monoceros blogsThis has got to be my favorite Google event-themed header. For those non-Google users, Google is a search engine that changes their header to suit the on-going holiday or event. The folks are always very creative with their designs, but this one just made me grin. It must be the little kid with his arms stretched out that got to me. Weren't we all like that once? So open and enthusiastic about even the smallest pleasures that came our way, and in this case, they're sweets and chocolates and fake bats!
Happy Halloween!
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My mother is leaving Ann Arbor on Sunday and in order not to let anyone accuse me of taking her nowhere during her stay here, I drove us to Gallup Park to catch the sunset.
We were a little late, so we caught the moonrise instead.
Some days (or nights), you can look at the sky and remember that the great outdoors transcends our miniscule existence. Planes and space shuttles are far larger than we are, but in the space of the heavens, even they are reduced to the smallest shards and shapes.
Light and shadow. Tree and water. My mother and me. (It's late and I can't think of a better caption.)
Brad Pitt as a golden Achilles. This is the first teaser poster of next summer's blockbuster, Troy, starring several international acting luminaries. This should draw in the history and Literature fans, general movie buffs, and screaming girl fans who will have four delectable males to choose from: Brad Pitt, Eric Bana, Sean Bean, Orlando Bloom. The latter two are LOTR alumni, so that should bring in most of the LOTR fans as well. They sure know how to pick their actors.
Next March, I'll be headed to Chicago for a writers' conference. This will be the 2004 AWP (Association of Writers and Writing Programs) Annual Conference. The University of Michigan is one of the sponsers this time, and since it's close by Ann Arbor, many of the MFA students are headed to the conference.
The last conference I attended was in an ELT one in Bangkok, where I broke the news to Barney and Andrew that I was planning to leave the Press. At that conference, I bought a book of Thai short fiction, observed people, had dinner at the Cabbages and Condoms restaurant, and felt sleepy most of the time.
I'm expecting the AWP Conference to be a great place to meet other hopeful writers and professional (famous) writers. My thesis reader from my undergrad days, Bich Nguyen, will be presenting, as will be my mentor, Eileen Pollack, who, as I was about to leave Ann Arbor in 2000, persuaded me to return to Michigan.
Go here to see more.
The soundtrack is almost upon us. Theonering.net has the details. Go here for more. I suppose I'll be one of the rabid fans pre-ordering the Internet-only CD-DVD version of the soundtrack.
Another note of interest: some cinemas here have reported that the official ROTK running time is 210 minutes, that's three and a half hours! Oh happy day.
Now the next best thing is that I get my ticket home at a reasonable price! I'll miss watching the show with LK on the opening day in Singapore, but we'll watch it a couple of times when I get home. We're incorrigible LOTR geeks!
Because I've been feeling a little nostalgic, I dug out some old photos that I took while still an employee at CUP.
This is my favorite girl from "downstairs", Karen, whose birthday it was just this past Saturday. Happy birthday, my dear, wish I could've been there to tell you in person.
This is Benny - Mr. Mashimaro himself - and me goofing around. We're the smallest people in the office and the picture was taken by Gina, who is one of the tallest in the office, which explains why there's so much space above Benny's head and mine. We look even smaller than usual here.
My old desk.
It really is true - when time removes you from the actual experience, you remember only the good parts, the memory naturally edits out the unsavory and leaves a wholesome sheen. My desk was a place where I often seethed and grumbled and wrote small poems about running away to see the world, but when I think of it now, I see Karen and Gina stopping by to chat, Benny rushing nervously to meet the director, Barney and Andrew bugging me to quit working and banter with them, Susan waiting for me to finish an email before we'd go for lunch and cd-hunting, Nigel looming over to discuss the latest LOTR news, Janet and Joean saying goodbye at the day's end, Auntie sweeping my eraser shavings and smiling as I apologize for my mess.
I dwell on the past a lot, if only because it tells me how far I've travelled in life. I grew up quite a bit in my CUP days, and met some terrific people. Some are still friends, others I may never meet again. Even if I do see them once more, they'll view me differently - no longer the rookie editor - perhaps they won't know what to say to me and I them. There is only the past between us, and after a while, even that loses its sheen.
1. My mom and I had lunch with Chris and Amy on Saturday. They drove in from Auburn Hills to have lunch with us at the fairly new Indian restaurant whose name eludes me for now. Saturday's menu was a lavish buffet in honor of Divali (Deepavali to us Singaporeans), the festival of lights. Eating Indian food in Ann Arbor on a well-celebrated day that is shared by people back home unearthed a spring of good memories of when Chris and Amy were in Singapore, and Lin Kiat and I took them to try all kinds of food and walk the streets of Little India, Arab Street and Chinatown.
2. Speaking of home, I'm trying desperately to get a ticket for the holidays. I've been so busy of late and didn't expect the seats to fill up so quickly. Even flights from London are a problem and Singaporeans there are having difficulty getting home for Christmas. Northwest Airlines doesn't even have a waitlist anymore. I drove my mother to Somerset Mall in Troy the other day, and purchased a pair of pencils with the pig characters Toot and Puddle perched on top. They both carry little Christmas trees, and printed on the bodies of the pencils is the phrase, "I'll be home for Christmas." If I don't get my ticket, I'm throwing those pencils out and downing bloody marys to grieve.
3. I'm tired of grading mid-term papers, especially the ones where the handwriting requires great strength and patience to decipher. I'm a grader, not a reader of hieroglyphs!
4. I'm also tired of receiving emails (a dozen at least in a day) asking if I want to have my penis enlarged. I'd much prefer a brain augmentation, which would be more useful to me.
5. More on fatigue - my eyebags have expanded to a point where they can hold baby goldfish. I am developing a bad case of eczema on my lower back and stomach, probably due to stress. I doze in church (during a baby's baptism, no less! Well, the baby was dozing too). I have little or no time for my personal reading and writing, which is depressing.
6. I miss my old life in Singapore. I don't regret coming here, I just miss the objects and rituals of the past, and the people I left behind.
For me who goes,
And you who stay,
Two autumns.
~Anonymous~
The clocks turned back an hour this morning. I'm grateful for the extra hour, another hour to distance myself from Monday and the new week.
My pal Joan has a nice post on all this daylight saving business - saves the rest of us from doing research on it. Thanks Joan! Go here for more.
Yesterday, against my better judgment, I decided not to go home early from class, and attended a reading instead. The fiction workshop had let out an hour ahead so that anyone who was interested could go to the reading by Wisconsin writer Michael Perry. I'd never heard of him, but when a classmate told me how Perry, a trained nurse and volunteer at the fire department, returned to his hometown of New Auburn (population: 485), and that he was invited to sit on a chair atop a float with the banner "WRITER" across it, I knew I had to go listen to what he had to say about the world he came from. This strange, tiny town in Wisconsin where the most senior member of the volunteer fire department is a cross-eyed butcher with one kidney and two ex-wives (both of whom work at the only gas station in town) and where the Amish rollerblade down the road and cuss if you ask for a photo. (I got these little titbits from the blurb of his book and at his reading.)
I like writers who care about their readings. Many famous ones are blase at these functions and are present only because their agents send them out there (not Terry Pratchett, of course, who was a delight and never came off as conceited). Michael Perry was humble, he did voices well as he read, and he made me laugh so much, I nearly knocked some books off the table I was leaning against. He looked like a worn-out regular Joe. A little odd, a little quiet. But when he spoke, he sounded intelligent and sharp, the kind of qualities you'd expect an observant writer to possess.
When I introduced myself and thanked him for an entertaining reading, he told me he liked adding anecdotes that weren't in the book - "it makes the readings more value-added," he said, with two fingers on each hand twitching to indicate quotation marks. His anecdotes included how he'd finally come to cut off his waist-length hair (because it'd caught fire while he was on putting out someone else's fire and because of "crop failure"; at this, he leaned forward so that we could see the top of his head), how his brother, who at 35 had never had a girlfriend before, finally met a girl, a perfect match because she had her own dump truck (as his brother had one), and how this same brother, in order to get his girlfriend to agree to matrimony, installed an indoor toilet in his small cabin (she said the toilet had to be working by the time they married on a Saturday in July), and when it was ready (on Friday evening), he called her, got the answering machine, and with a strong mid-West accent, mumbled into the receiver, "Erm, so...gotta a message for you...," and gave the new toilet its inaugural flush. Perry told us how he'd chastised his brother, "See, I told you about women. First they want an indoor toilet, and then what's next? Where will it end!"
At the end of a swift thirty-minute reading, I chose a copy of the book and went to pay for it before getting in the queue for an autograph. A friend and I were discussing what we would say to him. This being Shaman Drum bookstore, readings tend to have small audiences and the sessions are really like gatherings of friends who nod and wave at each other across the room. Getting a book signed doesn't involve a long queue, and everyone gets to chat with the author. My friend and I are pretty apprehensive in such circumstances. What do you say to a writer whose books are reviewed by the New York Times and Los Angeles Times and other major newspapers? He's met famous people, he's a renowned writer himself, and he also milks cows in the dark. The cashier overheard our discussion, and she said, "I know what you could say. You could say, 'I'll move in with you!'" At this, my friend quipped, "Vanessa can't say that, she's married!" So the cashier came up with another suggestion. "I really like pickup trucks!" I thanked her, but when it came to my turn to shakes hands with Michael, I stuck to the truth. "Hi, I'm from Singapore, so what you're writing about is all new to me. I've never been within ten feet of a cow." He laughed and said he had a classmate from Singapore and didn't know how to pronounce his last name, "N-G?" I set him straight and he told me the local name for New Aubern - Nobbern.
Perry's book Population: 485, Meeting Your Neighbors One Siren At A Time is searingly funny and poignant. I won't describe it here since I've already written too much, but I'll lend out my copy if anyone's interested. I've read the first chapter and it's just terrific writing.
And another reason why I'm impressed - he's got a weblog! Well, of some sorts. Here's his website: it's called SneezingCow
These really should go into a photolog. Unfortunately I haven't learned how to set a new one up yet! So this'll have to do.
The New York Public Library
The Armor Court at the Met
A lovely ballerina by Degas. She has a real cloth tutu and a faded satin ribbon in her hair!
From the Egyptian collection. The ears and horns have fallen off. But isn't it sweet? In Elizabeth Peters's The Ape Who Guards The Balance, Ramses calls Nefret Forth, who is in disguise as a pretty boy companion, his gazelle. A most lovely term of endearment!
A still-life that I couldn't keep my eyes off.
By Sanford Gifford, who travelled extensively. This scene is in Italy, somwhere in the lake region.
Men at chess in Bryant Park.
My mom and I took a rest here, and I decided to take a shot of this idyllic haven in the middle of the busy city.
Ground Zero
A little witch accident outside Christine's apartment
A week ago, I was walking past Ground Zero with my mom. Fall break came and went, and we spent it in NYC visiting Christine, my sister-in-law. The last time my mother was in New York was 12 years ago so I took her to the places I thought she'd like to re-visit, and some new ones. She went to the World Trade Center back then and as we viewed the vast, grey site, I saw her eyes tear. One corner of the site was dedicated to those who'd lost their lives on 9/11. Badges, patches, flowers, letters and drawings, helmuts and hats lent color and meaning to the small space.
According to my notebook (my mind has already adjusted to the rush of graduate school and household chores - though my mom is taking over some of the chores for me, I'm ashamed to report - so I must refer to my notes), we visited the Metropolitan Museum (we spent six hours in there, and it still wasn't enough!), we watched The Marriage of Figaro at the Metropolitan Opera, we saw two parades on Fifth Avenue, toured the financial district in lower Manhattan, attempted to enter the New York Mercantile Exchange but got turned away (the visitor center has been closed since 9/11), we took a stroll at Battery Park City, hunted for stores selling music scores, visited the New York Public Library, lazed in Bryant Park, did the Times Square walk, attended mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral, browsed Bloomingdale's and enjoyed a busride through Chinatown and past South Street Seaport.
My favorites include the opera, the lovely paintings of Sanford R. Gifford in the Hudson River School exhibition, viewing the Public Library, watching the people play chess in Bryant Park, and just being a part of this tremendous city of light, shadow and sound.
My friend Boon informed me early last week that the entertaining fantasy author Terry Pratchett was coming to town. I had a ton of things to do on Wednesday but had to make time to see Mr. Pratchett speak at the downtown Borders.
Boon and I arrived early, or what we thought to be early. All the seats were taken and most of the standing area as well. I grabbed an unclaimed footstool and stood on it to gain some precious inches. Terry Pratchett arrived with his hat and immediately began a wonderful monologue that was funny, informative and well worth the walk in the cold, cold wind that Wednesday evening. Boon and I got into the signing queue too late and decided not to wait an hour and a half to get Terry's autograph. It was already a privilege to hear him speak. We went out into the cold, dark night and proceeded to Peiming's house for a warm, delicious dinner and white wine.
What a terribly long weekend! I spent most of Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday working on an essay for my creative non-fiction class, which still seemed to be a rushed piece when I distributed it in class today. I'm not particularly satisfied with it and everyone will notice, I'm sure, when it's workshopped on Thursday.
I also wrote critiques for two essays - a 10 page piece and a 33 page piece - and an excerpt of a historical novel that's set in Russia in the 1930s. The excerpt was 78 pages, so I'm pretty pooped.
When the clock struck nine this evening, marking the end of the school day, I was exuberant. I've been up since five working on my essay, went to have it copied, attended class, spent two hours reading a novel for my evening class, had a bagel, and then attended the 6-9 fiction workshop. The only respite was a twenty minute nap at seven-thirty this morning. I was flat out underneath my warm blanket.
I ought to mention that my first story was workshopped last Tuesday and it went splendidly. As expected, it was a rather rushed piece (less rushed than today's though), but my peers seemed to really like the story. I have to thank Lin Kiat for reading the story and giving me advice on authenticity for the NS facts and for overall support.
My mother is here for a lovely long visit, the only bright spark of my weekend (oh, I did have a decent haircut by a nice girl called Megan), although she got held up at the airport. Immigration decided to haul her in for further (read: lengthy) questioning. They even questioned me! At last, I got her home on Saturday evening, and she saved my life today by cooking me a great lunch before I rushed to school. Mothers are wonderful; I hope I can be half as good as mine in the future.
Peiming, my pianist friend (I seem to have many musician friends now - the girls in my cooking group include a pianist, a trumpet player and a cellist), organized a small gathering last Sunday to celebrate my new year of life.
It was a little embarrassing to have a party in my honor and to not have to bring anything but a video tape for some entertainment. I rented "Chasing Amy" but we didn't really get to watch it because we were all too busy talking and then eating cake and ice-cream.
I feel really lucky that I got some neat presents on top of a being at such a fun party with good friends. A computer game - Half-Life, linked to Counterstrike, so that I may indulge my tomboy and killer instincts; a Somerset Mall voucher, so that I may indulge my occasional feminine habits; a silver necklace, small enough for my small neck (yay!); an Italian cookbook from my cooking group mates (I suspect they already have some requests); and a beautiful art book with pictures by M.C. Escher.
It seems like winter has come to Ann Arbor sooner than expected. There was a freeze advisory last night and a winter advisory for tonight. The flowers and shrubs around my estate have been covered to protect them from frost and I'm covering myself with lots of blankets tonight as the temperature goes down, down, down. It was -1 degrees celsius when I left a friend's apartment after dinner this evening.
It's only the start of October! What will December be like?