monoceros blogsThe Lord of The Rings returns to New Zealand and stops the nation (or at least a city, Wellington, in this case) for a day. On December 1st, this grand final part of the trilogy will unfold before a 2000-strong audience. Outside, of course, the Embassy Theatre will be surrounded by hundreds (or thousands?) of rabid fans not just from around New Zealand, but from around the world.
Poor souls like me (a wannabe rabid fan) can't get within a hundred miles of Wellington since I have essays to complete and a headache to nurse. It's also tough when your money has been saved for a ticket home to Singapore, and not to Wellington. And school isn't out yet either. Thank goodness for technology - webcams in Wellington! While I attempt to complete my essay in two days, I shall spend my breaks watching streaming videos of the premiere courtesy of stuff.co.nz.
Go here to be part of the premiere (or as close as one can get without being stomped and suffocated by the real diehards).
There are about half a dozen other entires I ought to be writing, but time is not on my side. However, I couldn't resist putting this link up for my friends and other LOTR fans out there . Here is a terrific, rare interview with Gollum, the irascible co-star of the famous trilogy.
Go here now!
The weekend was a good one - I spent Saturday afternoon at my friend Elizabeth's house. We had cheese toast and red peppers for lunch, followed by the tea I brought over, some holiday-themed Celestial Seasonings flavors. Later, I spoke with Elizabeth's husband, Gyorgi, who's Bulgarian, about raising children, being away from the place you grew up, living in the US, and immigration laws. Their children are just fantastic kids - Tony, 7, Yanka, 6 and little Kirrel, who's 3. It's Bulgarian tradition for little boys not to have their hair trimmed till they're older, so Kirrel has shoulder-length hair and looks perfectly handsome with his bright eyes and crooked grin.
I've played with them before and read them some stories after Yanka more or less plopped herself in my lap and pushed a book in my face. The first time I met them, after some fifteen minutes or so - and after introducing me to their pet guinea pig, Lucy - Yanka and Kirrel were crawling and pouncing on me as if they were trying to take me down like a sinking ship. Which I was, sinking to the floor with their weight. In truth, the joy of playing with such exuberant children really makes the pain more bearable. Elizabeth says she'll come see me in several years' time to see my brood.
I'm not sure about three children, but I certainly hope to raise a couple the way Elizabeth and Gyorgi have brought up theirs. I watch the way they speak to the children when they've done something wrong or forgotten to do something right. They speak in even tones, as if the children are little adults deserving of their respect. They never yell, never reprimand without reason, and always question the children so the children would think things through and realize for themselves what is the right thing to do, and why it's right. Tantrums aren't tolerated either, and Kirrel was left to yell on his own and fling his little cart after Elizabeth took away the stick with which he used to pound his sister's head (which was thankfully helmeted). He yelled until he realized no one was going to pay him attention or return his stick to him, and then he sobered up and returned to play with the older children.
I also got to meet the children's other friends: a Norwegian brother-and-sister team - startingly European with their blonde hair, blue eyes and sharp facial structures - a beautiful little girl named Asia, whose mother is black and father, Puerto Rican. Asia is seven, and she really is a lovely child with dark, curling hair, pale porcelain skin and arresting eyes. I think she wears her exotic looks the way Kristin Kreuk (of Lana Lang fame) does - very well and very unassumingly.
As I was driving home that day, I found it entertaining to run through my list of children's names for my future kids (as most girls are wont to do).
Boys' names (in no particular order):
1. Owen (a Welsh/Celtic name that Lin Kiat likes too, because he enjoys watching Michael Owen on the field, although I didn't pick Owen for that reason. The meanings of the name: archer, young warrior, well-born offspring.)
2. Julien (the French version of Julian, a beautiful-sounding word)
3. Salvatore (short form Toto. Most Italian names for boys are a little over the top, but I fancied this one because of my favorite movie Cinema Paradiso. Toto was the epitome of cute, really. But in Singapore, a little boy named Salvatore will be teased relentlessly for being named after a shoe brand. People, the shoe was named after the designer. Just as Mercedes - the car was named after a girl.)
4. Tristan (one of my favorite names, although it comes from the Italian word, triste, which means sadness. Tristan of the Tristan and Isolde tragedy. Well, I'm not really the superstitious type so I don't think it should matter).
5. Raoul (Italian origin, although there is a Spanish footballer called Raul, yes? The Raoul I know of is an ex-national swimmer for Italy and now the famous Gap guy in this fall's commerical for broken-in jeans. Go here for a look!)
6. Howell (short form Howl. From a book I read most recently. Howl in the book is Welsh and very, very clever.)
7. Dashiell (French. In "Minority Report, one of the pre-cogs was named Dash, after Dashiell Hammett, writer of many detective stories. I studied one of his books in university and was very taken with his name. This is beginning to make me sound frivolous; well, these lists are rather frivolous!)
Girls' names (in no particular order):
1. Coralie (French; has something to do with the beauty of corals, I think)
2. Sienna (after the Italian city, Siena. Although unwitting Singaporeans will pronounce it "xian-ah." How dreadful!)
3. Samaine (I climbed a mountain in New England with a girl called Samaine. She was a strong hiker, and we had a mutual appreciation fan club going on as we admired each other's determination to get up that bloody mountain.)
4. Nefret (Popular ancient Egyptian girls' name, Nefret means "beautiful". It can also be translated as "good". Too, it was part of the name of a number of Egyptian queens like Nefertari, Nefertiti, etc.)
5. Rohan (actually pronounced "Rho-en". I met a girl from the UK called Rohan, and she didn't mention anything about her name being made fun of. Although with the LOTR craze now, everyone will have heard of Rohan and associate the word with the horse-people of Middle-Earth. And in Singapore, where people aren't known for their diction, the name "Rohan" will probably be pronounced correctly only 20% of the time.)
6. Cecily (Celtic/Gaelic; one famous Cecily is the young charge of Ernest in The Importance of Being Ernest.)
A great day with even better weather. I got up early for a meeting at Espresso Royale Cafe on State Street where I chanced upon a student from the class I grade. He was working the counter and recognized me the same second I recognized him as one of the brighter students. He immediately offered me his "GSI special" because I'm grading his papers. So I got a free hazelnet steamer. I thought he was kidding at first but he insisted, so I left a tip for him instead of paying. I told him he was doing well and had nothing to worry about. Thank goodness, or I might have had to lie to say something polite.
After my meeting, I came home and decided to wash my car. I was very disappointed with the autowash I gave the Wabbit (as May so termed endearingly!) two days ago - a layer of grey dust still clung to the body despite the strong sprays of water. Since this might be some of the last warm days before the real winter sets in, I got out pail, cloths, washing liquid, wax and tyre spray.
I started with my Dustbuster inside the car where the floor is filthy and the dashboard dusty. The cleaning got progressively harder. I'm pretty slow (my short arms can only go so fast) so by the time I finished washing and rinsing the car, the cool air had dried most of the water before I got out my drying cloth.
The Wabbit got the works - a good wash and rinse, wax and polish, and had her rims cleaned out (very much like clogged ears) and a finishing spray to make the tyres gleam.
Very satisfied with this mini make-over for my car. Please observe the reflection. *grin* (I hope this passes Lin Kiat's expectations).
The Wabbit's vanity plate.
Wabbit at rest.
I bet all my neighbors will now label me the crazy girl who takes two hours to clean her car, and then even takes pictures of it!
Green, red...awaiting the missing blue...due next year.
At the age of 55, film music composer Michael Kamen has died after suffering from multiple sclerosis for several years, although his death is believed to be caused by a heart attack. In the 1970s, Kamen served as musical director for David Bowie's "Diamond Dogs" tour, and then began writing film scores. Most will recognize the films whose music Kamen created - the Lethal Weapon series, the Die Hard series, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, Mr. Holland's Opus, and X-Men, among some 80 films and TV shows.
My favorite Kamen work is the score for HBO series Band of Brothers. I initially bought the soundtrack for Lin Kiat, knowing how much he enjoyed the series. But after I gave it a few listens, and watched the series myself, I made a copy of it so I could listen to the opening and closing themes on repeat. One of my choice tracks is the music played when Lieutenant Winters rides the subway in Paris. Kamen composed some of the most moving pieces of music ever for a war-themed series, or movie, for that matter.
Go here and here for reports on Michael Kamen's death.
Visit Michael Kamen's official website here and learn more about his music.
Go here to sample Kamen's music for Band of Brothers.
Go here for my over-enthusiastic entry on Band of Brothers. I thoroughly recommend that anyone who hasn't seen the series should do so. The acting, directing, and score all come together to create a very successful work based on Stephen E. Ambrose's book.
Annie Lennox's song, "Into The West," for The Return Of The King has been unveiled on AOL. Naturally, Theonering.net has it also for non-AOL users. Go here and look for the entry, 'Into The West' Unveiled. Save it, you'll want to listen to this haunting song on repeat.
Listening to it in its entirety nearly brought tears to my eyes (yes, I'm that affected by the books!) because I know precisely the scene that this song refers to. I have a painting at home of this scene and that painting alone was enough to move me. I was initially unsure of how this song would turn out. It's the theme song of the final movie to a great trilogy. Plenty of pressure. But the music and lyrics rise to the occasion and the significance of the ending. I can't wait to witness the end. Most of the fans will be saddened that the journey for the characters and actors (and also ours) will finally wrap and pass out of the present. I'm happy though that this song pays homage to such an end as this.
Here are the lyrics (probably not arranged in the correct verses - my apologies):
Lay down
Your sweet and weary head.
Night is falling,
You?ve come to journey?s end.
Sleep now
And dream of the ones who came before.
They are calling
From across the distant shore.
Why do you weep?
What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see
All of your fears will pass away.
Safe in my arms
You?re only sleeping
What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea,
A pale moon rises -
The ships have come to carry you home.
Dawn will turn
To silver glass.
A light on the water,
All souls pass.
Hope fades
Until the world of night
Through shadows falling
Out of memory and time.
Don?t say
We have come now to the end.
White shores are calling,
You and I will meet again.
And you?ll be here in my arms
Just sleeping.
What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea,
A pale moon rises -
The ships have come to carry you home.
And all will turn
To silver glass.
A light on the water,
Grey ships pass
Into the west.
Amazon.com wrote to say my copy of the extended edition of The Two Towers has been sent out today!
Life is going to be good again, I can feel it!
The wabbit is home safe and recovered! Watching her being towed this morning was a little heart-wrenching. The thought of her being helplessly linked to the back of the tow truck evoked my protective instincts. I watched hawk-eyed as the tow truck guy (a nice chap from Brewer's) wheeled my car out of the lot and deftly lined her front wheels against the cables.
After seeing my car safely parked at the service center, I went to school hours ahead of my class, and so spent an hour chatting with Andrea Beauchamp, the Hopwood associate, who still remembers that I won a Hopwood award in 2000 and wanted to know what I've been up to since then (she's also pressuring me to win more awards at the graduate level! Gak.). Apart from exchanging stories, we discovered our common love of horses, Italy and art. Andrea is my dad's age, but we spoke to each other as equals, although I am in awe of her travels and experiences. She'll be taking a horse-riding tour in Tuscany on her own for two weeks next spring. I confessed my envy and she invited me to take up riding lessons so I can join her, and she even suggested that Lin Kiat meet me there after the tour!
I doubt I can afford to take up a new sport like horse-riding, but it was nice to listen to an avid rider talk of her love of riding and horses. Andrea has invited me to meet her horse, Lucca. He's thirteen years old, gentle and good-natured. She said if I were willing to wear her helmet, I could get up on Lucca for a little bit. I certainly would be game to try! I'll finally get a feel of some real "horsepower"!
I spent the afternoon in the company of friends yesterday - dim sum, TV, played with Clinton's cat (called Cookie, also the name of Peiming's dog!), tried my hand at CS again and a new game Yew Hoe insisted I take a look at (after two years, am very rusty at first-person shooting), spoke to Crystal, Kuan-Yin's girlfriend, who says my Mandarin isn't so bad (great! Or maybe she was being nice?).
Ben, Kuan-Yin's roommate, drove us to Rochester Hills, because my beloved white rabbit wouldn't start! Brought her to Kuan-Yin's house fine, but she wouldn't start when we were ready to leave. Highly embarrassing and frustrating while everyone waited for me. It's happened before - the key recognition system not reading my key - but my car would usually start after several tries. I figured yesterday was the day the system finally broke down completely. So I'll have it towed tomorrow morning to the dealer to get it fixed. Very troublesome. But seeing as how I treat my car almost like my child, it's like having a sick little girl to send to the medical clinic. A mother would have to take time off from work or her daily chores to get the suffering, immobile child to the doctor's.
I once read a nifty little statement that goes something like this (I think): "the significance lies not in that adults make children but rather that children make adults out of us." In this case, it's my car! One day, Lin Kiat and I will have little people running around our home (imagine miniature versions of LK and me. Horrors! A little boy with an irrespressible grin and a small girl who wants a story read to her every night!). For now, I've just learned that an old schoolmate of mine is a new mother and I'm thrilled for her. I'm slightly envious, but I'm far from ready to be a mother myself. Not until I've done all the things I need to do for me (finishing my MFA program, travelling with LK, spending lots of time with him in our very own home - no matter where that might be - and finding a job) because when it comes to raising children, I think I'll want all my energies concentrated on the little beings. I don't want to be - for lack of a better description, and as a friend once said - a half-assed mom.
My own god-mother, my witness at the wedding (and my ex-Literature teacher in JC), is also pregnant, and expecting a boy next March. I've always looked to her as the ultimate literary and whip-smart woman whose interests in books, travel, movies and culture coincide with mine. She once told me she loved children but was a little terrified of raising one. I've recently bought a book for her - The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook: Parenting. She's lived and studied in the UK, the US, travelled to unusual places in Europe, earned a PhD, and now, will take on the gargantuan task of bringing a little boy into this world!
I have yet to get to what I'm referring in the title of this post. In a windy sort of way, I'm finally getting to my review of the movie "Love Actually." I got back to Ann Arbor yesterday evening to meet up with my friend, Jenny, who I've been friends with since our hiking days in the summer of 1999. We'd both planned to see the new British romantic comedy (from the makers of "Notting Hill," "About A Boy," "Bridget Jones's Diary," and "Four Weddings And A Funeral") because we both like feel-good movies (as long as they're not sappy). The movie redeemed my awful day (car not working, watch stopping, rainy weather) because it reminded me that love is all around, so goes the title of the song from "Four Weddings And A Funeral," which is transformed ironically into "Christmas Is All Around" in this new movie.
The inter-connected stories in the two-hour movie were sad, uplifting and inspiring. Great direction, and a wonderful cast - Emma Thompson, Hugh Grant, Liam Neeson, Colin Firth, Keira Knightley, Alan Rickman, Laura Linney, Rowan Atkinson, among others, and cameos by Billy Bob Thorton, Denise Richards and Claudia Schiffer - which made this a great ensemble movie. The movie has its faults but you do leave the theater feeling happier and glad to be alive and knowing that there are people in your life who you love and who love you back.
The stories include a man (Liam Neeson) who's just lost his wife and realizes that he barely knows his step-son, a precocious boy who is in love with a girl who sings beautifully; a married couple (Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman)with the spark fading in their marriage, and where the husband is tempted by his bewitching secretary; a young, new wife (Keira Knightley) who tries to be friends with her husband's best friend, not comprehending the reason for his cold disposition towards her; the Prime Minister of England (Hugh Grant) finding love in the most unusual of places (Harris Street, the dodgy end); a writer (Colin Firth), who discovers that his live-in girlfriend has been shagging his brother, and then goes to France to work on his book while trying to communicate with his Portuguese housekeeper; an American woman (Laura Linney) who yearns to begin a relationship with a colleague (played by Rodrigo Santoro, a very good-looking Brazilian actor, who reminds me of Raoul Bova, the Italian chap in "Under A Tuscan Sun"), but keeps having her life interrupted by mobile phone calls; and an aging ex-rock star who's trying to get a no. 1 single this Christmas.
There are so many lovely moments in the movie. Here are a few of my favorites:
1. The wedding. Look for the surprise that the best friend has prepared for the couple.
2. The discovery. When Emma Thompson's character realizes she didn't get what she thought she would from her husband.
3. The dance. When Laura Linney's character finally gets her first dance with officemate, Karl. Very tender moment there.
4. The parting. When Colin Firth's writer says goodbye to his housekeeper. What they say in their respective languages to each other, and what they don't realize the other person is saying.
5. The performance. When the little girl sings Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You."
Not all the stories end happily, the choices the characters make aren't always the ones we want them to, but we understand a little of why they make them. Go see this with a loved one, a friend, or someone you want to impress with your fun taste in movies. Suspend your cynicism when you enter the theater. After all, Christmas is nearly upon us! Love comes to all beings - fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, children, grandparents, friends and even the vulgar rock star!
Go to the official movie website here. Watch the trailer! You'll smile.
Chua Mui Hoong of The Straits Times admits that her observations on girls from certain schools may be gross stereotypes, but she sure picked a "complimentary" one for my alma mater, Singapore Chinese Girls' School. She writes:
"Singapore Chinese Girls' School girls are said to marry well - because they mix with the right crowd. But if you're not from the right kind of family to begin with, life can be tough. Or so some SCGS girls say."
And on other schools: MGS girls are more gentle and know how to cook and sew, Nanyang Primary kids are status-conscious, and RGS girls get all the deemed-successful traits of a career women (intelligence, competitive nature, less marriagable). The author is an ex-RGS girl herself, and perhaps I'm sensitive but she appears to want to impress upon readers that it's mainly the RGS girl who can state, "sorry if I scare men with my intelligence but I can't help that, I just am" and this would be a far better kind of woman (who also is trained in technical drawings, woodwork and metalwork) to be than the SCGS girl who is geared towards marrying well.
Yes, we are more marriagable than the RGS girls because we know instinctively who to marry in order to marry well; yes, we really do aim to mix with Tatler-featured families and young men of high stature and significant inheritances and certifiable futures; yes, we tend to pity the poor girls who don't know the people worth knowing; yes, our peers often exchange notes on who's the latest catch this month. Oh my, what a bunch of materialistic and manipulative creatures we must be to orchestrate such fates for ourselves!
For heaven's sake, Ms Chua, I pity your nephew if you are the one making the choice of his secondary school. You claim that you will not "use academic criteria alone to choose a school for his formative years", which means you'll be looking into the schools' reputations in "other" areas. Well, you better make sure you know what the schools are really known for because your assessments so far are grossly sweeping and biased, and I doubt that they arrive from a very wide sample.
But seriously, how does anyone really know what a school is known for in "other" areas? These stereotypes come from prominent or socializing figures who give their schools a bad or good image. What about the rest who don't have voices or who have them but aren't given the chance to articulate their opinions? Chances are you'll find that it's only a handful of students who truly subscribe to the image given to them. The rest wouldn't fit into any category provided (not that Ms. Chua has provided many).
Go here to see the article.
This is how I feel today. (I'm the green guy on the left.)
As of today, I have about five weeks until I fly home. This is good news. But it also means I have less than five weeks to finish all my reading, writing and revision for the semester. That's not the best news.
Anyone recognize these guys? Ah, I do miss the adventures I had with them as a child!
I got a little drunk again, on a school night! The first-year prose folks met with Peter Ho Davies, the director of the MFA program, after the Hopwood tea today. It was a nice roundtable discussion followed by drinks at Ashley's. Seven of us, including Peter, continued our talk over beers. I chose to be the individualist and selected a Cosmopolitan (again!). I got very red, something I discovered in the restroom mirror, and I'm surprised no one commented (I think they were all just being polite). One drink downed a little swiftly is enough to turn me scarlet. What is it with this bloody drink? It's got Vodka, cranberry, lime and Cointreau, and it doesn't make me wheeze, even though it is a strong drink, I believe. I made sure I was sane and sober enough before driving to Lim Jia's place where Jake, her tuba-playing boyfriend, cooked us an authentic Jewish dinner. One rule we learned (although Jake didn't impose this on us): never divide or cut up bread with a knife. Among friends and family, you always peel off chunks from the loaves with your fingers. A knife is just too "violent" an object to wield among loved ones.
While watching an E! True Hollywood Story about Jonbenet Ramsey, I thought over something Peter had mentioned to me earlier today. He wanted to nominate me for a fellowship that grants an Asian graduate student full funding with stipend for a year, on condition that she returns to her home country to pursue a professional career, and that she does not receive further aid via a graduate instructorship. Peter thinks I'm likely to be awarded the fellowship if I agree to be nominated; the downsides are that I will have to go home to Singapore not long after I graduate and that I won't be required to teach writing classes in my second year. The former prevents me from remaining in the US to gain experience as a college lecturer, and the latter, while providing me extra time to write, actually deprives me of teaching experience as well. Zilch on my resume. Not good. It's probably prestigious to receive the fellowship and great to have more time to write, but I actually do want the teaching responsibilities, because someday perhaps, I'd like to teach writing to young adults and adults in Singapore who wouldn't have the chances I had to come to the US to learn the craft of writing, to live and work in the country where the short story form is alive and celebrated. I want to earn a wealth of experience learning and teaching here before going home, but accepting this fellowship prevents me from that.
I believe my answer to Peter will have to be "no". (I suppose the choice wasn't so difficult after all.)
Here are the details of the fellowship.
Thunderstorm warnings went off yesterday. As I was leaving a friend's apartment after dinner (and there was electricity at her place, although the lights flickered twice during our meal), I was surprised to see that all the traffic lights and street lamps had gone out. The rain and lightning hadn't even arrived yet; only huge winds that tossed dead leaves and plastic bags around (one flying straight for my windshield), very neo-gothic style, especially in the dark streets markered with the silhouettes of spindly tree branches.
I was sending another friend home and we reached her apartment only to find all the windows pitch black and our fears realized. Great, how are we supposed to do our homework now? Clearly, only certain residential areas were affected and the unlucky ones would have no way to do any productive work while the rest of Ann Arbor carried on their usual nocturnal duties. I went home, parked the car, and stared out at the black rows of windows and a fierce red sky, listening to the wind howling. I actually like the furious, hollow sound of strong winds (especially if I'm already on my doorstep and well aware that safety and warmth are half a minute away), such a beastly portent of other weather furies to come.
I stayed outside till my fingers were numb and then entered the hallway with the light of my mobile phone to lead the way. Three things I'm grateful for:
1. Christine, my sister-in-law, insisting that I take a torchlight/radio gadget to keep by my bedside. She gave this to me after we left NYC this summer, after the historical blackout.
2. My mom chatting with a lady shopper in Kroger. The lady was looking through the candles leftover from the Halloween stocks. She told my mother that since they were on sale, she had better stock up in case of emergencies. My mom thought I ought to as well, but I declined the orange and pumpkin-shaped candles, and picked out some Glade ones instead.
3. After procrastinating for over a month, I finally got to the Smoker's Shop last week to pick up some Zippo fluid and new flints and wicks. I did this soon after my mom had left, mainly to distract myself from her departure. Admittedly, there are better and more useful methods of distraction than amusing oneself with a Zippo (don't ask me why I have one when I don't smoke, I just keep certain things in my small black bag: compass, lighter, USB pen drive, rosary, two lip balms, gum, metal pick, tissue, oil blotters, compact powder and other assorted chick things), but choosing to do so at least provided me with something to light those new candles with.
I'd never have guessed that I'd have to face another blackout after experiencing one in New York. When others spoke of preparing for other blackouts, I scoffed. What were the chances of another one occuring? Surely the power stations - for sake of their reputations - would not risk letting another one happen? I did listen to Lin Kiat's advice, however, and in September, bought a huge case of drinking water to store in my wardrobe, but I put off buying candles for a long time, until my mother pressed me to do so.
Because I'd already read two essays for class the next day, I didn't really worry too much about my homework, only about the food in my fridge. Would I really have to throw out my ice-cream and all those yummy frozen (and thawing) meats that my mother had lovingly stored away for me? Apart from that worry, I quite enjoyed the darkness and the solitude. I lay in bed with my discman, watched the changing light from some unknown source pour through the blinds in the window, and fell asleep at last. An early night, for once!
Note: Power returned for thirty seconds at about three in the morning (I think, can't be too sure), and then everything went dead again (much to my horror). Full power came back again (and stayed) at six this morning. I'm pleased to report I didn't have to throw out any food or ice-cream!
Go here to read more about the storms and blackout in Michigan.
Actually, it's the first time I'm this high. I've just returned from a party held after the Mark Webster Reading Series. I had a really strong drink - a Cosmopolitan - made by the host, who used to bar-tend as a professional. I nursed it throughout most of the night, but phew, here I am, a little high (made sure I was fine before driving home though) and half-enjoying the sensation. I'm semi-asthmatic, so I always drink slowly so as not to create an emergency where I'm wheezing in the middle of a party (I thank God I now have a husband who can watch over me and take me home if need be, although he's not here right now, damn it!). Drinking slowly or not, I found myself upstairs in a bedroom among coats and bags, trying to let my head and stomach calm down before leaving the party. I talked to various people in the program, let go of some of my inhibition and shyness and actually laughed rather loudly several times (I hope no one noticed).
I'm glad to be home now though. Somehow I'll find my way to the shower and then to my beautiful, welcoming bed and pillow. And I'll have a good night's sleep.
I've just read a warm email from my friend Mandy, and also called Lin Kiat (to let him know how high I am and that I'll survive), and I'm thinking of a poem by Vikram Seth that my dear friend Mogan introduced to me years ago. Here it is:
All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love,
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above -
Know that you aren't alone
The whole world shares your tears,
Some for two nights or one,
And some for all their years.
50 more shopping days to Christmas and 42 more days to Return Of The King. Here at last is the theatrical poster from Lordoftherings.net. Everyone's hopes are sky-high for this film. I sure hope it lives up to all expectations, and dare I hope, surpasses them too?
I got out from class at four and Boon rang me, "Do you want to go see The Matrix?" I had planned an evening of errands: post office, Office Max, read an essay. In the end, I skipped the errands and hastened down to Showcase Cinemas to meet Boon and his friend. Movie on impulse, that's the way to go.
For a four-thirty show, the theater was pretty crowded (the first showing was at nine this morning, I believe). We got three seats and plunked down to a splendid showcase of trailers. Troy (it looks great! The hundreds of ships sailing towards Troy, Brad Pitt looking yummy and Orlando Bloom looking yummy. Where was Sean Bean, our dear Boromir?) was followed by The Last Samurai. Now I wish they hadn't titled the movie that, it puts people off, how can they give a man from the west such an esteemed title? Forget the title, focus on the battles scenes. Impressive, I'd watch it for the fighting, the costumes, and the lovely Japanese lady who serves up as eye candy and requisite lover for Tom Cruise's hero character.
Cut to movie at last. Hmm, I wish I'd rented Reloaded before going to see the final part of the trilogy. Even though it's been a few months, so much has happened in between that I've forgotten the plot points in the final moments of Reloaded. I don't want to give too much away, so I'll sound really general in my review. Lots of action, puts you at the edge of your seat, fights with sentinels, fights with Smith, fights with nameless, gun-toting, leather-clad baddies. Just a few moments (and one miserable line!?) of Monica Bellucci (lots of cleavage though), a cryptic little Indian girl, more Oracle talk, less Morpheus waxing philosophical. The end wasn't as I expected, a little compromised, a little anticlimactic. I wanted more to the story. Maybe they wrote it this way to leave room for another trilogy (a final war with the machines?). There were a couple of things I didn't quite grasp, one being Smith's power. I must consult with my brother, who's more of a Matrix fan and expert than I am.
So the movie ended, I left Showcase (but not before seeing a couple of fans dressed in long, black cassocks, Neo-style, sans sunglasses) and I went to dinner at a friend's house where we watched Finding Nemo, which has just emerged in DVD format. Still as heart-warming and satisfying as ever. Now, I shall return to the essay I postponed. Outside, the temperature falls (and falls) and I shall cozy up with a new friend: a small blue mouse whose belly hides microwavable lavender beads to warm and relax the senses. The eczema has spread to my neck, so I really must get some down-time. Too bad I can't plug myself into a beach-resort program and immerse my consciousness in sun, sand, and ocean.
My blue pal in the microwave
[Update]: The mention of "blue" reminds me of one favorite moment in the movie. At one point, while Trinity and Neo hurtle towards the machine city, they are forced to escape the sentinels by nosing the ship into the sky, above the wretched machines. They burst through the black cloud and lightning and find themselves surrounded by a beautiful expanse of blue sky and the sun blazing benevolently upon their faces. It was probably the first time Trinity had seen and felt the sun's rays upon her face. Her experssion was perfect: awe and wonder at such a phenomenon. And then they were plunging back into the dark world, leaving behind the faint outlines of a crescent moon and that unending blue heaven.
Taken by my mom on her last night in Ann Arbor. 01.11.03
Been a little down and out. A little ill in the stomach and quite ill in the heart. And thoroughly fatigued (as usual).
At the airport this morning, I wouldn't let my mom go. I was never a hanger-on as a child, and I am now at 25 years old. I think it moved my mom somewhat, she wouldn't let me go either. She finally released me, because she had to take off her boots for inspection. And I turned to go at last. Back to my dirty white VW rabbit, back to my abysmal life in my once-again quiet apartment, back to waiting for the right words to appear on the screen and for my characters to do what they're supposed to do, back to coming home at night to a mother-empty living room, back to cooking my own meals again and having boring breakfasts and preparing my vitamins and ironing my shirts and worrying about class the next day. Oh, and mustn't forget the daily mutterings of French and Italian verbs in the shower before the two languages abandon me completely (not that they were ever with me a great deal).
On Friday evening, I took to bed early due to a strange case of abdominal reactions to an unwelcome food item (I don't know which yet), and I listened to my neighbor playing the theme song of Final Fantasy X on the synthesizer, along with some badly phrased Richard Clayderman pieces. I thought of our PS2 sitting in Lin Kiat's bedroom. I thought of the piano I share with my brother. I thought of my brother playing the piano. Then I thought of my brother playing tennis with Lin Kiat. And I remembered that my mother is bringing a tennis racket home for Lin Kiat. I wish she'd taken me home too. That night, after I suffered (rather dramatically, I must admit, sinking to the floor by my bathroom sink) and dragged myself to bed, my mom watched over me and rubbed my back until I fell asleep. I was six years old again, curled up for a nap beside my mom, and safe from the world.