Four wheels good, two wheels better.

Just back from a run. The ordeal has been less painful lately, probably because I've been doing it more regularly and my body's sucked it in and given up resisting the pain I put it through. It's still a constant struggle to run harder and farther though. I figured in the long run, I can't keep running at the same pace and for the same distance. Either that or I should find a new sport to occupy myself (my best friend is so going to balk at the notion of me thinking of a SPORT to kill time. All through my school years, I've never passed any fitness test, primarily because I always failed the running segment. Ironic...). Jude and I have toyed with the idea of:
1) Tennis (not enough arm strength nor stamina, although my cousin Jill, a puny girl 16 years younger than I and school champ has offered more than once to coach me...);
2) Swimming (in this region, what are you going to do the other 6 months of the year? And I have my doubts about the sanitary conditions of the indoor pools here...);
3) Rock-climbing (it's indoors so that takes care of the weather, and the prospect of being able to climb like Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible 2 is rather alluring, so I'm considering...); and most lately,
4) Cycling. No it's not a Lance Armstrong thing; it's more a "taking-advantage-of-the-pretty parks-in-the-area" thing. Besdies, it's also a cheap mode of transportation and you could conceivably ride in Ann Arbor till late-November.

So we've been bike-shopping- comparing prices, specs, suitability, that kind of thing. We kinda like what we saw yesterday but being the bargain-hunter that he is, my husband will stop at nothing to get the best deal, and he always does :)



What I really really want though is a zippy Vespa. They've modernized it a little without losing the retro feel and it'll be fun to have that mobility without the cost. Jude always says that in our ideal household, we ought to have a car, two bikes, and a scooter. That's provided we have stunning incomes, live in a climatically less insane area, and where fellow drivers are courteous rather than homicidal sociopaths.

Defence

All done. This might be the fastest blog recovery in history- less than an hour and everything's pretty much up and going- Tag-Board and Flickr included.

Please, whoever you are, don't do this again. I type fast and I'm not stupid. The coding is tedious but brainless, so getting things back isn't that big a deal. What disgusts me is the callous disregard for someone else's work. I may not have designed the template but someone talented out there did and this is the product of her toil. This is our blog (note POSSESSIVE pronoun)- time, thought and effort has been put into getting it to help us share of ourselves with our friends and family.

Stay away.

!!!

Believe it or not, the blog's been hacked! We lost everything except the posts and some of the graphics... As you can see, I'm repairing the damage right now... Geeez... and just when I was so proud of my HTML coding. Figures, hubris... This isn't even a celebrity blog like Xiaxue's or anything... If I find out who and how someone managed to do this, things are not going to be pretty.

I'm pissed.

New Template

So, we finally found a template we like that has a little something of the both of us. I love the the way the frothy blue plays against the assertive brown, and the contrast between the primitivism of the butterflies and the industrialism of the train is wonderfully intriguing- like getting lost in a naturalist's nightmare... Besides, since The Arcade Fire is one of Jude's favorite bands, this is perfect. We were actually toying with the idea of buying an Arcade Fire poster, but they were too expensive, so I guess having a blog that looks like one is the next best thing.

There are still some kinks I'm fiddling with (like finding out what on earth is going on with Tag-Board and how to fit in Jude's Flickr bar), but for the moment, we're happy with how this looks.

What say you?

Guess who?

Guess who's going to be home for Christmas and New Year for the first time in three years? Guess who got his conference paper accepted in Singapore and managed to wrangle the university into paying for his ticket home? Guess who learnt from their mistake and booked December air tickets in July instead of September? Guess who can't wait to do Christmas shopping with her sisters and cousins again? Guess! Guess! Guess!

2046

There was a period in my life where I firmly believed I was born in the wrong era. Had I been a woman in Pre-Raphaelite England where a full figure was revered, I would have had people write poetry about me, sculpt my likeness in alabaster, and kiss the ground I walk on. Ok, there is always the chance that I could have been born a kitchen wench, and I couldn't have voted or gone to the university, but at least I wouldn't have had to diet. So there... Call me shallow.

But now, I want to live in Singapore/ Hong Kong in the '60s. I want to dress in a Shantung cheongsam everyday. I want to paint my nails blood-red, line my eyes dramatically with kohl, and drawl on a cigarette lazily while my lover looks on with melancholic desire. I want to live in a hotel perpetually drenched in the scent of passion- both rapturous and repressed, wear three-inch heels, walking langourously as if it were the easiest thing in the world to do. I want to take a train to a place, a time where things never change and where memories are real. I want to fall in love like I was drugged. And I want Tony Leung to look at me as if I grip the madness of his soul.

Announcement

Finally, KCRW's Morning Becomes Eclectic is podcasting!

Us Kids Know

Today Serene and I walked into a record store for the first time in a long, long while. I meant to get a turntable last weekend so that I can at least get a couple of albums via vinyl and save a couple of bucks. (Here in Ann Arbor, vinyls are cheaper than CDs. Go figure. Everywhere else in the world it's the other way around) Anyway, we were browsing around in Schoolkids Records in Exile on State Street and the temptation was just too much. There were so many items on my "to-get" list that I literally had to rationalize and prioritize what I wanted. Eversince I sold all my records at home, I have decidedly changed my music shopping ways and have a NEED TO BUY criteria only. And so I decided to get the band that's got my goat ever since I first heard them- The Arcade Fire. I don't know what it is but this band always gets my brain's and body's attention everytime their music comes on. And today I decided to buy their self-titled debut EP. Though a much simpler effort than the towering and raucous 'Funeral', I can certainly see where Arcade Fire's roots lie ... that of youthful rebellion. I don't know, I may be getting old, but the lyrics of 'No cars go' still hit me somewhere between my rounding gut and my last rib ....

No Cars Go

Planes! Ships! Hey!
no Cars Go! Hey!
No Cars Go!
Where We know!
Spaceships! Subs! Hey!
Us Kids Know! Hey!
No Cars Go!
Where We know!
Between the click of the light and the start of the dream!



//jude//

Ch#$b*@ is the new hip

All I ever wanted when I was in primary school was for my name to be called every Monday morning at assembly to go on stage to receive a Speak Good English badge. The Speak Good English campaign was initiated throughout schools in the '80s as part of the government's endeavor to wipe out the use of vernacular dialects and encourage the use of Standard English.

Twenty years later, one blog and one overnight sensation of a blogger comes along and pulls off a coup- not only is the oft-considered crass-and-coarse Hokkien suddenly a celebratory instrument of opinion, he has unwittingly (or not) propelled a Hokkien swear word to celebrity status, making it officially the first curse phrase to appear in our national press.



For an extended guide on the origins and use of this word, click here.

We can't help it- we're devoted readers... Rockson, you rock!

To the ecstasy of love...

[click for book recommendation]

Dance Me to the End of Love

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove

Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

Let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone
Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon
Show me slowly what I only know the limits of

Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long
We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above

Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the children who are asking to be born
Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn
Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn

Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove

Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

-Madeleine Peyroux (lyrics originally by Leonard Cohen)

Finished product

Ta-da! This is how the table looks like re-assembled. You can't really see the sheen from the photo but it does look a lot better than it did 11 hours ago. We still can't put stuff on it, but at least it's in the house and blending in nice with the rest of the furniture.

Home Improvement

To describe it best, today was one extended Tim-Allen-meets-Martha Stewart moment. After sleeping in till noon, indulgently reading every section of the NYT, and a light lunch of gyoza with Chinese veggies, Jude and I jumped straight into the chores we've been putting off for the longest time with every conceivable excuse (mid-terms, friend visiting, 4th of July, bad weather, sloth...).

First I re-potted all my indoor plants which I suspect have been struggling these last couple of months; especially my little roses which bloomed so prettily in spring, but look more like wannabe bonsais these day (a.k.a. bare and dry, and without the elegant postures no less).



We also bought some new plants for the little plot we have in front and at the back of the house. Jude insisted on a yew bush (get it? get it?) so we got a bobbink yew which is supposed to be really hardy in the winter. Flowers like lilies and sunflowers would look really nice but come October, my yard will be the graveyard of flowers- it would have been too depressing. We figure shrubs and bushes are a more sensible choice in the long run and might be more interesting in case we decide to add other plants around them. The yew looks a little puny now but it grows pretty fast so it should look good by the time my birthday comes round when my parents and sisters come visit! :)



For the backyard, we chose two young lavender plants. I love the smell of lavender- so calming. Lavender and wildflower honey are the two smells/ tastes which remind me most of Australia and they bring back really wonderful memories so I'm glad we got them. The lavender plants are a tad small right now but they smell gorgeous already. Can't wait till they get bigger. Imagine the fragrance wafting through the house...



Our biggest project was re-staining a table our friends Dave & Jen gave us. After the couch, this is out favorite piece of furniture. It looks more like a handyman's work table (which is why we love it), and comes with two benches. It's was handmade and the varnish was peeling off. We had to painstakingly strip and then re-stain it. We wanted to make sure the table's really protected so ended up using a resin/ epoxy mix to coat it. Man it was hard work! Thank god the table top was removable from the legs so we could work outside. First the stripping took at least two hours, and then the varnishing another hour. Now we have to wait seven hours before we can move it, and to dry completely, it's another seventy-two hours! In fact, I'm writing this as I'm sitting on my front steps watching the varnish dry (yes, gives new meaning to the term "watching paint dry"...) We're afraid the neighbors' kids might come by and touch it- not so much that they might spoil the stain, but that they might get epoxy on their hands. It's toxic (smells it too...).



It's now 7.57 pm, my clothes are so dirty they would walk to the washer themselves if they could (not my line- adapted from my beloved best friend...), I'm more thirsty than hungry, I'm so pooped I can barely haul myself upstairs to shower, and we have three hours before we can move the table.

No wonder Tim and Martha get paid to do what they do...

Books

The paradox of having been an English major (for me at least), is that one ends up reading a whole lot of books because you have to, and not enough of those you want to. Being a product of the Singapore education system, I read my assigned readings slavishly and thoroughly, forsaking the allure of more attractive alternatives in the name of The Exam. I really don't think my life would have been very different had I not read Elizabeth Gaskell's Mary Barton, Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises (God bless the Marlon Brando of American literature, but bull-fighting and ennui just do not figure together in my literary psyche), or Flann O'Brien's At Swim Two Birds. I constantly appall myself (and am sure outrage the literary snobs of the world) that I've not read Ulysees (although I did read Portrait of a Young Man as an Artist), I don't remember enough of Moby Dick to claim to have read it (*gasp*), and no, I haven't read (nor do I want to) Julius Caesar (double *gasp*). I did go through the mandatory Sylvia Plath Ariel/ Bell Jar phase that descends upon all literary-leaning young women who yearn to be the melancholic beauty that was she. I devised a whole theory about the difference between male and female suicide just from reading The Bell Jar. For women, it's all about the beautiful death- nothing must happen to your face. That's why women drown, slit their wrists, and stuff their heads in ovens. Men shoot themselves, jump off buildings, and stand in front of moving vehicles. Not pretty. Women are from Venus, and men from Mars.

Anyways, this wasn't meant to be a post about killing myself. I wanted to talk about books. So ironically, I only managed to start reading for leisure when I started teaching, and now during summer and Christmas breaks. I like it alot better this way actually- less pressure to deconstruct and analyze, and more about enjoying the prose and poetry for itself. Just finished The Time Traveler's Wife (see sidebar) and it was wonderful. I might just have to read the last twenty pages again since things were basically a blur of tears between pg. 517 and pg. 537. The fact that it was 5.07 in the morning when I was done might partially explain the haze I was in (you try putting it down after pg. 452...). At 5.10, I recovered suitably from the post-narrative stupor, washed my face, went downstairs, gave Jude a hug (who was still slaving away for his statistics finals tommorrow) and asked him never to leave me. That's what the book does.

Books like these make me wish I were a writer. I guess that's the measure of a good book for me, books that make me fall in love with reading and writing, and thinking about reading and writing all over again. I've read many books in my lifetime, and I've loved many of them; but only a handful fall in this category. Few of the ones I read in university actually come to mind (largely because I had to analyze them to death, and was completely numb to them afterwards- oh the irony...)- ok, there was Shakespeare's Measure for Measure (my all time favorite Shakespeare play- not a conventional choice I know, but not enough people have read it nor know it for this brilliant little play to be conventionally appreciated see...), The Four Quartets, Rushdie's Shame, Middlemarch maybe. But the first time I was literally floored by a book that wasn't on a reading list was Dec 2000 when I read A.S. Byatt's Possession. I refused to believe it was over after the last page. It left me breathless. It's a hefty book and slow-going for the first couple of hundred pages (I know people who are at the same page they were two years ago...), but it rewards you handsomely and lovingly if you persevere and invest yourself in it. It remains remarkable to me how Byatt juggles the multiple narrative and stylistic voices, the layering of time periods, the loving, hating, yearning, coveting characters of such sublime depth you think they would die from feeling and being so much. This book reached into my guts and touched my soul.

possess, v
a. Of a person or body of persons: To hold, occupy (a place or territory); to reside or be stationed in; to inhabit (with or without ownership)
b. To take up the attention or thoughts of; to occupy, engross.
c. To hold as property; to have belonging to one, as wealth or material objects; to own.
d. To have possession of, as distinct from ownership.
e. With with: To cause to be possessed by (a feeling, idea, or the like; to imbue, inspire, permeate, affect strongly or permanently with; to cause to feel or entertain.

For God's gift...

What does this look like to you?
A mark so fine, you barely see.
You have one just like it, too
A twisting vine,
A mark so fine;
Cause I love you with all I am
And you love me because you are
As fearless as a twisting vine,
A mark so fine
But still a scar

Fear plays dumb then eats the soul
Like a vagabond with a fishing pole
He whistles but he cannot sing,
Its an awful tune
But very soon
I find that I am whistling, too
And your window is like a star
That I sit beneath like a vagabond
Who wears his fear
Just like a scar

The blade of our outrageous fortune
Like a parade, it cuts a path,
Light shows on our foolish way
And darkness on
Our aftermath;
If I love you to save myself
And you love me because we are
So fool to think that our parade
Could leave a path
But not a scar

And I love you with all I am
And you love me with what you are
As pretty as a twisting vine,
A mark so fine

But still a scar

- Joe Henry, "Scar"

A little something about bands

So I'm writing this post partially at the request of my 12-year old sister who feels very resolutely that the world needs to be informed of her latest (and for all intents and purposes, her most) prized possession: a piece of towel. BUT, it is no ordinary piece of towel, it is a fraction of THE towel (which was lovingly cut into two pieces, one for her, one for her friend) used by Good Charlotte when they performed in Singapore last Tuesday. This towel, in other words, contains DNA residue of all the band members (it was used to wipe their profusely exuberant beads of sweat as they performed their little wannabe-post-punk-Green-Day-genuflecting hearts out to a stadium of teenagers whose only conception of pioneering punk music IS Green Day, and who have probably never heard of The Sex Pistols or Iggy Pop...); but more importantly for my sister, it has touched the hands of the boy she is determined to commit her life and soul to- Billy Martin. She:
1) only touches the towel with the tip of her fingers in case her DNA contaminates what has been left on the fabric;
2) will never wash that piece of thing; and
3) is going to seal it in a vacuum sealed bag for all eternity, to be taken out only to remind herself of her undying devotion to the band, and to Billy.

Her euphoria over that piece of cloth was so torrential I could barely contain my laughter (pray tell, how else would one respond to a screaming teenager whose highlight of her year is a disgusting piece of cotton); besides, her utter disregard for the fact that the towel not only contains millions of bateria and germs, but that they have multiplied exponentially since Tuesday, and will only continue to fester in her sealed bag is so extraordinary, it's sweet...

I just hope that bag never breaks...

Speaking of bands, on a related note, Jude and I spent the day in Detroit for The Concert of Colors, a concert/ fair to celebrate diversity and multiculturalism in Detroit. The highlight of the event was Ozomatli, an Afro-Latin hip-hop band from L.A. whose members challenge musical racial steroetypes in the strangest ways: sure they've got two black rappers, but they also have a white DJ, a Chinese bongo player, and a Latino clarinet player. Their music also has Indian and Arabic influences which is both interesting and exciting for a hip-hop band. They were SO good, it's not even funny. The music was awesome, the performacne electrifying, and the best thing is, they had a blast of a time performing. Those guys had fun, and the audience knew it. It was infectious! Jude and I were dancing right through the set (and those closest and dearest to us know this, we don't dance... That's how fabulous they were.) At one point, they got all the children onto the stage to play and groove- dynamite! And they even took the performance into the audience and out into the fair grounds- talk about participatory performance! They really got the crowd moving and jivving, and whipped everyone into a celebratory frenzy- I hadn't had so much musical fun since my momentous karaoke expedition with my girlfriends when I was home.

Good fun, good fun :)

Thank you, David!

Look what one of our former students got for us (who waited in line for a grand total of ten hours no less...) when Neil Gaiman visited Singapore two weeks ago!!





Between the two of us, I think Jude and I have all of Gaiman's Sandman comics. My favorite are his Shakespeare ones where Gaiman imagines that the Bard wrote his plays as part of a bargain with and finally a gift to Dream, starting with A Midsummer Night's Dream, and ending with The Tempest. It's a beautifully conceived narrative arc, making me wish I brought all my Sandman books here with me...

Thank you very very much, David- it was a wonderful surprise! :)

Candy freak

There is nothing not to like about Charlie and the Chocolate Factory:
1) It's a movie about candy,
2) It's based on a book by Roald Dahl (I much prefer George's Marvellous Medicine though),
3) It stars Johnny Depp (greasy in 21 Jump Street, perfect in Edward Scissorhands, and dreamy in Benny and Joon)
4) There's Freddie Highmore (a boy who makes my uterus skip a beat like it hasn't since the little kid in Stepmom. Imagine a son with a crisp British accent going, "Mommy, could I have a spot of milk please if it's not too much of a bother..."), and
5) It's directed by Tim Burton.
Enough said.

One of my favorite film books is Burton on Burton, part of a Faber and Faber series featuring directors writing about their own films.

[click to read description of book and Foreword by Johnny Depp]

In the book, Burton talks about growing up in Burbank, California, in a suburb much like the one he recreated in Edward Scissorhands, and how his peculiar attraction and inclination toward the morbid and perverse (see one of the best books ever, The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy) was actually the product of growing up in just such an environment. It was a fascinating dive into the man's mind and until today, Burton remains one of my favorite directors (given a few aberrations: Planet of the Apes was incomprehensible, and no matter how hard you try to convince me otherwise, I will never allow my children to watch Pee Wee Herman). I love the way he gives free reign to his subversive imagination, and how he can conceive of art, beauty and wonder in what others think of as dark, bitter and strange. Oh, and of course, he has the most wonderfully wicked sense of humor- anyone watched Mars Attack? OK, I have to admit, that one's an acquired taste...

And I can't wait for Corpse Bride.

THE love story

Looks like the blog's taking on a theme this week- love, heartache, and all the things to do with people coming together, or not. Just watched Before Sunrise and Before Sunset back to back, and it was lovely. Just lovely. They were perfect love stories (or a perfect love story) full of moments of repressed longing, regret and intimacy. I love the fact that the movie only had them and them alone- no one else. At the end of the day, that's it isn't it? Love is about two people and the things they confess and pour out only to each other; those moments you share that nobody else knows about, the presence you inhabit only in the company of the other, and the kind of person you are, only when you're with the one you love.

And these emotions transcend words, it's about how you feel and how these feelings emnate without you even saying anything. My two favorite scenes from the films have Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy just looking at each other, music playing and them just looking. In Before Sunrise, it's the one in the record shop listening booth where they're listening to Kath Bloom's Come Here. They're leaning side by side and trying hard to sneak glances at each other without the other one catching them. It's an 80-second extended shot and it was sublime. Just wacthing them watching each other, the awkwardness, the tension- you could almost feel the electricity of those first blossomings of desire crackling.

Nine years later, in Before Sunset, Julie Delpy plays the waltz for Ethan Hawke. He's sitting on her couch and she's on her bed and they're not even close to touching. But as the lyrics come out of her mouth, and she looks at him, and he looks back at her, it becomes one of the most poignant scenes ever committed to celluloid, especially if you've watched the first film. The song is her love letter to him- the torrent of feelings about this one man on that one night nine years ago finally channeled- simply and sweetly- to the right recepient. It feels wrong for you to be watching the scene because it's like you're intruding on someone's confession. It's an almost sacred moment for them. Excruciatingly brilliant.

"There's wind that blows in from the north.
And it says that loving takes this course.
Come here. Come here.
No I'm not impossible to touch I have never wanted you so much.
Come here. Come here.
Have I never laid down by your side.
Baby, let's forget about this pride.
Come here. Come here.
Well I'm in no hurry. Don't have to run away this time.
I know you're timid.
But it's gonna be all right this time."
- Kath Bloom, "Come Here"

Since we're on the topic of Heartbreak

"If you haven't heard him... man, it's like he boiled down all the melancholy in the world, all the bruises and all the f**ked-up dreams you've let go, and poured the essence into a little tiny bottle and corked it up. And when he starts to play & sing, he takes the cork out, and you can smell it. You're pinned into your seat, as if it's a wall of noise, but it's not- it's still, and quiet, and you don't want to breathe in case you frighten it away."
- JJ from Nick Hornby's A Long Way Down talking about listening to Nick Drake's Five Leaves Left.

[click for album]

Heartbreak

Two of our closest friends are going through a break-up right now and it's been real tough for them both. I guess the worst thing is that it isn't mutual so that really sucks. I remember having a conversation with Jude a long time ago about Love, and about how I've always thought of it akin to the taste of dark chocolate. To enjoy the decadent ambroisa of dark chocolate is to take the bitter with the sweet. Milk chocolate is too easy, and white chocolate, soulless. Dark chocolate on the other hand, is the essence of life, and love. Bitter and sweet, heartbreak and fulfilment.

Which brings me to, in the words of John Cusack in "High Fidelity", my Top 5 Heartbreak songs of all time. For one reason or another, these five songs have creeped to the top of the list amidst many other worthy contenders. Heartbreak songs aren't just about the pain, but also the yearning, the ache, and the poetry.

1) Joni Mitchell's A Case of You: It's all about the intoxication and the addiction here. Obsession maybe? And the concept of the bittersweet is clearly not lost on her either. Favorite line: "I remember that time that you told me, you said/ Love is touching souls/ Surely you touched mine/ Cause part of you pours out of me/ In these lines from time to time."

2) Leonard Cohen's Famous Blue Raincoat: This song breaks my heart. It's written as a letter from Leonard Cohen to his best friend after he finds out that the friend slept with his wife. There is no rage nor anger, but gratitude almost, and a kind of empathy. It's a letter about a woman who shares her passion with two men, but not her love. Favorite lines: "Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes/ I thought it was there for good so I never tried."

3) The New Radicals' Someday We'll Know: Courtesy of my best friend who shared this in a time of need. The lyrics are especially well-written and the whimsicality of it all belies more than just a tinge of heartache and that incredulous questioning that accompanies all break-ups. All the whys and why nots... Favorite lines: "I bought a ticket to the end of the rainbow/ I watched the stars crash in the sea/ If I could ask God just one question/ Why aren’t you here with me?"

4) Mary Margaret O'Hara's To Cry About: Because it's a little obscure, I can't find the lyrics, but trust me when I say this song will tear you apart. It's all yearning, all ache. She drawls like a cross between Billie Holiday and Rickie Lee Jones which makes everything sound even more plaintive. This will haunt you in your sleep. Favorite lines: "You're in my heart, I'm in your hand/ Drop me off, I miss you and/ You give me something/ To cry about."

5) Bob Dylan's A Simple Twist of Fate: Jude shared this one with me years ago and I've always remembered it as being so very sad. So much in life, and love depends on just that one quirk of destiny. It's all the "what-could-have-been" and "if-only" moments rolled in one. Favorite lines: "People tell me it's a sin/ To know and feel too much within./ I still believe she was my twin, but I lost the ring./ She was born in spring, but I was born too late/ Blame it on a simple twist of fate."

What did you listen to when someone broke your heart?

I Really Like You

i'll buy you mangoes baby
your favorite fruit
i'll shave everything baby
i'll press my suit
i'll find that song by perry como you like to sing
i'll eat your tv dinners
and wear you cigar ring
do you think that I can persuade
don't make me fade because

CHORUS:

i really like you baby
i want to see you baby
i really like you baby
i want to be you baby

i'll gladly make you
my first tatoo
you and me forever
in red and black and blue
i'll let you drive my car
i'll even paint my eyes
forget about all my friends
and tell outrageous lies
do you think I can persuade
don't make me fade because

- Melissa Etheridge

I concede

Ok, so I was wrong- Batman Returns is not the best movie in the franchise. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out what movie we just came back from, and it was awesome. Everything a Batman movie ought to be, and then some...

My grouse with the other Batman movies is that they weren't dark enough, nor faithful enough to the spirit of what Batman, as well as Gotham stands for. Batman Returns was great for me because it had all the requisite elements- a brooding Batman, two (well, three if you count Catwoman) deliciously campy villians, enough sexual tension to power a small city, and the whole circus-clown-carnival thing was an inspired touch of perverse tragicomedy. One of the things I remember Joel Schumacher saying when he was interviewed about Batman Forever was that the first two Batman movies were too funereal, and that it was time for Batman to have some fun. Hello? And Batman is called the Dark Knight because he was meant to spread cheer, merriment and a huge doses of Prozac to the citizens of Gotham? That's the job of a deranged purple dinosaur. Besides, would you trust a man who then went on to make the god-awful Batman and Robin?

Now Batman Begins is a whole other kettle of fish (or bats- choose your own non-mammal); perfectly gothic, sumptuously dark and oh so elemental as Batman was always meant to be. You don't watch Batman movies for the acting (although I love Gary Oldman, and Michael Caine is so deadpan funny. Katie Holmes on the other hand should just stay at home, have Tom Cruise's babies and quite acting...)- it's the storyline, plot and feel. And who better than Christopher Nolan whose Memento and Insomnia are some of the most gripping narratives I've seen committed to film (so what if Insomnia wasn't written by him? He made Al Pacino a real actor again...). Batman Begins is Batman as it should be- a phantasmogoria of madness, fear, and a palpable sense of unsalvageable human brokeness all contained in a dystopic city so foul and sordid, it's almost alluring.

Those of you who were as hooked as I was to Batman: The Animated Series know exactly what I mean. Now that is one cartoon that is not meant for kids, not by a long shot. It dived deep into the psychology of both Batman and the villians at Arkham. I'll never forget one episode about Harley Quinn trying to lead a normal life after being released from the asylum. Things don't work out of course but in that 30 minutes, the show unearthed Harley the human- the girl- and not just an insane jester with the crazy hat. Simply inspired...

Can you imagine if Tim Burton and Christopher Nolan came together to make the next Batman film? Oh man...

Why we love KCRW.org

Because we are poor graduate students on a shoestring budget who cannot afford to pay for tickets to watch live concerts. Nic Harcourt is our savior and Morning Becomes Eclectic is our favorite online radio show because we can watch all our favorite acts without having to give up the comfort of our house or the luxury of free wireless with a cup of coffee. I love the sound of intimate acoustic sets- they're about as good, if not sometimes better than watching them live on stage. And some of the shows have the artistes performing covers of their favorite acts. So cool...

Archived shows:
1) Travis
2) Starsailor
3) Grant-Lee Phillips
4) The Thrills
5) Trash Can Sinatras
6) Damien Rice
7) Rachel Yamagata
8) Sleepy Jackson
9) Air
10) The Cardigans
11) Keane
12) Sonic Youth
13) The Finn Brothers
14) The Polyphonic Spree
15) Badly Drawn Boy
16) Pink Martini
17) Wilco
18) American Music Club
19) Rufus Wainwright
20) Arcade Fire
21) Aqualung
22) Ed Harcourt
23) The Decemberists
24) Josh Rouse
25) Aimee Mann
26) Athlete
27) Feist
28) Ben Lee

And coming up soon are Sufjan Stevens and Stephen Malkmus. Watch out for them!

Game over

Oh well, it was great while it lasted. It's over. Now it's back to their day jobs. Oh wait, they don't have day jobs...

"Hair"rowing

My husband is a dear. I can't believe he still loves me after what I did.

I cut his hair.

One moment we were laughing at the prospect of opening a makeshift barber in our basement, the next, I'm standing there with the $9.99 haircutting kit in my hand and tears streaming down my face. A nick here, a rough cut there, in a matter of minutes, I had totally and irrevocably butchered his hair. The only way out of the avant garde asymmetrical tribute to David Bowie (the '80s him minus the make-up) was to take it ALL off, and so I did. So now Jude looks like a cross between Ed Harris and our friend Nathan.

It isn't that he looks bad- in fact, it's kinda cool- but it was really very stressful thinking I was this close to making my husband look like he had just undergone chemotherapy. Jude's really sweet- he just keeps going on about how little shampoo he needs to use now and how breezy it is in summer.

I would never let Jude cut my hair, but if I ever did, I promise I'll be this nice to him too...

Game 5

I've never been a sports fan. The closest I got to even being in the vicinity of pretending to be interested in sports of any sort was when I was a rugby groupie in junior college (yes, I'm shallow like that. I am the same person who used to watch tennis for Goran Ivanesevic and soccer for Patrick Berger...) And now I'm married to a former rugby player of course.

So it was actually quite exhilirating to watch the closing minutes of Game 5 of the NBA Finals between the Detroit Pistons and the San Antonio Spurs. The last 5.9 seconds were particularly nail-biting. And then we lost. Although it was close one (95-96), the Spurs were clearly a stronger team. Better defense and an all-round tighter game. The Pistons? Too flamboyant. All style, little substance, and a tad complacent about being the defending champions if you ask me.

Today was the last home game for them too, so with the next two games being played on Spurs home-ground, looks like whatever glimmer of hope that had been ignited by our winning of Games 3 & 4 just got whooshed.

*Sigh*... should have stuck to doing the laundry tonight.

Lazy Weekend

Jude called it living the lifestyle of the rich and famous. I just call it sheer summer indulgence: 10-hour sleep till 12.30pm, a leisurely lunch in front of the TV, back to nap at 2pm till 5.30pm, shopping at Target, dinner at the Ann Arbor Summer Festival, coffee and dessert at Zingermans' and a guilty pleasure movie at 11.25 at night. We only got home at 2am last night, and without a tinge of guilt whatsoever. It was absolutely sublime.

And today- ha! Slept in till 11am and then got ready for a BBQ party we were having at our backyard with some of our friends and their kids. It was totally Babies R'Us meets the Big Cook-Out man... What we discovered today:
1) We have a whole patch of mint growing outside our house. Guess who's going to be making vats of mint iced tea right through summer??
2) Adding half a cup of cold water to your ground beef makes the juicest burger patties this side of MacDonaldland...
3) Children are orally-fixated: Marshmallows. Chocolates. Plastic. Dad's trousers.
4) You do not spray vegetable spray onto the grill directly. Ask Jude.
5) Toasted marshmallows and fruit skewers with double chocolate sauce... Heaven.

And now that we have our own grill- Jude can re-live his Aussie fantasies of throwing anything and everything onto the "barbie". All we need is year-round sunshine and a stretch of blue sandy beach and we'll be home.

Thanks for coming guys- it was a blast!

Nick Hornby

Yup, yup, that's us with Nick Hornby!! By a sheer quirk of fate, we were in Chicago the weekend of a kezillion festivals including the Printers Row Book Fair. Nick Horby was going to read from his latest book, "A Long Way Down" and there was also going to be an interview with him. But we got so carried away shopping we missed the reading. Hurried down to Printers Row just in time to buy the book and get in a block-long line for his autograph. I love Nick Hornby- not many people would consider him a serious fiction writer but he's wonderful because he writes with so much heart, and he's funny as *$#%@! "High Fidelity" is my favorite (Jude's too- a crash course in love, life and music) and "A Long Way Down" looks like it's got a lot of potential (I read about a chapter of it while waiting in line. It was a really surreal experience actually- reading a book written by an author whose books you enjoy, and who you're going to meet very soon if only the forty-seven other blokes in front of you would hurry and not have bought five copies of the book each for themselves, their relatives, and one to be auctioned off on eBay one day I suspect...)

Predictably, we didn't get to speak much to him- the poor guy looked tired (he must have hung around for three hours more after his reading just to autograph all those books), but happy. He refused to cut the line at any point and promised to sign as long as there were people waiting. That was really the highlight of my day- well, the shopping was great (finally got the kate spade wallet of my dreams at 50% off!!) and the company was even better, but meeting Nick Hornby was just about as awesome as it gets :) Some other writers I'd love to meet (in no particular order):
1) Jeffrey Eugenides
2) A.S. Byatt
3) Salman Rushdie
4) Kazuo Ishiguro
5) Gabriel García Márquez
There's definitely more, and this is not counting the dozen others who are no longer living. Oh man, and don't get me started on poets...

By the way, we've posted the Chicago photos up. Check them out!

Coming out

I'm a closet geek. At about 11.32am this morning, as I went through the statistics assignment I have to complete by tomorrow, it struck me. Hard. I realized that I was actually excited about getting started with it. It was a kind of faint exhiliration accompanied by a strange perverse rush. I have officially achieved dorky geekdom. It's not so much the course which excites me (if I don't see another Greek notation again, I really wouldn't care, and no, I do not dervie any real pleasure from writing computer codes in Unix) but the whole prospect of research and delving into something I don't know anything about yet but will soon. It's like standing on the precipice of unknown knowledge and tingling my toes, waiting to dive in...

So anyway, back to kindergarten retention and how it affects children differently depending on the type of kindergartens they attend. Then we'll be off to Chicago for the weekend with our dear friend Felicia who's visiting from Singapore! Jude got us an obscene steal on Priceline- $150/night at the swanky Westin, right next to the Chicago River. And there's the annual Chicago Blues' Festival, the Art Institute, and Millennium Park.

I'm way ready...

Running Tracks

I can't remember how it was like to exercise without the iPod. How I managed to numb the rising strain and control the raging palpitations before my little friend came along is beyond me. We ran through Nichols Arboretum today- painful on the one hand because of the dastardly sun (I can't imagine that just 6 weeks ago, this place was snowing...) but also strangely cathartic (we who run out of compulsion rather than pleasure find all sorts of words to justify and authenticate the pain we put ourselves through). So, the tracks which soothed my straining body today:
1) Photobooth- Death Cab for Cutie (3:46)
2) I Only Said- My Bloody Valentine (5:34)
3) It's The End of the World- R.E.M (4:04)
4) Gamble Everything for Love- Ben Lee (3:21)
5) You Got the Style- Athlete (3:25)
6) I Missed the Glance- The Sea & Cake (4:03)
7) Women and Men- Josh Rouse (5:06)
8) Yahweh- U2 (4:23)

Hmm... I think I need to create a playlist of songs specifically for these moments of self-flagellation. Maybe a playlist of only Basement Jaxx tracks...

Green Tea

 


 

We would like to extend a warm welcome to the newest addition to our family, Ocha. As you can see from the pictures above, she's all shiny, happy and new :) We were really tired of dealing with second hand car salesmen and decided to go to the Hyundai dealer instead. She's got 4 more years of warranty on all her parts and that'll stop the heamorrhaging of money for repairs and parts. I have only ever driven wrecks in my life. In fact my previous car was lovingly named "Deathtrap" by both friends and family. So Ocha is welcome change and she looks set to be a member of our family for a long time to come.

jude

Car woes

It's sad when people live up to the negative stereotypes of them- one's faith in fellow human beings compel you to want to believe that people can be better than what others think of them. Sadly, with one particular group of people, stereotypes seem to be all there is- the used car salesman.

So we're shopping for a new car. Our Mazda is 11-years old, the air-conditioning doesn't work (this is fine 8 months of the year of course, but come July...), and the gear pops when we shift it into 5th (which is particularly precarious for Jude who commutes on the freeway for an hour three times a week to his internship). The thing is, as students, our budget immediately disqualifies us from getting cars we really really want, i.e. a Subaru Forrester, or a zippy Scion, better still the Toyota Hybrid- Prius (imagine the tax-cut! of course, it's like buying ourselves a conscience), even a simple second-hand Honda Civic is out of our reach. Oh woe is us... And it's not even a want, you *need* a car in this town. Only 3 months of a year do I feel that walking is the best way to get around Ann Arbor. Apart from that, NO. Unlike the bigger cities where public transport is utterly comprehensive and convinient, Ann Arbor's idea of public transportation is buses that come every half-hour, each bus-stop being served by one bus number, and routes only running from 6am to 10pm in many areas. We've been spoiled by what I now think as Singapore's rather inspired public transportation system.

Anyways, about these car-people. My question is, how can they ever talk to anyone honestly anymore? Is there like a knob that they switch off when they go home where they then become real, normal people who speak to their wives and children in neither hyperbole or conspiratorially like they're your new best friend? Where they don't say things like, "To tell you the truth, I don't make money. I just sell cars.", or "Honestly, I'm not here to earn your money, I want to earn a friend"? These guys would sell their mothers' soul to cut a deal. The ones we've encountered this past week have done nothing to redeem the abysmal reputation of used car salesmen- they have been every bit as sleazy, smarmy and shady as people make them out to be.

Which brings me back to the beginning- at what point does one give in to doubt and suspicion and say, "I can no longer give this dude the benefit of the doubt. I think he's trying to scam me."? You want to believe things that people tell you because like Anne Frank, you want to believe that at their core, people are actually good at heart. You want to go on thinking that deceit, avarice and self-servitude are things you only hear of or read about, and that the person standing in front of you is actually sincere, genuine and trustworthy. I don't want to lose that faith in people. It will be a sad, sad day.

If you can find an honest used car saleman, let us know. We need to buy a new car.

PIctures perfect

Finally loaded all 100+ photos we took over 20 days. Towards the end of the trip, Jude got so snap-happy everywhere we went, people on the streets actually thought he was a tourist (few locals would take photos of sugar-cane juice stalls, or of their wives buying illegal DVDs...). So what you'll be seeing amongst the photos:
1) Our family including our niece's first birthday, my grandparents (I really wish I spent more time with my granny) and my sister's gleeful acquisition of a new pink ipod mini. I don't know how but in 3 days, she imported more songs than I have on my 20GB!!
2) My Karaoke expedition: you won't see pictures of me here. I was too busy snapping away at my friends laughing at me, each other and themselves. These photos do not do justice to the sheer hilarity which was that night.
3) Some sights of Singapore: These pictures actually turned out really well. Jude takes good photos. They look like they belong in Lonely Planet or something.
4) Our road-trip to Kulau Lumpur. We literally ate ourselves north-ward toward and through Malaysia's capital.
5) My uncle's seafood restaurant- Don't go here unless you're a) a real foodie (coz there're only photos of food, b) have the self-restraint and discipline to not bolt out the door to your nearest seafood place (which I guarantee will not even come close to how fresh and absolutely yummy his seafood is), or c) don't really like food in which case these photos will have no effect on your whatsoever... and what's wrong with you anyway??!!
6) Photos of our friends, many of whom met us with kid(s) in tow. This phenomenon is otherwise known as the Peer Pressure of Procreation.
7) Abundant pictures of our niece Amelia. The cutie loves anything electronic- imagine, she's happier with a cell-phone than a Winnie-the-Pooh doll.

Knock yourselves out!

As the dust settles again

Have been trying to post for the past four days but just haven't been able to muster up the energy to apply my thoughts to words- too labor-intensive. My mind and body is still painfully trying to shake up from the awful jet-lag this time round. The flight itself was surprisingly forgiving- I basically slept my way through Tokyo to Detroit (something I've never accomplished before); but for some cruel reason, adjusting back to the Eastern Time Zone has just not been fun. We're in bed by 11pm (if not 10pm every night), and all up and perky at 6-ish in the morning. Why do you think I'm blogging at 7am in the morning on a gorgeous spring day?

The trip home was great as always, albeit a little stressful this time round. It was a whirlwind just meeting everyone we wanted to meet in 20 days. Am a little sad about not spending as much time with some people as I wanted to though- my parents and sisters, my grandma too, and a couple of my close friends. More karaoke I say! And the food! Let's not even go there. Once I get all the photos uploaded, you'll see the obscene amount of eating that was involved... Suffice to say that am now in the midst of my annual post-Singapore ritual of contrition and restraint, i.e. The Diet.

Ann Arbor is beautiful this time of year. When we left, things were still a little grey, but Spring is here to stay finally- the weather's at that sweet spot where it's just warm enough to be lounging in the sun without being mucky, and breezy enough to be cool without the nippy chill of early April. Best of all, the undergrads are no where in sight, sanity has been restored, and we're reminded once again why Ann Arbor's one of the best places in this country to live, i.e. gorgeous greenery, clean streets, safe neighborhoods, great bookshops, the vibrantly intellectual environment, and basically, really nice people.

*Sigh* then December will come and I'll eat my words as I try valiantly to fit into my winter boots, jostle with obnoxious undergrads at the library, clear the slush from the front of our house, and dream of a sunny tropical island, 98% humidity and all...

A Lost in Translation moment

It was more like four hours actually. No, it did not involve a wig, drunk Japanese people and Bill Murray- and I will not be judged here- but I just had the most awesome time at a karaoke spot tonight. Absolutely awesome! It had to be four of the most outrageously cathartic and abandoningly un-self-conscious hours I will be spending in a while and I love my two best-est, best-est friends for setting it up- I don't think I would have done it with anyone else!! (unless you are deaf, dumb AND blind. Really.)

Several rules apply when you want to even consider stepping into one of these establishments in Singapore:
1) Cast off any pre-conceived notions of who you believe to be the clientele. While there will be your fair number of sleazy businessmen whose idea of recreation involves hot tea, hot towels and not-so-subtle amounts of groping, there are families and friends who are actually there for the singing.
2) You cannot- I repeat, CANNOT- sing karaoke with anyone else except with the people closest and dearest to you. Only they can hear you sing and still love you after. Thank you Ann and Aileen for still hugging me at the end of the night.
3) Leave all semblance of dignity and self-respect at the door. If you really want to enjoy yourself at a karaoke joint, forget any pretense of sophistication. It is neither the time nor place. Do not attempt to sing Coldplay or anything even remotely cool. A few of the "best" tracks we sang tonight were ones we would never admit to liking in civilized company. Think Westlife(!), N'Sync(!!) and Justin Timberlake(!!!).
4) Related to the previous rule, the only songs appropriate for karaoke are songs by boy-bands (because they involve no effort in terms of tone or pitch), Chinese songs (because we seldom hear them and don't know how badly we're mangling the lyrics... Oh, and I discovered that the world of Jay Chou, Sandy Lam and Emil Chow is a beautiful one...) and anything before 1980 (because... well, they just are. Think Barry Manilow, The Carpenters and Neil Sedaka.). There are the guiltly pleasure indulgence exceptions of course: bands/ singers from our teenage years are acceptable (and only if we don't tell anyone we didn't need to look at the lyrics to sing their songs)- Wilson Phillips, Debbie Gibson, Indecent Obsession (I highly doubt that three almost-thirty women breaking out into a rousing rendition of "Fixing a Broken Heart" is the ultimate portrait of poise and dignity).
5) Thou shall not sing U2 at a karaoke joint. An attempt to belt out "With or Without You" was met with the sad realization that women should just stick to lusting after Bono, not try to imitate him...
6) Rap *does not* work. Let's see you do Black Eyed Peas' "Where Is the Love" without missing a word...
7) You have to ignore the sometimes incongruous and often downright ludicrous videos that accompany the songs. Some honorable mentions: the video of Extreme's ballad, "More Than Words" was set in an all-girl head-banging rock concert; Faith Hill's "This Kiss" had a woman in a gaudy swimsuit and tasteless earrings wading very very slowly alone in the waters of Phi Phi island; and this has got to take the cake: Mr. Barry "my-teeth-are-definitely-bleached-white" Manilow's "Copacabana" (which was ignobly spelled "Cupacabana") was played to scenes of retirees driving vintage cars at a car show. I do not kid.

It was really great fun. Oh, and you also uncover the most sublime things about the people you love while you're at it. Like the fact that someone does an awesome cover of J.Lo's "Jenny On The Block" (ok fine, we all did...) and that nothing brings a smile to a certain somebody's face than a certain lead singer from a certain boy-band...

Pay me and I'll keep quiet.

Sunny island set in the sea

My poor hair. I finally get it at a length that's somewhat manageable and cut in a way that gives it some semblance of body and shape (as opposed to plastered and gasping for life), and what happens? I've had it in braids ever since I came home. I can't help it! It is so hot, describing it alone raises my body temperature. And the humidity! Don't go there.... The only thing that makes up for it is being with friends and family again. To sum it up, one word: comforting. The hugs, the welcoming tone at the other end of the line when we call, the extra lengths gone to settle us in, that first sip of a kopi-O- we're home.

Even being sick at home is better. It's no big deal really, just a sore throat and slight fever (probably a rogue bug leftover from graduation weekend), but when people haven't seen you in a year, you getting the flu is equivalent to catching a disease of epidemic proportions. We're talking volunteering to take me to the doctor's and cooking special foods (us people with the flu bug are physically incapacitated and have very specific dietary needs of course...). The attention is, as I said, very comforting.

We're off to Kuala Lumpur for the weekend tomorrow. Jude's first trip with my family. It'll be fun. Loads of eating, shopping and just spending time with my parents and sisters. I've missed them...

Majullah Singapura

In four hours, we'll be on a 22-hour flight back home. That's across 3 continents, about 2 oceans and 12 time-zones. On the plane, that also means 5 bad movies, 5 even worse airline meals (complete with the ubiquitous sponge masquerading as a muffin/ cupcake/ dinner roll and a generic brown/ red sauce that goes over all the entrees) and endless encounters with strange people I would otherwise not speak to if I weren't tens of thousands of feet above ground. I don't like flights. I get claustrophobic, I always want to go to the bathroom, and I'm never able to sleep well. The one thing I am grateful for is that Jude's coming home with me this time round. When I travelled on my own last year, I was stuck next to a 60-year old Scandinavian man who's entire vocabulary of English consisted only of names of bars in Detroit and just enough words to order food... Suffice to say he was not the most scintillating of travelling companions.

Anyways, the next time we write, we'll be sweltering in 90 degree (34C) weather and 98% humidity. God bless my pores...

Makansutra

Things to eat when we're home: (in no particular order)
1) My mum's curry
2) Tiong Bahru porridge
3) Home-made soup
4) BBQ chicken wings
5) Fried Hokkien Mee
6) Chicken Rice
7) Hock Lam Street Beef Noodle
8) Kopi-O from Coffee Museum in Tiong Bahru Market
9) Chilli Crabs from Palm Beach (actually any kind of seafood from Palm Beach man...)
10) Nasi Padang from Liang Seah Street
11) Good sushi
12) Anything at Ah-Hoy (Lee Kwee)
13) Hainanese Pork Chops
14) Prawn Mee from Joo Chiat
15) My mum's prawn rolls (Hae-Cho)
16) Sugarcane juice
17) Nonya food (Ayam Buah Keluak, Sambal Kang Kong, Otak...*slurp*)
18) Fish-head Bee Hoon (and most definitely with shrimp-paste fried chicken)
19) Bah-cho Mee (literally translated as "minced meat noodles")
20) Passionfruit meringue from The Patissier

Oh, be still my yearning tummy...

Of Nectar and Ambroisa

I'm tired. This is actually the first time in 3 days that Jude and I have had any time to ourselves. It's been nothing but a whirlwind of activities since Wednesday night as we saw the marking of several momentous events- a friend turned 30, Jude graduated, and I had my first hangover headache. Graduation weekend is just one long excuse to indulge in everything conceivable you would otherwise not do on any regular basis- spend more than US$70 on a meal, drink any more alcohol than is contained in a light beer or sparkling wine, play poker two days in a row (this of course applies to some people more than others...), and for Jude, putting on a suit (my husband's more a blazer and jeans kinda guy). We also took more photos than we ever have over a 3-day period (115 to be exact- talk about chronicling an event. Our newly-charged camera battery actually gave up on us some time Saturday evening.) So, the festivities:

Wednesday
Had sangria party at our house to mark the end of finals and also to semi-celebrate Yong's birthday. He was not a happy man turning 30 although I hope the copious amounts of dessert (and chips & dip) and Serene's home brew sangria (with 3 oranges and a pound of strawberries thrown in for good measure) managed so salve the aching wound a little. Just a little.

Thursday
In end-of-semester revelry, heedlessly downed a quart of sangria at Dominick's (with Jude, not by myself- thank god...) Note to self: NEVER do that again. Must remember that sangria at Dominick's is actually everclear and grapejuice unsuccessfully masquerading as Spanish red wine beverage. Better off making it at home. Had a warning of a headache when leaving Dominick's but believed that it could be alleviated by a shot of coffee. Bad idea. Ajourned to Good Night Gracie's to celebrate Yong's birthday even more. Shared a peach-flavored champagne with Jude. Felt creeping sense of light-headednesss, and weightlessness... In-house band played Marvin Gaye- inexplicably inspired to ask Jude to dance, but decided against it. Thirsty. Had a Diet Coke. Realized that by this time, my body has had at least two portions of alcohol and caffeine each. My mind giving me happy signals, but my body was dead tired.

Friday
Graduation Day. Woke up with a pounding headache (think two elephants playing soccer with a watermelon between my ears) but couldn't sleep in because had appointment with Aveda for haircut. Decided to get bangs. Jude got a trim too. Definitely not feeling well. Managed to make it through the afternoon with soup for lunch (don't think we could have held anything else down) and lots of water. Dressed up for the ceremony. My husband looked very spiffy in the only suit he owns. I wore a Banana Republic dress I got at 90% off. Was more pleased at the good deal than at how I looked in it. Jude's popping Tylenol and I was drowning myself in H2O. Vividly reminded again how alcohol and caffeine make terrible bedfellows in my system.

The ceremony was ok. Had more fun taking pictures and meeting parents' who travelled from as far as Taiwan and Spain to see their children graduate. Played "Match-the-Parents-to-the-Child". Not too difficult. Some people bear uncanny resemblance to their parents. Now we know who never got lost at the mall...

Stan and Susan visiting from Boston and staying with us. Our favorite couch (actually our only couch) comes to use. And a sleeping bag.

Had dinner reservations at Eve's. For reasons I shall not belabor, got first round of drinks on the house. Everyone got champagne of course. Yummy, but clearly not good for my headache nor Jude's increasing temperature. Nonetheless, had great time. Wow food and drop-dead-wonderful-out-of-this-world-how-did-they-do-that dessert. I am not kidding. Triple Chocolate Pot with Burnt Sugar Whipped Cream. Calories what? Fat? Huh? Decided that we have found our favorite restaurant in this town.

People wanted to party some more but we went home. In bed by midnight. Me nursing headache, Jude profusely sweating his fever off. Serene, do not co-consume bad sangria from Dominick's and caffeine. Remember.

Saturday
Woke up feeling way better. So did Jude. Enough to do some shopping after pleasant lunch at Pacific Rim with his advisor. Thanks Mick. Interesting fusion food. Had crab cakes with lemongrass sauce plus taro chips.

Rushed home to make Mac 'n Cheese for Zahra's party. Please people, none of that Agent Orange Kraft things. We're talking spicy Mac 'n Cheese from scratch thank you very much. The party was a blast- grilled flank steak, portebello mushrooms, great side dishes, wonderful company, and thankfully, got to the watermelon punch before a certain Russian emigre spiked it with more vodka :) These Central Asians and their potato alcohol... Mac n' Cheese reported to be a tad too spicy for the Midwesterners and Californians in attendance, but nonetheless, still a hit thanks to the characteristically Ann Arbor chill this time of year.

More partying at Abbey's place after. Had raspberry beer for the first time. Reminded each other that still trying to purge alcohol from system. Went easy on the beer. Abbey's leaving for NPR in D.C. Neat. Trying to surreptiously plant our friends in various parts of the country so we can save on lodging when we travel. Let's see, so far, got Boston, San Francisco, Palo Alto, San Diego, D.C., Rochester and Austin covered. C'mon guys, get it moving...

Even more partying at Dave and Jen's. Poker. I don't play and Jude just dabbles for fun. I'm there for the cable TV. Got White Castle burgers for everyone. 18 burgers for just slightly less than $10. Grease bombs really but strangely comforting at 11.30pm. Lucid enough to cheer when Jude won $1.50. Next thing I know, they woke me up and it's 3.15 in the morning. Didn't get to bed till 4.30.

Sunday
Up at 10.45 but still sleepy and blurry-eyed. Only perked up with shot of coffee. Second note to self: need to start weaning myself off this thing. Revoke second note to self: who am I kidding? Got ready for SIGN picnic/BBQ. Our contribution: Lemon Honey Mustard Chicken. Had been marinating for at least 30 hours. Should be good. It was, if not somewhat slow to cook. Say like 2 hours. Was too windy to get good fire going. But everyone brought really good stuff so well worth wait. Even had grilled pineapples and plaintains with honey and brown sugar. Mmmm... inspired. Came home, took a warm shower, and breathed normally again.

I think we're going to just not eat till Wednesday, and not drink till our next graduation. My body is still in some kind of post-hangover shock. I'm going to treat it well for the next couple of days before it receives another arrest- 3 weeks of non-stop eating back in Singapore.

And that, well, is another post...

Happy Video

My latest favorite video- Ben Lee's Catch my Disease. Utterly breezy, fluffy & fun. Happy Spring!

5 reasons why we hate The O.C.

1) It has "Hilary Duff"-ed all that we love and hold dear, i.e. Death Cab for Cutie and fantagraphics.
2) It reminds us too much of Beverly Hills 90210 (set in California and too many character doubles: Trey-- Dylan, Ryan-- Brandon, Seth-- David). Too mortifying a period in our past to resurrect.
3) We find it offensive that high school kids in the show drive fancier cars than we do.
4) As Berkeley-rejects, it reminds us of what we're missing not studying in California (the coast, the beach, the sun...).
5) Against our better judgement, we watch it anyway.

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 ...)