsored their wonderful furniture for the hotel suite setting, right down to lights which you could switch on and off on stage. ooh. I feel my hands itch to plan a play all of a sudden.

While the first scene nearly made me leave, if only because the actors lacked chemistry and one of them had a funny accent, the second scene was beyond hilarious - what do you do when you find that after a night of inebriation, a mysterious hooker lying next to you and your wife is coming up the stairs? Hmm...........

It was a good evening, definitely, but there are some things that just didn't gel with me. For one thing, someone ought to have stop the lighting person from switching on the lights onstage abruptly and rapidly in the opening moments in the first scene which did absolutely nothing than to annoy me. I mean, they did not have to click on the spotlight above the telephone when it rang... or leave half the set in semi darkness and then only switch them on mysteriously when something in that section moved or made a sound. They could instead, have left the cast to switch them on, which would look more natural than hotel lights lighting up in an all too obviously non diegetic way. This was also disruptive because in the third scene, the cast were switching on and off the lights themselves, i.e. diegetically.

Mercifully, the production improved tremendously with no more playing of lights and a script that became funnier with the minute. I know it sounds horrid - my lack of faith in the science majors being able to put up a successful performance, but it turned out more than fine. I am impressed with the wardrobe's ability to suss out a proper tux for the third scene (where the hell did they get one?!) and that there were only two people in-charge of the costumes. While I was slightly miffed that Hannah's suit was clearly badly ironed and did not look crisp enough to fit her neurotic personality, I can't really be pointing fingers if only two people are involved in dressing a big cast.

All the same, a good job to the cast and crew. I loved the show.

Road Trip Expose: Zoo

2009-01-17T10:20:00.017+08:00

Here are the promised ocular proof courtesy of the lovely Hash. Check out the pics below.

Gods know who this bespectacled stranger is. A trick of the light? A photo-taking error? At any rate, our trip which began bright if not so early, seemed plagued from the very beginning by the shadowy presence of Someone Else.

Never go to the toilet when tickets are being distributed or end up like me with the one with the picture of the proboscis monkey.

Check out the cute mousedeer!

The white tigers.
Looking very majestic is this one,
Lounging on the rock.

And this is Albert. Or Alberta for all you know.

Who this stalker is, nobody knows. But as it is, we can only proceed on...

to The Ethiopian Village, where you can play Where's Wally!

It's a pity the stalker looks so much like somebody's auntie. Why couldn't it have been someone better looking and male?

Attempts to identify this person took on a strange if relieving turn. Could she possibly be the missing link between homo sapiens and simia hamadryas, i.e. baboons? Could it be that she was merely tailing us to find her way home?

Alas, it would seem that I was wrong about the previous conjecture. The Mysterious Presence continues to follow us around, even as we consult the map on our way out of the zoo.

The stalker stalked. Further attempts to identify this person indicates that she is probably human, given the classic gormless tourist pose. Nevertheless, it's nice to be able to confirm that.

That's all for now folks! See you all at the zoo again!

A quick post in the dead of the morning

2009-01-15T06:55:00.002+08:00

Woke up feeling all disgruntled about the co-op. How is it that NONE of my psychoanalysis books are in on Tuesday but all sold out on the next day? Obsessing isn't helping but I absolutely refuse to have to photocopy anymore bits from it to tide over my current non-book ownership status. And lvl4000 here I come. Urk.

Road Trip: Zoo

2009-01-12T18:12:00.005+08:00

Yesterday, went to the Singapore Zoo with Hash and--. Am not certain, but it seems we were stalked by a bizarre figure in sunglasses. Attempted to shake stalker off, but no avail, not even when in desperation, we went to Ethiopia. See Hash's pictures for ocular proof.

The First Post of the New Year

2009-01-06T19:01:00.000+08:00

In which one signposts for the year ahead.

Initially, I had one of those romantical, resolution-y sort of post in mind, but as the year passed from one to the other, the mood for a nice, proper post just vanished. Instead, I will begin 2009 with a flashback, not to 2008, memorable though it has been, but to 2001, the year of bemusing, nightmarish home economics lessons with a certain Mrs G.

On that fateful day, Mrs G., who is usually a tyrant in the kitchen, appeared to be slightly more mellow than usual. We were told to start heating the fryin pans in our separate groups while we watched Mrs G. at a demo before we er...decimated the recipe by ourselves later on. Indeed, the lecture had gotten on to a fairly good start, seeing as Mrs G. did not seem inclined to scream or yell threats at us as she did on a regular basis and that everyone sitting in front of the classroom was behaving sanely.

Then. One of the frying pans abruptly erupted in flames.
We stared on, partly startled but mostly amused as Mrs G. began screeching indignantly about the many times she had reminded us to be careful when heating oil in the pan. She bustled over to the offending frying pan and switched off the cooker, all the way muttering accusatory things at my friend and her partner, the two unfortunate souls which the pan belonged to.

This memory remains burned in my brain and talking about it on the bus with Kappa only served to polish further the weirdness of the event. Yes, Morphie, if you're reading this, you remain the unfortunate source of our jokes till this day.

Speaking of which, I am glad that I am beginning the new year with the people who have been close to me, whether in the form of the butt of the joke or otherwise.

Go along with every year,
Bring with you your joys,
And leave behind your fears.

Vampires

2008-12-31T09:40:00.005+08:00

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

2008-12-29T09:39:00.004+08:00

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

2008-12-25T10:37:00.003+08:00

A cheery game for the season of festive damp.

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

Poster Talk: Twilight

2008-12-17T22:26:00.006+08:00

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

2008-12-11T14:08:00.006+08:00

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.

2008-12-04T21:33:00.005+08:00

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.

2008-12-02T18:57:00.001+08:00

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.

2008-11-29T10:53:00.002+08:00

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

2008-11-18T11:15:00.007+08:00

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

2008-11-05T16:06:00.005+08:00

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

2008-11-01T09:19:00.012+08:00

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

2008-10-31T20:07:00.006+08:00

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

2008-10-19T16:30:00.009+08:00

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

2008-10-15T14:44:00.007+08:00

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

2008-10-05T23:53:00.000+08:00

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

2008-10-05T07:45:00.002+08:00

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?!

2008-09-27T20:02:00.001+08:00

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

2008-09-24T20:46:00.003+08:00

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.

2008-09-14T20:24:00.002+08:00

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.