monoceros blogsI've been rather unaware of the latest on-goings on campus. Michael Moore is in town to talk about the upcoming election and I didn't know till today. I was leaving my office this evening when I noticed a large crowd outside the Hill Auditorium, the place where I watched Hilary Hahn play last year.
People were protesting or cheering his name. I couldn't quite tell. In any case, I wish I'd bought a ticket ($4 for students) to hear him speak, but I've got work to finish for tomorrow. And Smallville is playing at 8.
I'm going to take the plunge. I've never had my hair colored before, unless you count the two times I had blue and purplish-blue extensions woven into my hair.
Garnier has released the line 100% Color, and the shade used for the TV advertisement is Blue Black, the precise shade I've dreamed of having for a long time. Actually, since the time I got my extensions way back in 1998! (I got the extensions because the hairdresser didn't want to bleach my head and then dye it blue-black; too drastic, she said.)
According to the online test, my hair color suits the desired shade, so come next week, I'll attempt a little experiment. Since my mom will be in town, she can help me with it. I've always done her hair color for her when I'm back home so it will be a nice change. Of course, risks are involved, and I just hope I won't turn up in school with green hair. I don't mind, of course, but my job makes that scenario a little more undesirable.
The Best American series is a favorite of mine. I usually go for the short stories and essays and, more recently, travel writing. The non-required reading always struck me as too avant garde, but this year's is looking good. It's got a beautiful cover by graphic novelist, Adrian Tomine (recommended to me by Boon), and an introduction by King Aragorn. Okay, by Viggo Mortensen. The review considers his introduction to be one of the very best.
The local independent bookstore, Shaman Drum, already has the book in stock, so I got to leaf through a few pages before my musicology class today. It includes work by two writers I admire - David Sedaris (hilarious essayist) and Julie Orringer (raised in New Orleans and Ann Arbor, writes wonderful short stories) - so I'm inching towards getting a copy. Pretty cover, pretty stories. Darn it, I wish I owned my own bookstore. That way I can order all the books I want (and it'd still be considered "work"), organize readings, and maybe hold a writing workshop or two. Ah, the life we live in dreams.
Go read more about The Best American Non-Required Reading 2004 here.
Lanterns and mooncake. That's what we had on Sunday night at the Arb. Peiming brought back old-fashioned lanterns in the shape of fish for a few of us, so we went to the Singapore Students' Association Mid-Autumn Festival in style. So many people commented on them - wah, how come theirs so nice? since when got special lanterns one? - that I had to inform a couple of guys that these were brought specially from Singapore, and no, they weren't getting any discrimination from the organizers.
I brought a box of mooncakes to the writing workshop on Monday night and everyone ate one. One of my classmates, the Jesuit priest from Nigeria, said it was really nice. I felt inexplicably pleased that so many folks liked the mooncake. I even explained a little about how the fifteenth day of the eighth month in the Chinese year is when the moon is the brightest, and so we're all inclined to devour mooncakes and surround ourselves with lanterns.
Tonight is the actual night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, and I celebrated it with Peiming and Boon in Ypsilanti where we had six different kinds of Buffalo Wings. There was Teriyaki, Smoky Southwestern, Thai, something garlic-y, Caribbean Jerk, and Blazin'. The last one is the one I tried last of all, because it's, as Boon would put it, "a lifetime experience." It's the hottest or spiciest thing I've ever put in my mouth. I had to soak my tongue with lemonade for a good ten minutes after eating it just to rid my mouth of that awful burning. It was pretty fun though!
Actually I started off the day in a very disorganized manner. My clock had stopped at 6 a.m. It was due to go off at 7 a.m. I jolted awake and noticed how bright it was. My clock said 6 though. So I turned my face back into my pillow, and then I thought, maybe it's finally happened, the clock has stopped. I slipped my hand under the pillow next to mine and reached for my Ipod (okay, I like to listen to music before falling asleep), checked the time, and then jumped out of bed. It was 8:23 a.m. I had a bus to catch slightly past 9 a.m. So I dashed around like a dustbunny. Ate cereal, forgot my vitamins, packed a sandwich for lunch. I caught my bus, graded two papers which I'd forgotten to grade over the weekend, made handouts just before class was to begin, and entered the classroom rather calmly. I sure am getting the hang of this.
Oh, and my story for Monday night's workshop. That survived too, thankfully. It needs work, of course, but it did okay.
This is the fourth week of school. 10 more to go.
So I got rather lazy over the weekend and watched a couple of DVDs instead of preparing for school next week.
If you've been reading this blog, you'd have guessed that I kind of like movies. A lot. And I hoard DVDs, particularly those of my favorite movies. I also get a little carried away with the available extras. I'll watch movies with the commentary on, especially if it's a good one that features the cast as well.
I also happen to enjoy hunting down Easter Eggs. I first learned about this feature from playing a computer game called Leisure Suit Larry back in the mid 90s. (My brother had me corrupted; I didn't pick up that naughty PC game on my own.) If you knew how to key in the right moves or make Larry do the right things, oh, a girl here and there would lose most of her clothes or grant Larry some nice favors. Anyway, those Easter Eggs I dug up myself; my brother is innocent and probably never knew of their existence. I was pretty pleased to learn they have this feature on DVDs. No ladies stripping, but you do get nice little extras. On the LOTR extended editions, for instance, you get neat clips of Gollum up to some mayhem.
So, if you own some DVDs, you might like to check out this website for Easter Eggs. Search for the DVD title and see what comes up!
Thursday night, end of the school week. I wanted to do some work, but I was too lazy. I surfed the web as usual, and then I thought I'd better get cracking at that lovely Ipod LK gave me. I'd been putting it off because I was afraid I'd get too caught up and forget about the work I was supposed to do in the week.
So I charged it, read the instructions, updated my Itunes to the latest version, and then plugged the IPod into the PC. It came alive! I felt like Dr. Frankenstein, yelling, "It's alive!" Or rather, I virtual-yelled at Van Tan who was online chatting with me. Yeah, Van Tan, the other Ipod (and all Mac-related products) fanatic.
This morning, I noticed all the fingerprints decorating the back of the Ipod, so I shopped around for a case. Finally settled on the Iskin Evo2, which is made specially for the 4th Generation Ipod. I chose the model called "Ghost": it's white under normal light, but when it gets dark, it glows an eerie blue. I hope I made the right choice. It's far too time-consuming to hunt for other great covers.
Van Tan once said I should name my Ipod. Hers is the Vanpod. I know a cute dog called Peapod, but it doesn't suit me. I thought of having the free engraving: "Small, bright, and fierce" to reflect the gadget (small, bright - and white - and fierce in a cool way). But I might save that for when I go home. In the mean time, this Pod is incognito.
Looking at Sally trail after Linus made me think of all the unrequited love in the strip. Here's the lowdown:
~ Charlie Brown yearning after the little red-haird girl
~ Lucy courting Schroeder as he plays piano, exasperating him to no end
~ Sally heaping affections on her "Sweet Babboo" Linus
~ Rerun wanting to borrow Snoopy since his parents won't let him have a dog
~ Peppermint Patty and Marcie, both secretly in love with Chuck
This leaves only Schroeder (who loves Beethoven and gets to play him), Franklin (who has the least anxieties on the strip), Woodstock (who has enough trouble as it is just flying), Pigpen (who loves dirt and is dirty), and Snoopy (who is too smart to be bogged down with love troubles); the lucky few who are never found mooning over anyone.
LK and I were in the giftshop of the Cartoon Art Museum of San Francisco when we first spotted the book, Peanuts: The Art of Charles M. Schulz. A very early version of Charlie Brown, arguably the world's most lovable loser, grinned at us from the cover. We were smitten. I recently acquired a copy of it from Overstock.com and am really happy with it.
I grew up watching Charlie Brown cartoons with my brother, and I remember most the Thanksgiving episode. Having this little collection throws me back to when we were young. It's nice to see that Charlie Brown and gang were young once too.
Looking at the early strips is like looking at baby photos of celebrities. There is Snoopy who can't speak yet, but looks, dare I say so, even cuter than he does later on. Lucy is a sweet saucer-eyed toddler whom Charlie Brown baby-sits (that doesn't last long though). Peppermint Patty looks more feminine because she actually wears a dress. Linus hasn't even been born yet! Well, he does come into the picture eventually. And when Sally comes along too, sparks fly, at least on Sally's side. From that point on, she's always trailing after or cheering on her "Sweet Babboo."
Note: I know I shouldn't be putting up images of the strip onto my own blog, but I couldn't resist. So I'll credit United Feature by sharing their link with everyone here.
Three BMWs arrived at my apartment today. Not for me, though. For my brother and father. They're scaled models, of course. I wouldn't dare drive one if I owned one! They're just too large for tiny me.
I also got cable TV at last. The cable guy said that the setup should be functioning already though. True enough, all the channels were there. He didn't have to do a thing! Now if only I hadn't agreed to officially get cable, and if only I'd checked my TV earlier, I might have gotten away wtih free cable again.
In any case, I got to see the first episode of the fourth season of Smallville tonight. It's going to be fun watching the show again. Every Wednesday night at eight. Kristin Kreuk is too dazzling. I can't take my eyes off her. And Tom Welling isn't bad either. WB shows have this certain quality - it's the lighting, I swear - that makes their worlds so pretty, embellished with warm and wonderful houses, ridiculously green grass and trees, skies that are never grey. I want to jump right into that front yard with nice flowers.
I went to school twice today, once to meet a student who made an appointment with me, and then for my official office hours, for which I was late. Nobody ever comes to see me anyway. Not that I'm desperate for folks to stop by. I like having some quiet time in the office to get my act together and work on lessons.
My mom sent me an email saying that the Asians Civilisations Museum in Singapore called to say a book had arrived for me. It's the official book for the exhibition, Fantastic Mountains: Chinese Landscape Painting from the Shanghai Museum, which parked at the museum in Singapore for some time this summer. D and Tigs and I had a splendid afternoon gazing at those ancient paintings. And we also had Tigs's mom give us an art and history lesson. D goaded me about stealing the museum copy when I learned that they'd run out of the book. I thought they'd never call back, so I'm really pleased they did.
And now, I'm back to preparing for class. I spend far too much time really, but I can't help it. I want to be super-super prepared, although I don't always appear so when I face the class and crumble into a heap of nerves. The student I met today says I'm really organized though. That was encouraging.
This article addresses the recent dramatic renderings in Singapore, but what Clarissa Oon has to say about the nature and importance of writing relates to all fields of writing.
It's a nicely written article.
The lines that resonate the most are the last few -
"Write about what is close to you, what keeps you awake in the middle of the night.
Write about the people, stories, places and histories that invade your imagination.
Write about the great and small injustices you see in the world around you, instead of looking away."
I wonder what keeps Dick Lee awake in the middle of the night.
I am who I am.
A coincidence no less unthinkable
than any other.
I could have different
ancestors, after all,
I could have fluttered
from another nest
or crawled bescaled
from under another tree.
Nature's wardrobe
holds a fair supply of costumes:
spider, seagull, field mouse.
Each fits perfectly right off
and is dutifully worn
into shreds.
I didn't get a choice either,
but I can't complain.
I could have been someone
much less separate.
Someone from an anthill, shoal, or buzzing swarm,
an inch of landscape tousled by the wind.
Someone much less fortunate,
bred for my fur
or Christmas dinner,
something swimming under a square of glass.
A tree rooted to the ground
as the fire draws near.
A grass blade trampled by a stampede
of incomprehensible events.
A shady type whose darkness
dazzled some.
What if I'd prompted only fear,
loathing,
or pity?
If I'd been born
in the wrong tribe,
with all roads closed before me?
Fate has been kind
to me thus far.
I might never have been given
the memory of happy moments.
My yen for comparison
might have been taken away.
I might have been myself minus amazement,
that is,
someone completely different.
~ by Wistawa Szymborska
I'm at the Media Union again - as I was a few weeks ago - in the middle a marathon writing session. I should be writing my darn story right now. But I'm so tired of it. It's like beating a half-dead horse. I want to put it to sleep already.
I also wish it weren't so cold inside. I'm wearing a T-shirt, a cardigan, and a blazer with the collar turned up. And I should have worn socks and sneakers instead of slip-on flats. When I write, I need to sit cross-legged, so my bare feet get blasted by the air-conditioning. Even sitting on my feet, Japanese-style, doesn't help much. The cold air finds some way of reaching my toes. I should also wear some fingerless gloves since the backs of my hands are feeling chilled. Very soon the bones in my fingers will start making more noise than the keyoard itself. I suppose I'm just getting old and more susceptible to the cold. I'm also beginning to whinge, a sure sign of aging.
It's 9:00 in the morning, and that little weather chick in the lower left corner has got a sweater on! It's cold again. Already.
I wish I had one of those time-turner things that Hermonie Granger uses in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I'm desperately trying to finish my paper for Monday and still have enough time left over to plan for teaching and also to listen to the first act of the opera, Aida. I'm in charge of analyzing the end of the first act. This is for my Musicology class, Race and Identity in Opera. We're studying post-colonial theory (particularly in the contexts of Egypt - I read quite a bit about this in the Peabody novels - and Africa) and focusing on two operas, Aida and Carmen. It all seems very interesting, and the business of empires gets me pretty fired up. The things that bother me: too much reading and Amazon.com which is taking its time to send me my recordings of the operas.
So here I am on Sunday morning eating cold cereal and milk, trying to up the page numbers in my paper and praying that I'll stay calm and organized till next weekend, at least, when the whole cycle begins again. Work intensively in the week; collapse on Friday; wake up groggily on Saturday; panic on Sunday.
Sauron's latest campaign: "Get peaceful with lavender"
This is a Morricone year for me - being in the US lets me hunt down the obscure Morricone recordings and even purchase piano scores for his music.
I was visiting the usual websites for news on soundtracks when I came across a very interesting review on a soon-to-be-released CD. It's called "Yo-Yo Ma Plays Morricone." I did read about the possibility of such a recording a while back from a website for Ennio Morricone fans. I just didn't think it would be released this quickly. I'm not complaining though!
I went straight to the Sony Classical website and there it was, track excerpts and the release date - 28 September. All my favorite movie themes and that wonderful cello sound.
Yo-Yo Ma and Ennio Morricone met at the Oscars ceremony three years ago (Morricone had been nominated for his work in Malena, and Yo-Yo Ma was performing the theme song for Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon), and that was when they contemplated a collaboration. I'm really enjoying these collaborative works Morricone does - first with Dulce Pontes, the fado singer, and now with Yo-Yo Ma.
The reviewer wrote: why hasn't this happened before? Well, it's happened at last and I'm looking forward to hearing the work of two great masters.
My parents sent me a couple of video clips of Hammie, their hamster. It really is quite sweet, the way my parents have been caring for him and shooting videos. True, the videos are for my benefit, but thinking about them chasing after the little guy with a camera conjures up classic images of adoring parents. Hammie is now their little baby since their original ones are quite grown-up now.
Hammie, by the way, is now fat, furry, and fast! He's zipping around like nobody's business and my father has to prance around him to make sure he doesn't dash into the shrubbery and disappear.
Watching Hammie on-screen made me smile, but what gave me more joy was hearing my parents' voices and laughter in the background.
I got a card from my folks and brother a few days ago, and my dad wrote that he hoped I'd realize all my dreams. And I remember that if it weren't for them, I might still be back home living the safe life. My dad let me buy a book every week when I was a kid; he told me about art, music, and history; he sketched for me (acutally he did my art homework for me); he wrote out passages and let me read them; he told me I did right to go down different paths (applying for a Literature camp in New England, studying in Italy, becoming serious about writing); he bought me video games (although this had nothing to do with writing, it did provide me some respite from the hard work in college). And my mom let me try out all sorts of things (except sky-diving), never telling me that I had to focus on school only. Even if I could make a cool two million like my friend, Elizabeth, I don't think I'd ever be able to repay my parents. Parental love is lopsided. They give and give, but you never quite succeed in repaying that debt. And the thing is, they never expect you to.
As for my brother, he wrote on the card, "Too bad you're not here. We get a cake and feed some to Hammie on your behalf!" Smiley face included. What I'd give to see Hammie with a little party hat on his head!
LK sent me a present. It was on my Amazon.com wishlist for a while, but then I took it off after Amazon.com said it wasn't selling it in the near future. Weird. I've been waiting around for an online coupon to get it cheaper but nothing has turned up so far. Today, the thing itself turned up at my apartment.
It's one of those, you know, Ipod thingys.
*whooping around the living room*
It's September 14th, the day the long-anticipated Sims 2 gets released. Four years ago, LK and I got the original version and had to fight over who got to play. Throw in Yunn-Shing, his cousin-in-law and then-roommate: and then there were three. We had heaps of fun. Looks like that fun is going to be augmented with the cool features of the new version.
- Three-storey homes
- Different channels on Sims TV
- Teenage Sims can climb out the windows at night (aka Sneaking Out)
- Sims can die from a variety of ways
- You can email your Sims friends
- You can chat online and make new friends with other Sims
- Cleaning is now a skill you have to learn
There're probably other cooler features but these are the only ones I'm getting off the top of my head.
I pre-ordered a copy (the DVD version - plays in your DVD-rom) and I hope it'll turn up soon. The thing is I'm not supposed to be playing any computer games until I graduate next year. So...I think I'll have to keep it sealed in its box (okay, maybe just one peek) and hide it away in the closet under the extra pillowcases. If my mom is visiting, I'll pass it to her to bring home to Singapore. Better it be in LK's hands than mine.
I don't think I've ever read anything as smart and moving as The Time Traveler's Wife. This novel deserves to be read. You can be grown-up and cynical and functioning on a heart made of deadweight lead, but this book will still manage to unbind you.
Clare is married to a time-traveling man. Can you imagine the joys - meeting your soulmate at six and having him visit you ever so often as you grow up - and the insane worry - whether he will return to the adult you injured or in one piece; how does he survive every jounery in which he lands in an unknown time, arrriving naked and vulnerable, because time travel allows no objects outside of skin and hair and teeth?
Let's see now: this book has music (two violinists, a cellist, a classical singer, punk and opera, and there's even a mention of Astor Piazzolla!) and poetry (Henry was an English major and works as a librarian and quotes from Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress," a very apt poem) and art (Clare is an artist), two thoroughly fleshed out characters who pull you in with their haunting, unconventional relationship, and a strong element of wonder. The two main locations in the novel also happen to be lovely Chicago and a meadow somewhere in Michigan. You can see how easy it is for me to get very involved in this novel.
Peculiar ending note: I'm suddenly reminded of another story, a movie actually. The implication of time-travel, a wonderful connection between two characters, and the mysterious workings of chance and time. I believe that movie's called My Sassy Girl. Of course, this novel is quite different, but I happen to like both movie and novel very much.
The highlands and the lowlands
Are the routes my father knows
The holidays at Oban
And the towns around Montrose
But even as he sleeps
They're loading bombs into the hills
And the waters in the lochs
Can run deep but never still
I've thought of having children
But I've gone and changed my mind
It's hard enough to watch the news
Let alone explain it to a child
To cast your eye 'cross nature
Over fields of rape and corn
And tell him without flinching
Not to fear where he's been born
Then someone sat me down last night
And I heard Caruso sing
He's almost as good as Presley
And if I only do one thing
I'll sing songs to my father
I'll sing songs to my child
It's time to hold your loved ones
While the chains are loosed and the world
Runs wild
But even as we speak
They're loading bombs onto a white train
How can we afford to ever sleep
So sound again
~ by Everything But The Girl
I've begun reading two very interesting tales about love. Uncannily, they've both got movie deals attached to them. I picked up Enduring Love by Ian McEwan after watching a trailer for the movie. The Time Traveler's Wife: I chose this because I read a review on it and liked what I read. Today, I found out that Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston have bought the movie rights for the novel.
Enduring Love deals with erotomania, or Clerambault's syndrome, most recently featured in the movie A La Folie...Pas Du Tout or He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not starring Audrey Tatou (of Amelie fame) and Samuel Le Bihan (of Brotherhood of the Wolf fame) - a rather chilling movie told in a cheerful, romantic comedy-esque manner. In McEwan's novel, how the two main characters meet is an event of remarkable proportions. A hot-air balloon appears to be flying out of control, tossed and buffeted by a strange wind, and four men rush to the aid of the pilot and a young boy trapped inside the basket. Suddenly they are lifted into the air, all the men hanging on to the ropes of the basket. Someone detects the danger and the futility of the effort, and drops first, then one by one, the others follow, save one. The balloon, after losing the extra weight, moves swiftly and farther away from the men who look on in horror. The last man hanging on eventually loses all strength and falls to his death. Ironically, the basket lands safely later and the boy is unhurt. One of the men, Jed Parry, becomes inexplicably drawn to the narrator, science writer, Joe Rose, after their joint witness of this awful incident. Something passes between them, according to Parry, and thus the novel unfolds its riveting tale of how life can change in a single instant. Murder and insanity ensue, of course.
The other novel, more recently published, focuses on a married couple. The fellow, Henry, has to deal with the rather unusual Chrono Displacement disorder. Every once in a while, he vanishes and appears in the past or future. He usually winds up at a time or place of importance in his life, like meeting Clare, his wife, and not recognizing her when she seems to know him. Interesting paradoxes ensue, of course.
Update: Here's a nice review of Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveler's Wife. From The Guardian.
I can't afford the time to read either book. But I'll do what I can. I love stories after all, and what else can I do when I can't churn out a decent one of my own? If you can't write 'em, read 'em!
You are holding up a ceiling
with both arms. It is very heavy,
but you must hold it up, or else
it will fall down on you. Your arms
are tired, terribly tired,
and, as the days goes on, it feels
as if either your arms or the ceiling
will soon collapse.
But then,
unexpectedly,
something wonderful happens:
Someone,
a man or a woman,
walks into the room
and holds their arms up
to the ceiling beside you.
So you finally get
to take down your arms.
You feel the relief of respite,
the blood flowing back
to your fingers and arms.
And when your partner's arms tire,
you hold up your own
to relieve him again.
And it can go on like this
for many years
without the house falling.
~by Michael Blumenthal
I refer to the first set of movies, of course. The collection is on the way, folks! Go here to see artwork, screen shots, and a nice review.
I was a lot younger then, so I had a thing for Luke, and not Han. These days, my sights are set on just the Ewoks, since I was given a pewter Ewok once, a none too subtle implication of the similarities we share (height-wise, of course!). Seriously, I do like them light-saber battles. "Luke...I am...your...father." Ahem, right, Darth Vader was an alma mater of U of M, so I'm rooting for him. His voice, at least.
Thanks to Shin Dee who sent me this link. You'll find very nice images of the movie poster and a few characters.
Someone provided an excellent review of the movie. I'd advise anyone who's impatient for the movie not to read it. It'll make you even more jittery - "When's it coming out? When's it coming out in the US? And don't dub it in English, please!" [Note to my mom: Remember reading the book here last fall? I remember you enjoying it quite a bit. I think the movie should be equally nice. If it comes out in Singapore later this year, go see it for the both of us!]
I felt as if my brain were somewhere at the bottom of my stomach swishing around in a murky pool. Just before reaching my classroom, I bumped into a recently graduated MFA-er, and he told me that I would get better at facing my class. I was going to be all right, he insisted. That's what everyone has to tell you, of course, when you're the epitome of nerves on edge; they would never tell you anything that would drive you over that precipice, even if it's the truth, that things won't get better but you just have to grin and bear it anyway.
Thank goodness, however, that my friend was right about me. I muttered a last-minute prayer, walked into the classroom, found a seat, and set about busying myself with arranging my files and notebooks. Of course I made myself look more occupied than I really was. Students continued chatting to themselves and others streamed in. Finally, when I could bear it no longer ("it" being the awkwardness of the instructor sitting there with no one talking to her), I said, "Right, time for class." And it was time for class.
I tried taking attendance but my mind was just a blur. I just couldn't put my pen to the list of names and figure who was who and who was here. Finally, with everyone watching me, I gave up and said, "Okay, I might get a few names wrong, so bear with me." I started with the student on my left, stated their names one by one, until I reached the other student next to me. The correct number of students, and even better, the correct names for every one of them. They were impressed. Hell, I was impressed. While they murmured their approvals, I encouraged every one to make the effort to know their classmates' names.
Then we began class for real. I managed to remember my list of announcements, got them out without too many mistakes, and then opened the discussion for our reading for the day. Almost every one was willing to participate, and this really helped move the discussion along. Very smoothly too. Some group work, another class activity, and finally I set them a writing task. While watching them write, I thrilled at the thought that I had survived this second lesson rather well. Of course I did make some silly mistakes, which I shan't bother elaborating here, but I left the class feeling rather pleased with myself, if I may say so.
Now I just need to repeat this kind of thrill for the next 13 weeks.
The weekend is here. Back to my own writing, and then more planning for next week. I do happen to have another class - a Musicology course on race and identity in opera, but more on that later. Let me go pat myself on my back a few more times, and then collapse onto my bed from emotional exhaustion.
I was late to my own class. Just a wee bit. I took an early bus so I could get chalk from the office, then I figured I had a little time to spare and hung back to chat a bit (get some moral support) from some MFA mates who were making copies of their syllabus. Wise move, instructor.
My students were waiting and already chatting among themselves. What happened to the promise that "your students are going to be just as or more nervous than you"? They eyed me like wolves following a rabbit's furtive momvements. I couldn't have wished harder that I were invisible. I placed my things as gracefully as possible on the table, then whipped round so my back faced them, and wrote some information in a horrific cursive script on the board.
Then I turned back and saw everyone copying the information in their large and small notebooks. I noticed a couple of rebel students staring back at me, not writing a thing down. Okay, let's move on. I had a little speech all prepared. I dumped most of it at that moment. I just spewed out a few basic boring things, and then sped on to the next item, roll call. I must have been talking a mile a minute.
I made everyone rearrange the tables so that we faced each other, and then we did an ice-breaker ("I know your worst fear about the first day of class is about to be realized..."). While they talked amongst themselves before introducing their partners, I took a moment to breathe. Later, we went through the syllabus. I made them read parts of it out. I really zipped through the thing because I was terrified of boring the students. Maybe I should have slowed down. Oh well, too late. I did talk a bit about myself, got a little lost and gave up.
After breezing through the syllabus, we still had 45 minutes to go. I made them write. And then I let them leave. I told them, "If anyone would like to drop, please let me know now, I won't be offended." They all just made quick exits from the classroom. Brilliant. I have 18 students. We're stuck together for the next 14 weeks, for better or worse.
The best episode yet - after class I was walking down a corridor back to my office and I bumped into another MFA mate. He asked me how my class went and I did a little explosion, wailing about how nervous I was, how the kids knew, how they were grinning at me when I was speaking, how it unnerved me. I finally let him go to face his own class, and continued walking. Five steps later, I faced one of my students who waved at me. I'm sure he heard everything. I smiled, got his name right, waved back and proceeded down the hallway with even more humiliation that I thought I was capable of experiencing.
A brilliant, just brilliant start to my teaching career. At least I've got all their names in my head, and matching faces too. Oh, and I've already received an email from a student who wants to see me during my office hours tomorrow. Yippee doo dah.
It's nearly midnight and I want to meet my class now! I'm so pumped up and prepared that I want to unleash my energy on my unwitting students right now and be done with it! Knowing me, all this excitement will dissipate by 10 a.m. tomorrow and I'll be a shadow of myself when I walk into that classroom.
Oh well. Time for a fun book, and then bed. More tomorrow!
- I have a termite problem. It's located in my bathroom in the corner between the bathtub and a wall. I noticed a small pile of waste (looks like dark sawdust) just outside a little hole. I cleaned it up. It appeared again this morning, and was followed by a little brown insect. I thought termites are white in color, but I checked up on these home invaders, and certain kinds like the drywood termite and subterranean termite are brown, light brown, even red.
So one more thing to take care of tomorrow morning before I rush off to school - get the leasing office to call in the terminators. I hate bugs.
Ah, glorious September, favorite month of the year. The time when the land and trees shirk the green and dress up with orange, russet, gold, and burgundy. Over dinner last night, I noticed the orange crowns of several trees along Plymouth Road and thought, fall already!
And who could ignore the energy of the new school year? I was driving through central campus yesterday when I spotted a Fox News van. A reporter and carema crew were interviewing grinning students outside Angell Hall.
This year, U of M will welcome the largest cohort of incoming freshman ever. It's the largest in the school's history simply because the admissions office miscalculated and let in more people than they had expected. They didn't know this till May, which left many departments scrambling to hire more instructors for first-year classes. Several of my seniors in the MFA program who'd recently graduated and failed to obtain lectureships were hired over the summer (a mere month and a half ago) to teach for at least a semseter this year.
I doubt I'll become a lecturer next year so this may be the last time I experience a September like this. I've lived through six of these now, one of them in Florence, and I can't say I won't miss these days. After a long summer break, school is a new adventure. And in between classes - driving. There's something so thrilling about driving down long roads with swiftly moving clouds above and a small plane trailing a plume of smoke through the sky. It also helps when you've got good music playing.
I completed my 50 pages tonight. I even got it up to 51. Now I can concentrate on teaching and writing short stories, and gearing up for a novella.
Tomorrow evening, we meet the new first-years. This year has a pretty international crowd - a Jesuit priest from Nigeria, a Philippino, a Dane... . I won't be the only alien anymore!
In Apirl, I won a small award for part of a play I wrote. It was a nice thing really, with good money. The only stipulation - on the first day of fall semester, I have to submit 50 more pages and a description of my on-going work on the project.
I wrote approximately 5 pages over the summer and read a couple of books for research, which leaves me with three more days before the deadline to complete the rest of the requirement. I've been working hard the past week on teaching and writing this play. I'm almost there, I think, and I will finish on time.
By Sunday, I should be thoroughly "played" out.
Also, I just noticed that my keyboard, grey in color, has remained fairly clean over the past year. The only strange thing is that the "W" key is slightly stained with dirt. Is "W" a very well-used letter? Or maybe it's because I tend to rest my third finger there when my hands are still on the keyboard. I shall have to play Lady MacBeth and get some cleaning done. Out, damned spot!
Other nonsensical titbits:
1. I've been rising early most mornings and starting my day with a little stretching and several sets of push-ups (men's style, of course!) and sit-ups. This is quite the achievement for me since I'm so out of shape and my stamina is about the level of pancakes.
2. I finally learned that the proper way to launder your clothes is to separate natural fabrics from synthetic ones (mixing causes pilling), and lightweight from the heavier items (like jeans. Never wash too many pairs of jeans in one load, it's bad for the washer), and of course, within each of these categories, colors and whites should be separate. The last one is a given, something I've been tackling since I first began doing my own laundry. But honestly, who has time to do more separations?
3. Enya and Moya (as in Moya Brennan, ex-lead singer of Clannad, the group that sang the theme song for The Last of the Mohicans) are sisters.
From what I hear, little Hammie has grown back his fur and he looks much younger and fatter now. I'm really happy his skin infection is gone and that he's happy and eating well. LK thinks my dad must have switched hamsters or something because he couldn't recognize Hammie when he saw him again after two weeks.
Here's a picture of him sleeping blissfully. My brother sent it over and it certainly made my evening. You just gotta love that little pink button nose and the cuddly paws and that teeny tail peeking out from under him...man, I miss the fellow.
"The sky is falling!" screams Chicken Little. If you liked Zach Braff in Garden State, you might enjoy his voicing of Chicken Little in the upcoming animated feature from Disney. This isn't a Pixar one, though it looks nice. Go here to see the trailer.
After a brief meeting with the professor in charge of the MFA GSIs, I hurried to the copy room to print out my syllabus and reading handouts for the second and third lessons. There was already a queue of two people. Seeing as how the copy room is closed on weekends and will be on Monday, I figured I better get my copying done today or tomorrow. I foresee that the room will be pretty packed on Tuesday, the first day of class. I advised my friend Irene, whose syllabus I adapted for my own class, to get there first thing tomrrow morning. Incidentally, Irene won the first prize in the novel category at the Hopwoods this year. Her novel is set during the Korean war, and she spent three months this past summer studying Korean in Seoul.
Last winter, she told me that after the first day of teaching English 125, one of her students, a Korean guy, got the rest of his friends to join her course. I gathered word had gotten round that a very attractive Korean girl was teaching the course. We laughed about it, and then she said she made the class do a diagnostic test, which resulted in almost all those boys requiring English Practicum instead, a course which some students need to take before enrolling in English 125. We'll see if she has more teaching adventures now that she's gotten a one-year lectureship.
The first-years are already prowling the campus. You can tell they're first-years because they move in packs, following their assigned leader or going out together after orientation sessions. Just a few days ago, as I rode the escalator in Media Union, I found myself standing between two separate groups of Singaporeans - they were complaining about the internet connection in their dorm rooms. I smiled to myself, hearing that unmistakable accent and that familiar tone of complaint and thinking, only at Michigan (and maybe Cornell) do you have such high odds of riding an escalator with your countrymen, even though you're thousands of miles from home.
Over lunch yesterday, I had a Wong Kar Wai movies conversation with a grad student who was born in Eastern Europe, but has lived for a number of years in the U.S. When I mentioned that I'd grown up watching Liang Chao Wei in Hong Kong TVB serials and that I found him handsome and youthful, she quipped, "Yes, he's attractive in a very non-good-looking way!" I was a little stunned at first and asked her if I'd heard her correctly, that he wasn't good-looking to her but still attractive in some way. She nodded.
Is the beauty of Asian faces so elusive? Like the next person, I'd be the first to acknowledge the highly photographable looks of say, James Caviezel, Ioan Gruffudd, and Natalie Portman, but why am I made to feel that my celluloid tastes are questionable when I mention the name of an Asian actor? Do people outside of East Asia find it difficult to appreciate what we call beauty in our own homes? Mind you, there are people who are quick to point out the fervent idolization of Asian females. But what about the men? Perhaps those who aren't familiar with Asian pop culture recognize only Jackie Chan, Jet Li, Tony Leung, Bruce Lee, and heaven forbid, William Hung. Compared with the faces of legions of Hollywood and international stars, these guys don't get placed very high on the beautiful-people list.
Or maybe it's because our world is still an Occidentally driven one. Numerous women from Japan and Korea, and Singapore too, continue to undergo surgery to get double eyelids because this makes their eyes look wider and more Caucasian-like. Women of mixed heritage where one parent is Caucasian are often considered superior to purely Asian women in terms of beauty, particularly when they have strong Caucasian features with a hint of Asian delicacy. One Miss Thailand, I recall (though I can't recall her name or the year she won), said that she was proud she beat luk kreungs - half-Thai and half-Caucasian persons (very favored in the Thai media) - to the crown, insisting that ethnic Thai beauty is still relevant in this day and age.
I doubt standards of beauty will change very much through the decades. Even as more people gaze upon the faces of non-Westerners, like model Alek Wek and actor Tony Leung, their beauty would still be branded "exotic," not typical, not what you'd expect.
Now, I wonder what my friend would say about Takeshi Kaneshiro.
Wednesday's over and I've completed the two-day teaching sessions. My head is whirling and I'm certainly all psyched up for teaching. (Except that I still have several dozen things to prepare.)
According to studies, my profile has a fair number of things working against me:
1. Female
2. Vertically-challenged a.k.a short
3. Young-looking
4. From a minority group (here in the U.S. anyway)
5. From another country
Juding from that list, I could put "from another planet" and it wouldn't make things much worse.
Well, I'm just going to sweep all that under the mat, and focus on memorizing my students names. No one's waitlisted so far, although the class is full, so I can just think about 18 names. 12 guys, 6 girls. Now, isn't that nice? Let's hope we all get along. Anyone out there know how to pronounce the last name, "Hsieh"? I am pretty sure I'm going to butcher a few names when I do the roll call on Tuesday.
Valuable piece of information gleaned from the sessions: Do NOT wipe the board with horizontal strokes. This makes your butt wiggle. Aim for vertical strokes.
Warning: Grade inflation is a real problem here. As new first year/second year instructors, we are being sent in to the grading trenches, and the director is hollering, "Hold the line!"
Take comfort in these first-day incidents which probably won't happen to you: One graduate student instructor (GSI) was reading the syllabus when he saw a drop of blood on the sheet he was holding. I suppose it can't get much worse than being so nervous that your nose starts to bleed. Another GSI wrote his name on the board, turned round, opened his mouth to speak, and then passed out in front of his waiting students. They fanned around him until he came to. That certainly made his students sympathetic to him for the rest of the term.
Remember this at all times:
As a GSI, you are probably thinking about your class more than anyone else in the world at any point in time. Your students are probably thinking about trying to catch the attention of the guy or girl across the room, rushing for a Greek fraternity, where to get lunch, how to steal a quick nap, and which Seinfeld episodes are being re-run. Keep things in perspective. You will survive life as a GSI.