Collaborative Narratives- Collaborative Learning in the Blogosphere

In a couple of minutes, Jude will defend his Masters thesis. Short of webcasting it (he forbade me to bring a camera...), giving a running commentary is as close as I can get to to documenting this event. The turnout is pretty good. He's the first Masters student at his school to choose the thesis option so everyone has turned up to watch. I had to fight tooth and nail to get him to let me come. And he let me only if I agree to sit in the corner away from his line of vision because I'll make him nervous. I'm hiding behind a TV. The defense is actually being broadcast so that people in the North Campus can watch it as well. So basically, this is a BIG DEAL, despite what my husband chooses to believe.

HIs advisor has just given the preliminary introduction- he just called this event "historic"- my husband is historic!! :) I can just feel his nervousness radiating, but he's hiding it well. He's wearing his Paul Frank "Everything's Cool" tie in a bid to diffuse the anxiety that has been been nothing but building up these past two weeks. I think there hasn't been a night that he's had more than 4 hours of sleep.

Everyone's giving him their rapt attention- good sign. Either that or the cookies we're serving must be real tasty. He's talking about blogs right now. His whole argument is about how blogs enable learning to take place in a collaborative way where other forms of learning technology have only been interactive. Basically, his thesis "proposes that the use of group authored narratives (i.e. Collaborative Narratives) in a Blogosphere represents a reconceptualization of how knowledge is created, shared, recreated and disseminated."

Someone just asked him a tough question about what narratives are and I think he answered it beautifully. And with minimal hesitation too. His definition of narrative is broad- any kind of ordering of information can be considered a narrative and the professor just asked then why define narratives if it's eveything and anything which we verbalize and articulate. My wonderful husband came back with a smooth response; that narratives are actually very specific articulations. They are differentiated from mere logs: "The king died. The queen died." That's just a log of information. "The king died and then the queen died." That's a narrative. It involves sequencing and ordering. It suggests a relationship and is an attempt to make sense of what was otherwise just information.

People are laughing. Another good sign. I think if these defense things are taken less seriously and more in the spirit of academics sharing their research, everyone would enjoy themselves more. I see our friends nodding appreciatively. I love them. And Jude's trying so hard to not look in my direction. And not to smile. Too cute...

That professor is asking him a question again- what's with that guy? Jude's doing great though. Not letting that faze him. I think he's drama training is doing him good in terms of speaking in public. I think having taught helps too.

More nodding. Good job Jude. I think it's always important when speaking to large groups to get some kind of affirmation, any indication that people aren't actually thinking about how much more they would rather be outside with an ice-cream cone than here with a roomful of stuffy professors (ok, maybe not so stuffy, but you know what I mean about the ice-ceam cone...)

More questions, and more good answers from Jude. He's prepared man... And here I was worried for him the whole of today. He was convinced he was going to have to flubber his way through but he's doing good do far. I'm really proud of him. It hasn't been an easy process and I think he's risen to the challenge superbly. The cognitive dissonance that we've both encountered here has actually been great for our intellectual development and I think this is one of the biggest reasons why being in a good university like U-M is such an awesome experience. You're really pushed to be bigger, better and brighter than you've ever thought you could be.

He's explaining (ok, trying to explain) the regression analysis that I helped him with and admitting the fact that I had a part to do with it. Everyone just turned around to look at me. Great, so much for being unobtrusive. Thanks Jude. Good job going through the regression results though. Yes, you got those variables right. No matter, that's what our summer is going to be. He's doing a couple of classes on statistics in the social sciences, and I have a course in Hierarchical Linear Modelling (I know, I know, why do I do this to myself??...)

That professor is at it AGAIN! Dude, get a grip! Stop giving my husband a hard time! Apparently he's gay and has made passes at some of his male students. There goes any semblance of professional protocol... Ooh, cool, another professor just jumped in and defended Jude's point. Thanks Mick. This professor has the same academic background as Jude: both of them have had experiences with experimental theatre, music, and both switched interests totally to look at cognition and technology. He's cool. A little odd and socially awkward (a trait he DOES NOT share with Jude thankfully), but cool nonetheless I guess.

Ok last leg- he's going through the future implications of this research and potential applications. Looking good. Final thanks now. Hey! My name is on the PowerPoint! He just acknowledged me. I think I'm going to cry...

He's fielding the questions. Wow, many hands. Please, be nice guys. I promise I'll make good food when you next come over... "What do you mean by scaffolding?' C'mon Jude, you know this. Lev Vygotsky. Give them the whole Zone of Proximal Development spiel. Interesting use of rubber band analogy, that you have to be stretched in order to learn optimally, but that this stretching has to take place with constructive support.

HIs advisor is giving the closing statements now. He just commended Jude on his intellectual curiosity and drive. That's nice :) Ok, it's over! Three rounds of applause- woah! :) I think it was well-received on the whole. We're all going to Grizzly Peak for dinner and drinks to celebrate. Jude is now officially a "Master of Information"!

My husband rocks! :) This has been a lot of hard thinking and hard work, and it's paid off. Now, on to the PhD. Four more years, and I'm be blogging about his dissertation defense. I can't wait.

Mr. Bus-Driver Man

So I was on the bus this morning when one of life's sweetest moments unfolded before me; ok, maybe it didn't really unfold there and then, but I witnessed the first inklings of it. The bus was at the bus-stop waiting for its scheduled time to leave and it was just me on it. The elderly driver decides to take a quick break and walks towards the nearby shrubs. He's the nice one, not the guy who wouldn't stop for you once he left the bus bay even if you were in crutches, with a kid in tow and two bags of groceries bouncing off your hand... I hate that man. So anyway, back to my story- I was convinced Mr. Bus-Driver was going to have a smoke- which I was fine with as long as he didn't come back and start to talk with me. Public transportation people always talk to me. Back home, I had a cab-driver once tell me about his affair with a Thai girl and even showed me her photo. He said I looked like someone who would understand. What the...???????? Anyway, I digress again- Mr. Bus Driver man. What happened instead was that he plucks from the shrubs two stalks of pretty flowers and brings them back with him. Don't worry you nature-loving conservartionists- there was nothing uncivic-minded about what he did- the whole shrub is profuse with these stalks of little yellow flowers.

So he gets back on the bus and sheepishly smiles at me, embarassed almost. It was like I caught him doing something no one else should be privy to. "For my wife." he said. And that was that. He arranges them carefully next to him, making sure that them wouldn't fall off when he drove. No one else came up the bus till a couple of stops later and I was in school 10 minutes after. When I got off the bus, he smiled at me again, a conspiratorial smile almost. "I hope she likes them." was all I could say even though I wish I could have said more to him. For those few moments when we were the only ones on the bus, it was like we shared a small slice of experience. Even though Mr. Bus Driver was caught up in the mundane routine of driving students to and from school, thoughts of the woman he loves wasn't far away.

I hope Mrs. Bus-Driver likes her flowers.

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep:

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with false love or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
-- "When You're Old and Grey", W. B. Yeats

Happy Birthday Sam!

My little sister turns 12 today! HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAM!

One flew over *this* cuckoo's nest...

It's like having a baby, minus the nausea, the 9-month gestation and a baby shower... but apart from that, the ailments are the same- inexplicable mood swings, neglecting my husband, losing my appetite and bouts of self-doubt and crying. Lots of crying. Last week, I was listening to NPR and just started bawling for no rhyme or reason. It was a show on scientists finding a new strain of the flu virus. Enough said. Doing this quantitative research methods project all but consumed my life for the past 3 weeks and it's OVER!!!!! I made my presentation today and like giving birth, you feel both relieved of the burden but at the same time overwhelmed by waves and waves of uncertain feelings (or so I assume)- did I run the data correctly? Did I control for all possible variables? Why didn't I listen more carefully to my secondary school Math teacher??

It was truly a harrowing and distressing experience- oh don't get me wrong, I learnt a ton of stufff, but honestly, I wish the whole process was less trying on my physical and emotional well-being. C'mon when my last waking thought every night for the past 20 days was contemplating the variance of kindergarteners' reading ability explained by family characteristics, something's freakily wrong. There's no morally defensible reason why an English major like me should have been stuck with a calculator in my bag everyday this last 3 weeks (and using it no less... do you know that if you multiply numbers between 1 and -1 with lots of zeroes after the decimal point, you get really teeny values with even more zeroes in them? After a couple of days, I realized that fiddling with these numbers was an exercise in abject futitlity...)

Anyways- whatever, it's over. The moment I was done with the presentation, I heaved a sigh of relief that at that point had to be the world's most subtle but most profound gesture of emotional catharsis. Afterwards, I celebrated with a whole pint of sangria and an indulgent two-hour long nap smack in the middle of the day (*gasp* how decadent no?) Now, I'm finally able to really enjoy the gorgeous Spring weather- our living room doors are wide open, I'm about to ravish two weeks worth of the New York Times Sunday Edition, a huge pot of chili is simmering on the stove and Joss Stone's "Sleep Like A Child" is playing on the iPod. See, life's better already... :)

Four more days

Note to self: just grit our teeth and clench our fists. Four more days, four excruciatingly more "qi"-depleting, neuron-devoring, "whatever-possessed-us-to-do-this" days...

Our new friend, Foster.

So how geeky is this? I am sitting here in Espresso Royale on Wednesday $2 Latte Day (someone should just IV this soy latte into my bloodstream man...), blogging on our new toy- a 12" PowerBook G4- and enjoying it to no end... I'm not even doing anything vaguely techie- just typing- and it's giving me a rush! Like I said, too geeky... It's my congratulations/graduation/ birthday/ anniversary present to Jude (actually doing the calculations, it should probably count as my Christmas and Valentine's Day 2006 present to him too...). It was a great deal and we just couldn't resist. It's such a beautifully designed piece of technology- honestly, someone should give Apple an award. Well, the iPod IS on display in MOMA's Industrial Arts gallery, so there...

Anyways, our little PowerBook's named after E. M. Foster- no we're not being pretentious (ok, maybe a little) but basically it's because we've networked the house so all the computers and techie stuff are named. Our network's called Bloomsbury after the literary/ social group and everything's inspired by the people who were involved in it: my iPod's affectionately called Woolf, Jude's iPod is named Strachey (after the biographical historian Lytton Strachey), and then there's Foster. Our desktop and the other laptop (which is now going to be mine!) are Roethke and Eliot respectively. I know, they aren't commonly associated with the Bloomsberries but they read alot of T. S. Eliot in their meetings, and as for Theodore Roethke, well, I just like him a whole lot. I love his "The Waking" (he was a U-M alum!) and Jude's a huge Eliot fan.

I'm really enjoying this PowerBook although Jude's probably the one who's going to use it more since his work requires those design programs that run better on Macs. It's so much cheaper to buy Apple stuff here in the States. I know how exhorbitant it is just to get an iPod mini back home (two of the people closest to me are still reeling- monetarily and existentially- from their decision to buy the fashionably St. Patrick's green iPod mini each...) Here, especially in a college town like Ann Arbor, every other person in the gym is wearing those ubiquitous white ear-phones and there're really many more people with Macs than PCs (in my school at least...).

But still, at the end of the day though, I don't know if I'd ever get used to not being able to right-click...

Happy Pic

Here's a nice happy picture of us I didn't even know was taken... I can't even remember what we were laughing about but it's a nice one :) Thanks Dan!

Theresa Marie

I wasn't going to blog about this. It's not in my place. In fact, it's not in anyone's place to talk about this except the ones who matter- namely her family and close friends. But I feel almost outraged that this country has taken it upon itself to make a media and political spectacle out of what is fundamentally a very private and painful experience.

When we die, we want to be remembered as a spouse, a child, a parent, a sibling, a friend. And that should be enough. A person's death shouldn't have to "represent" a battle lost, a cause triumphant or a country divided... A woman died. Do we fully appreciate what that means? Two parents lost their child and a husband lost his wife. That is a profound sorrow that must be acknowledged and most importantly respected, not used as a tool to pursue, indict or condem.

Let us not just think of her as Terri Schiavo, a name that is now so often metioned in a phrase "the Terri Schiavo case". Her name is not just a label, it is what her parents named her when she was born. Maybe we ought to remember her as a real person, as Theresa Marie.

Infinity

I love my gmail account!

A crustacean addendum

Love Actually (2004)
Daisy: I'm the lobster.
Karen: The lobster?
Daisy: Yeah.
Karen: In the nativity play?
Daisy: Yeah, *first* lobster.
Karen: There was more than one lobster present at the birth of Jesus?
Daisy: Duh.

Jude's fave movie lines (in response to Serene's)

So, in response to Serene, here's my take on favorite movie lines from 2 movies which had a lasting impact on my formative years ;)

The Big Lebowski (1998)
My all time favourite lines were totally improvised before the cameras by John Turturro playing Jesus Quintana:

"Let me tell you something, pendejo ..."

"It don't matter to Jesus ..."

Snatch (2000)
Classic lines uttered by the poker faced Alan Ford who plays the Mob Boss - Brick Top:

"Do you know what "nemesis" means? A righteous infliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent. Personified in this case by an 'orrible cunt... me."

"In the quiet words of the Virgin Mary... come again." (unfortunately I am unable to find the audio file for this, but you get the picture ...)

Good morning!

This has probably got to be the earliest post I've ever put up. Woke up at 7am (willingly and without going back to sleep a couple of times no less...) to catch up on work and it's actually a pretty good feeling. Spring's finally here in Ann Arbor and it's gorgeous! The sun is shining resplendently and the breeze is lovely. The thing about being in the American Midwest is that you *really* appreciate Spring. If you were here the last two days, you'd thought that Summer was here already. In 45 degree weather, people were out reading/ lying/ drinking/ chatting/ frolicking (choose all that apply) in the grass, rolling-blading and jogging bare-bodied, the mobile hot-dog people were back from Southern California (or wherever they go for the five months they're not here) and Starbucks was beginning to sell more than just two Mocha Frappuccinos a day. Everyone was decidedly chirpier, chattier, cheerier- as if we had all been comatose for a long while and suddenly decided to wake up and live again. In California, a 45 degree-day would send people ducking indoors and/or under hats and coats for warmth; here, 40 degrees is an immediate license to whip out those bare-arms, flip-flops, and smiles. It's wonderful...

The Runny Babbit: A Billy Sook

Since Easter as a religious celebration of repentance, resurrection and redemption has somehow become what one of our friends calls a pagan holiday in worship of a rabbit, what better way to commemorate its closing two hours than to recommend the new book by one of my favorite children's writers, Shel Silverstein- The Runny Babbit. I have almost all his books- both poetry and stories- and they are, simply put, wonderful. Don't let the simplicity of the illustrations or themes fool you- there's more depth to his pirouetting alphabets and skip-rope jumping rhinocerouses than a 748-page Harry Potter novel (my Rowling-worshipping cousins are never going to talk to me again I know, but guys, remember, I love you very much!...). The last play Jude and I produced with the Drama Club was inspired by Silverstein's The Giving Tree and until today, I still think it's one of the best things we've ever done. I love all the poems in Where the Sidewalk Ends (There are audio clips on this site). The book was actually banned in some school districts because it was thought to undermine religious and parental authority- excuse me?? (I'm sure these are the same people who believe that the Teletubbies are gay and that Cabbage Patch Dolls are demon-possessed... Were their childhoods so sad and joyless as to deprive today's children of theirs??). And The Missing Piece Meets the Big O has a very special place in this girl's heart.

His new book, The Runny Babbit is a playful, hilarious carnival of words. There is Toe Jurtle, Skertie Gunk, Rirty Dat, Dungry Hog, Snerry Jake, and many others who speak a topsy-turvy language all their own. In the What's New section of the Silverstein site, you can see an animated excerpt of the book (as well all his other books), and if you don't run straight out to go buy the book after, I don't think I want to talk to a grouch like you... okok, I will, but only reluctantly... ;)

So if you say, "Let's bead a rook
That's billy as can se,"
You're talkin' Runny Babbit talk,
Just like mim and he.

Favorite movie lines

So-- I have tons of work to do- numbers to crunch, assignments to grade, two papers to think about and a basket of laundry to load in the washer. What do I do? Think about favorites lines from movies. I'm almost past caring; I need my sanity more than good grades and positive evaluations, and if that means going easy on myself on a Friday night, I'm not going to stress out over a couple of hours lost in cyberspace and my celluloid past. Multiple regression analysis will always be there but if Serene Koh doesn't take a break RIGHT NOW, she's going to *snap, crackle and pop*

Anyways, like I said, favorite movie lines. First a caveat: since this is an attempt at stress relief, I bear no aesthetic or intellectual responsibility for choices that may seem flaky, cheesy, sappy, or all of the above. Besides, at my core (and only those who know and love me dearly can agree- the rest of you are supposed to politely demur, tell me that I'm way more profound than that and go on believing that any unfortunate choices are NOT due to an innate lack of taste but momentary folly resulting from sleep and caffeine deprivation), I might just be nothing more than a flaky, cheesy confection.

Ladies and gentlemen, my list of 15:

Say Anything (1989)
Lloyd: I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that.

Notting Hill (1998)
Anna: I can't believe you have that picture on your wall.
William: You like Chagall?
Anna: I do. It feels like how being in love should be. Floating through a dark blue sky.
William: With a goat playing the violin.
Anna: Yes - happiness isn't happiness without a violin-playing goat.

Almost Famous (2001)
Elaine: This is not some apron-wearing mother you're talking to. I know about your Valhalla of Decadence, and I shouldn't have let him go. He is not ready for your world of compromised values, and diminished brain cells that you throw away like confetti. Am I speaking clearly to you?
Russell: Yes, ma'am.
Elaine: If you break his spirit, harm him in any way, keep him from his chosen profession--which is law, something you may not value but I do--you will meet the voice on the other end of this telephone. And it will not be pretty. Do we understand each other?
Russell: Yes... yes...
Elaine: I didn't ask for this role, but I'll play it. Now go do your best. "Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aide!" Goethe said that. It's not too late for you to be a person of substance. Get my son home safe. I'm glad we spoke.

Bill Durham (1988)
Crash: Besides, uh, I don't believe in quantum physics when it comes to matters of the heart.
Annie: What do you believe in, then?
Crash: Well, I believe in the soul... the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days... Goodnight.
Annie: Oh my. Crash...
Ebby: Hey, Annie, what's all this molecule stuff?

Sideways (2004)
Miles: Hemingway, Sexton, Plath, Woolf — you can't commit suicide until you're published.

Four Weddings and a Funeral (1993)
Charles: Ehm, look. Sorry, sorry. I just, ehm, well, this is a very stupid question and... , particularly in view of our recent shopping excursion, but I just wondered, by any chance, ehm, eh, I mean obviously not because I guess I've only slept with 9 people, but-but I-I just wondered... ehh. I really feel, ehh, in short, to recap it slightly in a clearer version, eh, the words of David Cassidy in fact, eh, while he was still with the Partridge family, eh, "I think I love you," and eh, I-I just wondered by any chance you wouldn't like to... Eh... Eh... No, no, no of course not... I'm an idiot, he's not... Excellent, excellent, fantastic, eh, I was gonna say lovely to see you, sorry to disturb... Better get on...
Carrie: That was very romantic.
Charles: Well, I thought it over a lot, you know, I wanted to get it just right.

American Beauty (2000)
Lester: Lose it? I didn't lose it. It's not like, "Whoops! Where'd my job go?" I QUIT. Someone pass me the asparagus.

The Village (2004)
Ivy Walker: When we are married, will you dance with me? I find dancing very agreeable. Why can you not say what is in your head?
Lucius Hunt: Why can you not stop saying what is in yours? Why must you lead, when I want to lead? If I want to dance I will ask you to dance. If I want to speak I will open my mouth and speak. Everyone is forever plaguing me to speak further. Why? What good is it to tell you you are in my every thought from the time I wake? What good can come from my saying that I sometimes cannot think clearly or do my work properly? What gain can rise of my telling you the only time I feel fear as others do is when I think of you in harm? That is why I am on this porch, Ivy Walker. I fear for your safety before all others. And yes, I will dance with you on our wedding night.

Good Will Hunting (1997)
Will: I gotta see about a girl.

You've Got Mail (1998)
Joe: The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So people who don't know what the hell they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self: Tall. Decaf. Cappuccino.

The Hours (2002)
Virginia Woolf: Dear Leonard, To look life in the face, always, to look life in the face, and to know it for what it is. At last to know it, to love it, for what it is, and then, to put it away. Leonard, always the years between us, always the years, always the love, always... the hours...

I Heart Huckabees (2004)
Dawn: There's glass between us. You can't deal with my infinite nature can you?
Brad: That is so not true. Wait, what does that even mean?

The Professional (1994)
Mathilda: Leon, I think I'm falling in love with you. It's the first time for me, you know?
Léon: How do you know it's love if you've never been in love before?
Mathilda: 'Cause I feel it.
Léon: Where?
Mathilda: In my stomach. It's all warm. I always had a knot there and now... it's gone.
Léon: Mathilda, I'm glad you don't have a stomach ache any more. I don't think it means anything

Toy Story 2 (1999)
Tour Guide Barbie: I'm Tour Guide Barbie. Please keep your arms in the car at all times, and no flash photography. Thank you.
Mr. Potato Head: I'm a married spud, I'm a married spud...

L.O.T.R- Two Towers (2002)
Frodo: I can't do this Sam.
Sam: I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.
Frodo: What are we holding on to Sam?
Sam: That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for.

My Perfect Offering

It's 3.51am on a Thursday morning but it feels as if the week should have been over days ago. It's been an excruciating week- long, difficult and full of things I don't even want to begin to describe. My nerves are frayed, my beliefs have been tried, and my faith affirmed, tested, and affirmed again. I'm tired.

There's much more in this Leonard Cohen song than is my life as it is right now for sure but there's also alot in it that resonates with me as I write in this nebulous state between night and day, sleep and wakefulness, winter and spring, faith and doubt...

There's this much of me I can give to the imperfect world, as imperfect as I am myself. Maybe in the end, that's all it can ask of us all... and maybe, it should be enough.

The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.

Ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

We asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed
the marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
of every government --
signs for all to see.

I can't run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
But they've summoned, they've summoned up
a thundercloud
and they're going to hear from me.

Ring the bells that still can ring ...

You can add up the parts
but you won't have the sum
You can strike up the march,
there is no drum
Every heart, every heart
to love will come
but like a refugee.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.

- Leonard Cohen, "Anthem"

When Love Comes To Town

Ladies and gentlemen, you are now looking at (well technically not *looking*) the proud owner of two tickets to see U2 in concert when they come to Michigan in October!! The tickets went on sale online yesterday at 10am and guess who was sitting by the computer at 9.58am even though she had to teach at 10.10am? The next 6 minutes flew by in a blur as I went through the whole choosing-seats-yes-I-agree-to-the-terms-of-agreement-secret-word-credit-card-address routine. Two center-stage floor tickets (standing only- as if we would be sitting down at all anyway...) on the day before my birthday! I don't care what anyone else says, Bono's singing just to me, for me.

U2 would never play in Singapore because of our dubious human rights record (see this report from Amnesty International) and we know how Mr. Paul Hewson and company feel about that. We still practice the death penalty and our Internal Security Act allows for the detention of political prisoners without trial, so to be able to see them at all in our llifetime is a treat I cannot even begin to describe. Some have said that watching U2 live is akin to a religious experience. I'll let you know how true that is after October 25.

I'm happy- come my 29th birthday, I would have fulfilled two of the thirty things I most wish for- getting Jude the iPod (plus one for myself as a bonus) and now catching U2 in concert. Not bad for a one year period- who knows, by the time I'm 75, I might just really be able to do everything I said I want to. But for now, I'm dreaming of Irish rock gods and ultraviolet dreamscapes...

My first students Part II

You guys are too sweet- that was very nice. Thank you!
- jude and serene

My first students

They were the very first class of students I was assigned to teach. I was 24, fresh out of teacher training and petrified to death of what to expect in a real school; they were 17, eager, wonderful and till today, the students I have the fondest memories of. The class of 2A11, 2001.

By some quirk of fate, Jude and I ended up chatting online with a couple of them over the weekend and in a matter of minutes (I kid you not), I think half the class had our blog address (you can see for yourselves on the tag-board) and our Messenger contacts as well. And that's the thing I love most about this group of students (no, not that they all have stalker tendencies...), that though it's been four years since they've graduated from junior college, and some of them are actually studying in Perth, a group of them are as close as ever- they host blogs together, plan trips together, hang out all the time together- basically continue to revolve their lives around the friends they made those wonderful four years ago. And in some small way, during the two years they were in junior college, they let me into that circle. We celebrated birthdays, had dinners, played bridge (ok, THEY tried to teach ME to play bridge), exchanged presents, confided secrets, plotted diabolical schemes to overthrow the school administration, watched each other fall in love, fall out of love, stay in love (you know who you are...), and all the mindless but meaningful things you only do with people you trust and love. I wasn't just their teacher, I was also someone with whom they celebrated their youth, exuberance, infectious good humor and cheer.

They were also there when Jude and I first started going out. Oh they were very perceptive, and very very clever. They were no nuclear physicists but they were teenagers- biologically programmed to sniff out a budding romance (both their own and someone else's) a mile away. Jude taught them Shakespeare and I was their General Paper teacher, and it wasn't too long before they collectively cornered us in school and interrogated Jude on his intentions to make an honest woman out of me. Two years later, we invited them to our wedding. And they came. Even the ones in Perth made special arrangements to fly back early for the ceremony.

These kids will always have a special place in my heart. They made me believe I could be a good teacher. I hope I was a good teacher to them. And a good friend too.

The Observatory is opening for Tortoise

Surprise, surprise, 2 Judeposts in a day!!! I wanted to give a shout out to my guys, the Observatory who are about to have the gig of their lives this Thursday opening for Tortoise. This show comes as a surprise to me given the very cautious nature and outlook of our local music scene. I remember a time when they posted policemen at rock concerts to prevent dancing and any undue 'western' influences. I also remember a time when"public entertainment permits" and a $2000 security deposit were required in order to put up a show. The people who brought in Fugazi to perform (at a community center no less) were hauled to the police station and had their security deposit confiscated because the kids in the hall started to stage dive and crowd surf. Pearl Jam's concert in Singapore was almost a no-show, because the kids at the capacity filled venue starting removing the seats up front in order to create room to move in front of the stage. Hell, they even turned away the Rolling Stones in the 1960s because they had long hair. Things have changed quite a bit since those times, but Tortoise playing in Singapore is still a big deal. While there are a smattering of interesting acts that come into the country every once in a while, it is perhaps even more significant that a local band has been given the privilege of opening the show. So kudos to the Observatory! Have fun at the show guys, break a leg & I wish that I was there :)

NYC FoodLog

This is one of those 'rare' judeposts. I know that I have mentioned this to some people and that I have only now just gotten around to it. Here is the blow-by-blow (or mouthful-by-mouthful) account of how we ate our way across the Big Apple :)

DAY 1
- Sapporo Jap Rest. (On the corner of 50th & 7th Ave.)
In Jude Yew's "American Odyssey-esque" oral history, this was the very first place that I ate at when I first set foot in America. The place really looks the same as it did when I first came in 1993. For some reason, I keep coming back everytime I go to New York. It isn't the finest Japanese restaurant around, definitely of the "ghetto" variety, but man does that ramen warm you up on a cold day. Something that Ann Arbor sorely lacks - a good noodle bar. There's a review and the menu at this link.

- Cafe Muse (Korea Way)
Yong wanted to show us around Korea Town and we ended up in this cafe. Sorta like an upscale Eastern Accents but with more variety in terms of pastries.

- Windfall Bar
Site of the SI alumni event. Nothing much to say about it.

- Serendipity 3 (Between 2nd & 3rd Aves on 60th)
This place is something else!!! It is a truly charming little dessert place that is tucked way up on 60th street. Have to try their frozen hot chocolate and a good place to people/celebrity watch.

DAY 2
- Cafe Metro (Next to our hotel on Lexington & 51st)
This was a surprisingly good cafe that seems to be always packed. It's right next to the subway and our hotel. Great selection of soups and foccacias. There's a menu here.

- Shanghai Dim Sum (that's the actual name of the restaurant just south of Canal St.)
This was some place we stumbled upon. Not an upscale dim sum restaurant though. However, it was refreshing to have a Northern Chinese take on dim sum once in a while.

- Ferrera (Chinatown on Grand St.)
With its wood panelled walls and ornate interior decor, this place really does bring make me think of a place where the mob used to hang out. Check out this article which talks about mob activity in the area's not so distant past. Now if only I had space for one more cannolli ;)

- Russiya (you have to click on this link!!!)
This never happened. We ate instead at another Russian restaurant next to the Brighton Beach train station. Who would have thought that there would be a sizable Russian community in Brooklyn?

- The Rodeo Bar on 28th (Dave almost got into a fight here, so ...)

DAY 3
- Gus' Gyros (street vendor on Park Ave & 51st)
Claims to have been at the same street corner since the 1970s. But man did that gyro hit the spot that morning.

- Beard Papa
Never heard of Beard Papa? Check this link out then!!!

- Nyonya Restaurant (194 Grand Street between Mulberry & Mott)
Excellent Singaporean/Malaysian restaurant that never fails to draw the crowds. While we were dining, there was a queue that snaked out of the restaurant onto the street. And it was cold that day too!!! You can check out the menu here!

- Sugar
This bar sure made me feel my age!!! I couldn't relate to the music that they were playing or the after-work singles social scene that was unfolding before my eyes. Here's a review anyways.

DAY 4
- Cafe Vesuvio (160 Prince Street)
Charming old bakery right in the heart of Soho. Definitely worth a visit. Had a panini with proscuitto ham, goat's cheese and olive spread.

If you don't know me by now

It's all my best friend's fault. She sends me one of those on-line quizzes that test how much you know your friend and I did terribly. Awful. I'd understand if she decides she will no longer name her first child after me. Maybe I should name my first child after her to make amends. I'm sorry, but honestly, how on earth am I supposed to know that you would rather... oops ok, I shan't say anymore before you won't even dignify my presence with a Christmas card this year...

So now I'm wondering if my friends really know *me*. If I can't even get 70% of the questions on my best friend's quiz right, how will my friends score on mine? So here's the one I came up with- The Quiz. Some questions may seem simple, but unlike what my husband seems to believe, I like to think of myself as less predictable than some people give me credit for...

[Oh, and I finally found a place where we can upload all our photos without a storage limit so it'll be on the sidebar from now on.]

Children's Letters to God

I'm reading White Teacher by Vivian Paley right now for the class I'm teaching. It's about her experiences as a kindergarten teacher in an intergrated school within a predominantly white middle-class neighborhood. I guess what strikes me most about the book apart from the honesty and candor with which she talks about her teaching, is the genuine and guileness nature of children. Paley peppers the narrative with vignettes of her experiences and they're at times exasperating, others joyful, but always so real.

This reminded me of a book I bought my sister so very long ago- Children's Letters to God- when she was just a little mite asking for impossible things for the Big Man (bigger feet so she could wear my mother's shoes...) I found excerpts of it off the web- knock yourselves out! you might just want to have one of your own after this, or decide to return the one you have wherever it came from... ;)

Dear God,
Did you mean for the giraffe to look like that or was it an accident?
Norma

Dear God,
I went to this wedding and they kissed right in church. Is that okay?
Neil

Dear God,
Thank you for my baby brother, but what I prayed for was a puppy.
Joyce

Dear God,
It rained for our whole vacation and is my father mad! He said some things about you that people are not supposed to say, but I hope you will not hurt him anyway.
Your friend (but I am not going to tell you who I am)

Dear God,
I want to be just like my daddy when I get big, but not with so much hair all over.
Sam

Dear God,
I think the stapler is one of your greatest inventions.
Ruth

Dear GOD,
If you give me a genie like Aladdin, I will give You anything You want, except my money or my chess set.
Raphael

Dear GOD,
My brother is a rat. You should give him a tail.
Ha Ha, Danny

Dear God,
My brother told me about being born, but it doesn't sound right. They are just kidding, aren't they?
Marsha

Dear God,
If you watch me in church Sunday, I'll show you my new shoes.
Mickey

Dear GOD,
Did You really mean "do unto others as they do unto you"? Because if You did, then I'm going to fix my brother.
Darla

Dear God,
I didn't think orange went with purple until I saw the sunset you made on Tuesday. That was cool!
Eugene

Things I learnt in New York

We've actually been back for four days but I've been sick for two and had a mid-term over the other two (don't ask- a 33-page report in 48 hours is not something I would wish on my worst enemy...). But it was a good trip. New York is *The City* afterall and it does give you a whole new perspective on things after being in this little town in the middle of nowhere.

So some things I learnt in those 84 short hours:
1) The Gates exhibition is over-rated. I guess it was meant to incalcate some kind of civic engagement between the city and her people but up close, they really do look like just pieces of well-sewn saffron cloth- *very* expensive pieces of cloth, but pieces of cloth nonetheless. In fact, the parody of it is much more interesting...

2) Eating is great! Ok, so I didn't have to go to New York to learn a fact I've pretty much known all my life, but truly, food in New York is phenomenal. Heedlessly, we had slurpalicious ramen (49th Street, between 6th and 7th), drop-dead out-of-this-world dessert at Serendipity 3, cheap but so very very good street food (shish kebab, gyro, etc.), tim sum and Asian pastries in Chinatown, Russian food in Brooklyn, Singaporean/ Malaysian food in Little Italy, I could go on... Ann Arbor has pretty good food too (if you know where to go, and depending on how deep your pockets are) but in NY, it's everywhere!

3) New Yorkers are rude. Unless you tip them. And even then they still behave like a cross between the Grinch and Ebeneezer Scrooge before he met the three ghosts. We're talking the lady at the subway station booth who couldn't spare me 20 seconds of her time to tell me how to get to the Upper West Side; a sales assistant at H & M who obviously thought that the color of her co-workers new sweater was more important than me getting a pair of pants in the right size; the man at MOMA who was barking orders at visitors on how to deposit their bags and coats- must have been a West Point reject; and some waitress in Chinatown whose service philosophy I'm convinced is informed by a tutelage under the soup Nazi. And these are just those I can remember. I'm sure there're rude people everywhere but there's got to be something in the water there...

4) I like Lower Manhattan. Soho was really nice and I wish I spent more time there. Jude was actually there on Saturday morning when the vendors were all out peddling their wares- craft, street art, hand-made jewellry. There's a wonderful bookstore, The Strand on Broadway where I just went bersek and bought more books than I think I'll be able to read in the next year. 18 miles of every book you can imagine- it was a bibliophile's heaven, my heaven :) Jude also got me a really cheery orange laptop case from Pylones on Lexington. It's one of those shops selling mundane everyday things made to look like anything but mundane everyday things- feather-dusters in the shape of peacocks, Mao-inspired bowls, nail-clippers masquerading as pretty lady-bugs, etc. Reminds me of some of the Alessi stuff, but more whimsical.

I don't know, at the end of the day, I'm not sure if I could live in New York though; yes, it's teeming with life, vibrant, diverse, rich in so many ways, has everything I love- books, food, shopping, art, music- it is Life encapsulated (good, bad, young old, struggling, successful) and then some more. But living in such a huge city can also be a very alienating experience I suspect, depressing even. It's the lonely crowd syndrome I guess. Well, I won't really know until we do but till then, I'm quite happy to be back in little Ann Arbor where I know where everything is and where I can get away with throwing a jacket over my PJs and going to the store for milk at 2am in the morning...

NYC

A million people — manners free and superb — open voices — hospitality — the most courageous and friendly young men,
City of hurried and sparkling waters! city of spires and masts!
City nested in bays! my city!
-- "Mannahatta," Walt Whitman

I deserve this break. It's not a need, it's not a want- I deserve it. Period. Of all the vacations I've ever had, I honestly have to say that this is one of the few I believe I've earned. So if it means me coming home a few hundred dollars poorer and more than several pounds heavier, so be it. I DESERVE THIS, remember?

We leave for New York on Wednesday and I'm so ready (in fact, I've been ready for the past four weeks..). Thankfully, a good friend helped us get a deal at the Doubletree Metropolitan on the East side of town so we don't have to clutch our bags and hearts in fear of dank and sleazy rooms. It's close to just about everywhere so that's great. No slushy jostling on the subway with prickly New Yorkers. Jude & I had hoped that we would make it to the city in time for The Gates displays in Central Park but that ended yesterday. I spent the last 2 weeks reading about those stunning saffron cloths- it would have been wonderful to be able to get a picture or just stand beneath them. Oh well, on the bright side there ARE seven hundred and thirty-two other things to do in three and a half days in New York...

Just a few on our list:
1) The museums. The three-month old newly opened MOMA is top priority followed by The Met. There's just something about museums that I find very alluring. I'm no consummate art maven; I might appreciate it a little more than the average person, but I don't think I could hold an intelligent conversation about composition, tone and aesthetics for more than an hour. But just to be in the presence of great art is an awesome experience and I think that's what it is about museums which give me that rush. The prospect of being able to see the Matisses, Picassos, Chagalls, Klimts and Rothkos in their entirety alone is worth this journey. Jude's also looking forward to catching the Bill Viola exhibit at the Whitney. He's idolized the man since his theatre days so this is going to be a real treat.

2) The food. Duh... No. 1 on our list is Nonya, a Singaporean restaurant some people say is even more authentic than it is back home. Beef rendang, chicken rice, mee goreng... I feel my stomach clenching already. Help... someone... please... And something Jude and I have been dying to have for the longest time is a decent bowl of ramen. I'm not referring to those dried squares of egg noodles with MSG-laden packs of seasoning- you know that right? We're talking the authentic Japanese deal here in its rich resplendent glory... Nothing warms the cockles of this girl's heart like a steaming bowl of noodles. Well, there's always a steaming mug of freshly brewed coffee, but you know that already...

3) The shopping, although I doubt I'm going to have time to do as much of this as I would like. There's Chinatown and Canal Street for those genuine kate spade and Coach knock-offs (grad students+ shoppping= cheap), and since we're on the theme of cheap, we'll probably be heading for the city's largest flea market on 6th and 26th Aves just before we leave. I've always loved flea markets (any open-air markets for that matter)- the people, the little trinkets and gems you end up finding for ridiculously low prices. I like...

There's clearly a whole bunch of other things we want to do (and hopefully might just be able to find time to, e.g. Arto Lindsay at Tonic for some experimental bossa) but we do only have 84 hours. Jude and I have decided that it's a good thing we didn't end up doing our PhDs in NY- we'd never graduate (because we would have squandered all our time and money on the very things we're going to squander our time and money on on this trip). So yes, the ironic blessing of a Midwestern college town...

"I want to thank the Academy..."

I've done it again- I've NOT watched everything I want to watch in time for the Oscars. We might be able to squeeze in one tomorrow but I don't think we'll find the time to do any more. Besides, some of them haven't even opened here yet (re: The Sea Inside). This New York Times article actually talks about Ann Arbor specifically not getting some of the Oscar movies even though they opened on the coasts before Christmas. The drawback (amongst many others) of living in a Midwestern college town...

Anyway, every year, my best friend and I cast off any semblance of maturity and dignity, and give ourselves in to the mania known as Oscar fever. We've been known to cut classes, take time off work, and basically rework our lives in a way where that 3 hours and 47 minutes is absolutely and totally sacrosanct. Until I started teaching, we even watched it together in her dorm room for four years in a row. The first year we couldn't, we were on the phone throughout the whole ceremony...

So anyway, recently, we decided to put our money where our mouths are and started wagering. There's technically no money involved- last year's wager was a latte and we haven't figured what it'll be this year. But she's a lawyer now, so she can afford to buy me a meal when I go home. Jude of course will have no part in any of this- he belives it's all rigged and that the Oscars is just a self-congratulatory gesture on Hollywood's part to remind itself of its own importance. Bah-hambug!

My predictions range from those I truly believe should win, those who will win but don't deserve to by a long shot, and others who are on my list for no other reason than my attempt at informed clairvoyance- c'mon, how many documentary short subject films do I look like I have time to watch? And was I really paying attention to the sound editing in Spiderman 2??

Best Picture: THE AVIATOR (because it has all the pedigree trappings of a winner, kind of like Chicago over The Hours which is one of the biggest travesties in Hollywood history if you ask me.)
Best Actor: Jamie Foxx
Best Actress: Annette Bening (she should win it from Hilary Swank this year who's an actress, like Renee Zellweger (*snigger*) who's only as good as the script)
Best Supporting Actor: Morgan Freeman (hello, it's Morgan Freeman, although until I watched Robin Hood and The Shawshank Redemption, I thought he was just some guy in Electric Company)
Best Supporting Actress: Virginia Madsen (because they have to compensate for Paul Giamatti not getting a nomination and Sideways not winning...)
Best Director: Clint Eastwood
Best Foreign Film: THE SEA INSIDE
Best Original Screenplay: ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND (need I say more?)
Best Adapted Screenplay: SIDEWAYS
Best Animated Feature: THE INCREDIBLES (favorite character- Edna Mode the designer: "Pull yourself together! *whack whack*)
Best Art Direction: THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA
Best Cinematography: A VERY LONG ENGAGEMENT (because of the injustice of it not being nominated for Best Foreign Film which it should have been able to win hands down)
Best Sound: THE AVIATOR
Best Sound Effects Editing: THE INCREDIBLES
Best Editing: THE AVIATOR
Best Original Score: FINDING NEVERLAND
Best Original Song: Learn To Be Lonely (THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA)
Best Costume: THE AVIATOR
Best Documentary Feature: BORN INTO BROTHELS
Best Documentary (short subject): THE CHILDREN OF LENINGRADSKY
Best Make-Up: LEMONY SNICKET'S A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS
Best Animated Short Film: LORENZO
Best Live Action Short Film: WASP
Best Visual Effects: SPIDER-MAN 2

Epiphany

Now I know how Tom Cruise felt in Jerry Maguire when he's suddenly struck by this moral epiphany and decides to change his entire philosophy about sports management. I'm not changing careers here don't worry- what it is though is that at this moment, I'm clearer than ever about why I'm doing what I'm doing.

Because I love it.

For the past month, I've been so overwhelmed by my teaching responsibiltiies and class assignments that I'd forgotten about why I decided to come back to school in the first place, the reason why I wasn't content with just a Masters degree and the driving force behind me waking up in the morning and NOT feeling awful about where I am. I'd forgotten to enjoy myself and appreciate the things I'm learning here. I think I've gained more knowledge and grown so much more intellectually here in the past year and a half than I've had throughout my entire education in Singapore. The ideas I've been made to think, the arguments I'd never before conceived of making have quite simply been remarkable considering the kind of student I'd always thought I was. I was never the brilliant one in class and I never felt I had to be. My parents didn't bring me up to be the kind of competitive over-achiever that many Singaporeans tend to be. I did the best I could and got by with decent grades.

But in the past 18 months, I've been challenged as I'd never been before but I've also done better than I'd ever done before. It's like my mind found the perfect environment for itself and before you know it, I was relishing the idea of attending classes, going through the tons of reading even if it meant staying up till three in the morning, and even now with the unbelievable amount of work I have, I still love every bit of what I do. I just have to keep reminding myslef that.

There isn't really quite a point to this post, just me going off on my stream of consciousness about how excited I am again about being in school. I know it might sound bizarre to many of you but I am. It's with an incredible feeling of exhilaration that I'm writing this. There's so much more ahead of me to learn and gain and I honestly cannot wait. More importantly, I can't wait to use what I learn to help the people who need it most. I keep telling my advisor that I don't want to just end up and education academic, I don't want to lock myself up in some ivory tower of a research university- no matter how prestigous- and lose sight of why I chose this field to begin with. I want to work with disadvantaged children- children in schools, children who can't go to school, work with teachers who work with these children, families of these children, etc. I want to work for an institution that cares about children who don't get the kind of education they deserve, whether it's because of the families they come from or the places in which they live. All this is very liberating because I know that with what I've learnt- whether it's social science statistics, urban demographics, civil justice or something as seemingly obtuse as pedagogical theory- and the knowledge and skills I will continue to gain, there's so much I can do to help them, in a way that was not open to me as a classroom teacher.

So that's my attempt at a personal statement- crystallized on the bus ride home and expectorated in ten minutes. I'm not sure if I'll someday look back at this and wonder what on earth I was thinking of, but for this moment, I'm feeling strangely empowered and very very happy about what I'm doing.

I hope I'll always feel this way.

In the bleak midwinter

We had one of the nicest afternoons in Ann Arbor today; despite the blizzard and ridiculous bucketloads of snow, we spent a warm, satisfying three hours at Eve celebrating a friend's birthday. There was great food, an ambience we one day hope to recreate in a home of our own, free flow of delicious coffee and the company of close friends. It's times like these that make us glad we're in grad school (you would think it's about the stimulating environment and intellectual challenge right? Nope- sorry folks, we're in grad school for the free flowing caffeine and warm home-made biscuits at pretty bistros...)

Jude also went snap-happy with our new digital camera so here are a whole ton of experimental pics. They're of various degrees of clarity, color and composition- some as a result of deliberate design, others by sheer fumbling. We're still learning the different functions of our fancy-schmancy full manual digicam- there're like seven different modes, three color options, and I don't know how many other little things you can fiddle with to tweak the photos. We promise to get a hang of it soon and take some nice shots of Ann Arbor in winter (which can be really pretty sometimes) and hopefully New York as it creeps into early spring.

Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY Chris & Billie!!

La mala educación

So we just came back from the painfully unnerving but yet very very good Bad Education. I've only watched a couple of Almodovar's movies and like Talk to Her very much (the soundtrack by Caetano Veloso & Alberto Iglesias- who also does the stirring soundtrack for Bad Education- is excellent). Many critics have described the movie as a homage to Hitchcock and the entire film noir genre but that makes Almodovar seem like a mere acolyte and not the unique artist that he is. I haven't watched enough of his films to know when to call a film distinctively Almodovaresque (apart from his asexual obssession with women) but I do know that the combination of style, emotion, kitsch/ camp, imagination and even humor are trademarks that few directors before him, and I doubt many after, have or will exhibit.

Watch the movie for the wonderfully layered plot- it's been a while since someone has used the "play-within-a-play" to such seamless and unexpected effect. If not that, then watch it for Gael Garcia Bernal. Pronounced "GAH-ELL", I personally know at least five women whose knees just give way at the mere echo of that name... But really ladies, after this movie, I doubt you'll be able to take his heterosexuality as a given any more. Honestly.

Goce de la película!

I'm a closet groupie.

"We are not groupies... We're here because of the music. We are band aids."
- Penny Lane (Kate Hudson), "Almost Famous"

Ok, so why am I sitting here in front of my computer instead of being at the Michigan Theatre singing my lungs out with Keane? Because the concert's sold out that's why, and has been for the past 2 weeks. As a dear friend explicitly instructed (and that's putting things mildly), I was to "cast off (my) yoke of work and all that teaching mumbo-jumbo and GOOOOO!" (quote unquote). I suspect it was also a "request" borne out of her regret at catching Franz Ferdinand in Reading instead of Keane at Glastonbury... They're a great band (check out "Somewhere Only We Know", "Everybody's Changing", and "This is the Last Time"- what am I saying?? buy the whole darn album!) They remind me of how I felt when I bought Coldplay's first album- sooooo good. The Coldplay concert was fabulous too, and a double-bill with Travis no less- one of the most amazing three hours of my life. Oh and it was one of the first dates Jude and I had so yes, like I said, amazing...

Anyways, so British bands- I'm beginning to think that the land of fish-and-chips and Harrods produces really awesome bands- think The Beatles, U2, Radiohead, Belle and Sebastian, and of course now Coldplay, Travis and Keane. Now clearly, my music-guru-rabid-downloader-critic of a husband has the last say on these things, but honestly, the Brits just make great music. They're rock-solid lyricists and less formulaic in their arrangements no? Nothing against wonderful American bands like The Pixies, The Shins, and Death Cab for Cutie though- just my two-cents worth.

And just to make an honest comparison, Jude and I might just venture out West this summer to The Coachella Valley Music Festival, a two-day mega-music event held in California every year. I'm not even going to begin to describe the acts that will be appearing- suffice to say we're half-way towards getting our tickets there even if it means Jude having to miss his graduation... Coldplay, Cocteau Twins, Wilco, The Arcade Fire, Keane- enough said... Told you I was a closet groupie.

Since we're on the topic of music, I thought to just give a shout out to some friends of ours: The Observatory are a group of people Jude used to play with back home in Singapore and they're actually going to be opening for a Chicago band called Tortoise when they tour in Singapore- very very exciting... Aside from the fact that Jude knows them, they are really quite good- us groupies adore nothing less than perfection. Another dear friend will also one day join the ranks of musicians with the profound privilege of having groupies- they may not all look like Kate Hudson, but there'll be groupies no less. The first time I heard his music, I was convinced he was just a very meticulous guitar tuner; 20 minutes later, I realized that was part of his performance. But it grows on you- really!- and I'm sure when he releases his first album, many people out there are going to feel the same way too (no, not that he's a great guitar tuner, that his music is wonderful...). Ladies and gentlemen, The Rattling Wall Collection in Dutch.

"Light the first light of evening..."

Imagining a contentment so pure it's hard to think of this as a poem about love... Happy Valentine's Day.

FINAL SOLILOQUY OF THE INTERIOR PARAMOUR

Light the first light of evening, as in a room
In which we rest and, for small reason, think
The world imagined is the ultimate good.

This is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous.
It is in that thought that we collect ourselves,
Out of all the indifferences, into one thing:

Within a single thing, a single shawl
Wrapped tightly round us, since we are poor, a warmth,
A light, a power, the miraculous influence.

Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves.
We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole,
A knowledge, that which arranged the rendezvous.

Within its vital boundary, in the mind.
We say God and the imagination are one . . .
How high that highest candle lights the dark.

Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.

-Wallace Stevens

Death of A Good Man

So I found out this morning that Arthur Miller died yesterday. Jude's a huge fan- he went through all of Miller's stuff in his theatre program in undergrad; as for me, I've read enough to admire both his literary brilliance and social/ political convictions. I don't think you have to be an American living in the '50s to understand the political hysteria which motivates The Crucible or Willy Loman's middle-calss ennui in Death of a Salesman. Miller was a U-M alum and visited the university last year. I'm sure that as a playwright and an international literary icon, he will be dearly missed.

"Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets."
- Arthur Miller

新年快乐, 万事如意

Happy Lunar New Year everyone! Just spoke to my family on the phone and am now rolling in agony at missing out on all the pineapple tarts, bah kwa (sweet barbecued pork jerky), love letters and most importantly my mum's Chinese New Year dishes for the second year running. BUT, I'm also secretly grateful since Jude and I haven't ever had to dispense those little "ang pows" that married couples are obliged to give younger members of the family. Let's see, I have 2 sisters, 20 cousins and 6 nephews/ nieces- you go do the math... Advice to soon-to-be-married couples: leave the country six weeks after your wedding and do something overseas that prevents you from going home during Chinese New Years until your bank account is deep enough. You'll miss your family to death, but your pocket will thank you...

We're not doing anything special- it's just not the same here as it is at home- no Chinatown (yes, I do miss the sweaty jostling, the insane traffic, and how we used to tell ourselves every year we would never go there over Chinese New Year, but still do year after year...), no pussy willow, and the weather's a little of a damper; but I did make "bah kut teh" last night- it's a peppery herbal pork broth and very comforting this time of the year. It's not a personal favorite but Jude loves it so that was good. Oh and just for that authentic Oriental touch today, we had Chinese take-out for dinner. Seriously. And this is what my fortune cookie said: "Love is like sweet medicine- wonderful to the last drop." As much as I'm gagging at the terribly misplaced analogy, in the light of imminent Valentine's Day, I shall swallow (pun very much intended) this wise advice as my stomach mourns another year without pineapple tarts...

Therapy

It's been a really long week and on Wednesday, I really thought I was on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Juggling research, teaching and coursework is turning out to be a little more overwhelming that I'd expected. I'm not complaining- I really do enjoy everything I'm doing and am learning so much in the process. I just wish I could find some time to sit down and figure out exactly 1) how this all fits in my life (or how my life fits in all this to be more precise...), 2) how to do them all and do them well, 3) find some common thread that binds this constellation of things together in a way that makes what I do more coherent and less me zipping around doing a little of everything but not being good at much of anything, and 4) finding time to really enjoy this whole experience instead of feeling so drained every week playing catch-up.

I think the most rewarding thing I do right now- but also the most difficult- is teaching. Oh I love doing it, don't get me wrong. I'd thought it would be difficult to get back in the classroom again, and teaching American undergrads at that, but it isn't really. Being a teacher was a huge part of me then and I realized it might always be. There's just something very gratifying about putting a thought in someone's head which wasn't there a moment ago; that you've helped someone create knowledge that until you pointed the way, didn't exist in their mind. And this transcends age- it feels the same teaching little boy Alex about caterpillars and butterflies as it does discussing the inequities of school finance with 20-year old "I-want-to-be-sorority-president" Amanda. Which is why teaching would-be teachers is something I don't take lightly. I'm not teaching a methods class which is more the "how-to"s and "what-to"s of teaching; I do the more intangible things, the "why-to"s: the politics and sociology that surround education. But whatever the case may be, teaching teachers is tricky; it isn't just about teaching, but being very intentional about your teaching. It involves exposing to them the mechanics of MY teaching them so that they know what goes into teaching as a craft. It's like they need to see the invisible parts of teaching, and know that it's not easy, natural, and people are not "born with it." When I taught in Singapore, I tried to make my teaching seem effortless- my students should never know the planning that goes into what I do. To them, I was to be the person who knew it all, who came into class and taught with great ease because she was the consummate teacher.

But when teaching teachers, I have to literally unveil to my students what actually goes into me teaching them- the thinking, the planning, the ordering, the questioning... It may seem invisible, but only if you watch the final process and not the steps involved in that process. In a sense, I have to treat my students now not as students per se but would-be colleagues with whom I should share the rudiments of teaching. Now that's something new I'd never thought about until recently.

So as you can see, I've got a lot on my plate right now, and I haven't even started talking about my advanced statistics class (where I actually have to write programs in UNIX) and the early childhood research I'm doing... But this weekend has been uplifting and destressing in many ways: we had a nice sushi meal yesterday, spent two hours just mindlessly talking with friends over beer and garlic fries last night, our new digital camera finally arrived, the weather was gorgeous today (a.k.a. the sun was shining and I didn't have to spend 15 minutes dressing up to go out); and we just watched Finding Neverland, at which I had a good cry (which is always carthartic on some perverse level). And now, it's back to the drawing board for the coming week. I so need Spring Break...

My deadly sin

I've always thought that if I had to admit to one deadly sin, it would be gluttony. I love food too much, which is also why I haven't been able to stay on a diet conscientiously for more than a month. I figured life is too short to deny myself that slice of chocolate cake... That and a complete & utter lack of self-discipline... But lately- no thanks to my online-window-shopping maven of a husband- I'm beginning to think I'm becoming guilty of avarice, maybe convetousness. I dunno, where (or how) does shopping fit in here? Lust? Just check this out...

The Gray Whale

I have an 11 year old sister, ok 12- her birthday's in 3 months. (At this age, being told she's 12 means a whole lot- go figure...) So anyway, for Christmas, against my better judgement, I bought her a Simple Plan poster even though my original intention was to get her the full set of Lemony Snicket books (in my not-so-subtle attempt to mold her in my image). Alas, apparently when you're 11 going on 12, books mean very little and Montreal-based punk rock bands mean a whole lot more. So she just received it (that's another story- don't go there) and also unceremoniously broke to me the news that not only did she buy the new Green Day album (she's 11! What does she know about walking the lonely road and the boulevard of broken dreams??!!), she's going to her first rock concert in March- Simple Plan of course...

So here I am, at the ripe old age of 28, suddenly assailed by maternal panic attacks at the prospect of my little girl growing up in a way I hadn't even entertained till a month ago. One moment ago she was a wee thing learning how to use chopsticks and the next, she's swearing undying devotion to some guy wielding drum sticks instead. Man... Jude says I should stop thinking like a mother and more like the sister I really am. I was like her when I was twelve too no? Ok fine, so I thought Tommy Page was God's gift to me and me alone and that New Kids on the Block were the coolest things to come my way since L.A. Gear high-cut sneakers. But I digress... Anyways, the point is that it's just hard seeing her grow up so fast, and without me by her side. That's one of the lousiest things about being here for the next four years- not being at home with my sis. Oh don't get me wrong, she's completely well-adjusted, very sensible and gets wonderful support from my other sister and parents. I just wish I were there too y'know, for what might potentially be the most tumultous years of her life thus far... Be there when she has her first crush (if she hasn't already), hug her when she comes home crying from that dramatic argument we've all had with best friends, defend her when my parents look at the phone bill, tell her what a big mistake it is when she wants to get a perm, ...

And yet, at the heart of every budding teen-queen is always a little girl and that little girl inside thankfully takes a little longer to grow up (I'm not even sure that part of me has grown up yet...) For some, the little girl is brought out by unicorns, for others, it's an unexplainable attachment to cotton-candy. For my sister Samantha, it's whales...

The Gray Whale (by Samantha Koh)
I am a gray whale
swimming in the sea
I just don't know why
people are trying to catch me
I am a living creature
having rights to live
Why must people like poachers
be so selfish
I just want to live
to live a normal life
Why must all these humans
kill me with those big sharp knives.

"Blessed are the forgetful..."

For those of you who came to our movie night, here's the Michel Gondry diagram as promised. It's amazing how it all seems so discombobulating as he conceptualized it but so *right* when translated into the movie; it's like yes, this makes so much sense! Honestly, Eternal Sunshine (this is a great review) has got to be one of the sweetest, smartest and most poignant love stories ever committed to film. Jude and I can't wait to get our hands on the soundtrack and the Special 2-Disc Collector's Edition DVD...

Joel: Is there any risk of brain damage?
Howard: Well, technically speaking, the operation is brain damage, but on a par with a night of heavy drinking. Nothing you'll miss.

[click for larger image]

Soul Food

So Jude and I were at the store the other day day and chanced upon what can only be considered a poultry deal of a lifetime- 10 lbs. of chicken for US$4.99! That's 49 cents a pound folks- talk about leading cheapened lives, those chickens had no clue if you ask me... But having bought it (and by now cooked it all), it's almost as if I'm torn by simultaneous feelings of glee, guilt and resignation. The satisfaction of such a steal is unquestionable, and on a graduate student budget no less; but there's also the nagging question of why the chicken was going at such a deal? Where were they from and what were they fed? Or injected with? Jude's convinced that at the rate we're eating poultry here (and the hormones that go into cultivating half-pound sized chicken legs), we're going to start clucking...

I wish we had the means to buy organic food, not just for the sake of our bodies but also for the merchants who sell them. Of course you can make the argument that places like Whole Foods (with their over-prized apples and stratospheric notions of how much cheese should cost) hardly need more revenue, but for every Whole Foods, there's a People's Food Co-Op which believes in the holistic health of the community- I don't mean holistic in the incense-burning, crystal-worshipping way, but a community's physical, social and economic vibrance. Therein lies the dilemma- I respect and want to support the principle behind organic food but it's just so darn expensive. Buying it on any regular basis is just not an option for Jude and I. We've taken to shopping a whole lot at Trader Joe's where we always find affordable and wonderful foods that are good for you (read: no artificial flavoring/ preservatives), but even then, the organic meats and vegetables are still not cheap.


What we try to do then is to cook at home a lot. No pan-roasted veal loin with au jus reduction or anything of course. Mostly pasta, stews, roast chicken- basically anything that's satisfying without feeling your arteries clogging or an attack of heartburn impending. We like cooking, and cooking together's always fun so that's nice. But more importantly, you know what you're putting in the food that's ultimately going into your body. There's just a very different feeling knowing that you've just had a home-cooked meal no matter how simple it might have been. A couple of weeks ago, Jude made me a hot bowl of noodles when I was down with the flu- there weren't any fancy ingredients, just noodles, water and miso paste. But it made me feel a whole lot better, and we're not just talking about my sinuses.

It's difficult sometimes to make time to eat at home, and with my crazy schedule this semester, even having a proper breakfast isn't always possible (should I sleep that extra 15 minutes or wake up to fix a sandwich?...) But we try. And at the end of the day, I believe it's worth it. You don't just save money, you save your bodies. And you know what else? I love cooking for my husband- not in a "1950s-surburbia-gingham-dress-with-apron" way, but a "little-things-you-do-for-the-person-you-love-so-you-wash-the bathroom-I'll-cook" way. Alton Brown from the Food Network says it well:

"Here’s what it comes down to kids. Ronald McDonald doesn’t give a damn about you. Neither does that little minx Wendy or any of the other icons of drivethroughdom. And you know what, they’re not supposed to. They’re businesses doing what businesses do. They don’t love you. They are not going to laugh with you on your birthdays, or hold you when you’re sick and sad. They won’t be with you when you graduate, when your children are born or when you die. You will be with you and your family and friends will be with you. And, if you’re any kind of human being, you will be there for them. And you know what, you and your family and friends are supposed to provide you with nourishment too. That’s right folks, feeding someone is an act of caring. We will always be fed best by those that care, be it ourselves or the aforementioned friends and family."

You're kidding me right?

I have decided to move from the planet. I’m sorry but I don't think I can live in a world where A Very Long Engagement is left out of the Best Foreign Picture list of Oscar nominees. Cinematography? Oh come on... Admittedly there's much to love about this year's nominations but for the moment, just let me go sit in the corner and mourn the death of good judgement for a while...

Suicide is painless

Most deadpan hilarious line from the incomprehensibly acclaimed, subliminally misogynistic, occasionally sweet yet on the whole over-rated Sideways:

"Hemingway, Sexton, Plath, Woolf — you can't commit suicide until you're published."
-- Miles (Paul Giamatti), "Sideways"

The movie was ok, but the writing was great.

A girl, a boy and a band

Last night reinforced my belief that sometimes, the best concert venues are small intimate clubs rather than huge stadium-like arenas. We watched the Hem concert at Ann Arbor's very own The Ark, a non-profit theatre and apparently one of the country's best-kept performance venue secrets. It was a wonderfully cozy and warm, and the audience made up of your typical college town folks: liberal leaning grad students, Whole Foods-embracing middle class parents, baby-boomer professors whose teenage idol was, and continues to be Bob Dylan, and your oddball hippie who probably graduated with a PhD in classical Greek twenty years ago and never brought himself to leave this place... All in all, a cool bunch.

Hem was ok I guess- they sound like the music of Karen Carpenter meets Emmylou Harris meets Jane Siberry. What's most fascinating about them is that they're from Brooklyn but sound as if they came straight out from south of the Mason-Dixon line. We're talking as close to bluegrass as possible without actually being bluegrass. Folksy Americana- if that actually means anything... The band sounds great on CD- lead vocalist Sally Ellyson has one of the most ethereal voices I've ever heard, and they use the glockenspiel, mandolin and pedal steel guitar to such enchanting effect. But as a live band, their opening acts stole their show last night.

Dawn Landes and David Mead opened for Hem and they were wonderful. Landes sings back-up for Hem, but on her own, she was sublime. It wasn't even that she has the strongest vocals; in fact, I think it's because her voice was a little timorous at times that made her singing so appealing for me. So there are people who sing from the lungs, and those who sing from the diaphragm; Dawn Landes sings from the heart, her heart. It's like listening to your best friend singing to you in your own living room. And she was so sweet, and polite, and... grateful almost for the attention and applause. It was absolutely refreshing listening to someone who seemed to believe that it was an honor- not a right- to be on stage.

David Mead was a blast too. Jude thinks he's a cross between David Gray and Rufus Wainwright. I think the way he plays the keyboards reminds me a little of Ben Folds too. He was funny- somewhat bawdy songs written to melodies only (in his own words) "a struggling solo singer-songwriter" can. In fact, his opening track was "A Bucket of Girls", splendidly written as a prayer to the Lord for, yup, a bucket of girls...

I guess what I liked about both Landes and Mead was their lack of guile. They were simply two people who happened to enjoy singing, are blessedly good at it, and just happy to be sharing their craft with a bunch of coffee-drinking, beer-sipping people who appreciate them. Their music made me happy last night, the kind of happy that makes you think of hot chocolate, sunflowers and freshly laundered sheets. It was nice, very nice...

"Forget about the plot... and focus just on the visuals."

These are the wise words of Roger Ebert and good ones to keep in mind as you enter the theatre to watch Zhang Yimou's highly-touted (but now in our view, highly over-rated) House of Flying Daggers. Zhang Yimou has always made beautiful films (see Raise the Red Lantern and Ju Dou), but the cinematography in those movies have always been in service of the plot. The most striking scene in Raise the Red Lantern in my opinion is the one where servants are made to unveil huge black lanterns to hang outside Gong Li's concubine quarters to represent her "banishment". The visual impact of those looming black lanterns (as opposed to the symbolically and literally powerful red ones) and the almost operatic movement of something as prosaic as dust are stunning in and of themselves; but they have a greater purpose, to carry the themes of thwarted desire, sexual enslavement, and the profound politics among husband, wives and concubines in feudal China.

Sadly, there is no such depth in House of Flying Daggers. It is a lavish film- stylistically marvellous and visually sumptuous. However, that is all it has going for it. I thought Zhang Yimou was already going the way of style over substance in Hero, but at least there, the colors played as much a thematic as well as cinematographic function. In Flying Daggers, it's all style; and the plot, while gripping in parts, reduced the audience to laughter in the end when I'm sure the opposite reaction was what was intended.

And incomprehensibly, Zhang Yimou ends the film with an Oriental-inspired English aria; I'm not sure if that's only for the American release, but even then, it seems too much like pandering to me. Also, lead actress Zhang Ziyi recently made a small but significant change to her name- Ziyi Zhang, putting her last name behind as is convention on Western shores. It's meant to symbolize her transition to international stardom, but some may also see it as a sucuumbing to the pressures of Hollywood celebrity. While there's something to be said about opening up the Chinese film industry, there's also much value in maintaining diginity and fidelity to your art.

One interesting thing I did take away from Flying Daggers though is a strangely greater appreciation for the Chinese language. Maybe it's being away from home and feeling a more acute awareness of my heritage but watching the movie made me truly understand the concept of things being lost in the translation. I guess Mandarin is a more metaphorical language than English and so many Chinese metaphors are used naturally in regular conversation that they sound awkward when literally translated in the subtitles. I had to translate a whole bunch of Chinese articles for Jude some time ago (believe it or not, all done without a dictionary! Thank you, thank you very much...) and realized how little I had appreciated the lyricism of the language. (It's amazing how much your regard for a language increases when you don't have to take an exam for it...). And so for those of you who read Mandarin, a line from the film (which got really mucked-up in the subtitles, so you can imagine how it lost its punch): "我名是随风...风流的风..."; for the rest of you, there's always Babel Fish. Trust me, it's hilarious...

Smoot

So apparently, in 1958, as a fraternity pledge, the brilliantly twisted minds of the Lamda Chi Alpha house of MIT decided to use Oliver Smoot to "re-measure" the Harvard bridge, an endeavor that finally ascertained the bridge to be 364.4 Smoots and one ear long. This article provides the interesting details.

I bring this up not to highlight the already well-documented eccentricities of people with over-developed mendulla oblongatas (our one friend from MIT will forgive my impudence no? *wink*), but as a reflection of my own new-found unit of measurement. As the not-so-proud owner of a new iPod (whose questionable origins have apparently gained infamous reknown in some circles), I've realized that it is ostensibly possible to approximate the time I take to go places by the number of songs I hear as I get there (unless of course I'm listening to Jude's Deep Dish Essential Mix which goes on for an hour and fifty-seven minutes, in which case I could drive to the border of Canada and back and it'd still be playing...) So today, it took me the first stanza and chorus of Letter for Elise by The Cure to get from our doorstep to the bus-stop, two and a little bit more of Pete Yorn's songs for the bus-ride, and Etta James' At Last! took me to a couple of steps just before my office door (I would have listened to that twice actually- it was our wedding song; but another time...). So maybe 20- 22 minutes?... It took an extra song and a half yesterday when I stopped to get coffee, but that's about right.

The trip home is a little trickier to calculate because I chatted with a friend on the way without switching the iPod off, so maybe Aztec Camera's Oblivious and Frou Frou's Let Go from class to the bus-stop (including the delay), the nihilistic Motorcycle Emptiness (Manic Street Preachers) and Transatlanticism (Death Cab for Cutie) for the ride, and Outkast's Hey Ya buoyantly accompanied me to the post-box and home.

I've stopped counting how many people have told me that getting the iPod was a life-changing moment in their lives- equivalent to say, turning 21 and having a baby... For me, it just makes going to school and home a lot more fun.