monoceros blogsSo I finally chose a shipping company; I got a moving date; and now I have to go through all of my books, magazines, coats, and cds to decide what goes with the movers and what goes with me.
Perhaps I accumulated too many things these past couple of years. But I wanted them all badly. Hard-to-find books, out-of-print books, limited edition statues, tiles and plaques from Bed, Bath, and Beyond, journals and magazines available only in the US. I want, I want, I want! I am the consumer in the land of consumers.
The trip to New York - exhausting, delightful, thrilling, depressing, inspiring.
Michelle and I walked, ate, visited museums, gossiped, got allergic reactions (just me, actually), bought books, attended a reading by the author of this week's number-one bestseller on the New York Times, hung out in the Village, attended a baby shower, dressed up for brunch at an exclusive literary club, cried while saying goodbye for a long while to above-mentioned author (me again), took a cruise to nearby islands, walked round Times Square and reminisced, met up with agents, and baked in the sun.
At Friday's reading, the Barnes and Noble staff announced that Elizabeth's book would debut next week on NY Times' fiction bestseller list as number one. Her family, her friends, her ex-classmates from the MFA program whooped and clapped. She read, she answered questions, she signed many, many books. The rest of us caught up with friends who'd travelled from Boston, D.C., Ann Arbor, and the Village. Some now pregnant, some now married, some soon to be married. It was nice.
Living in the Village - Greenwich Village - is perfect for a writer. Our friends - a poet and a fiction writer married to each other (they met at Oberlin and went to Michigan's MFA program together) - seemed perfectly suited to the area. There's a lovely little bookstore just twenty feet from their home. When I heard what Beth's parents paid for the townhouse in the 70s - $80,000 - I kind of wished my parents had been living in New York instead of San Jose, and had thought of buying property in the city. It was the second baby shower for the couple; I've never seen so many presents. This is a very lucky peanut that's coming into the world August 1st.
Sunday morning at The Lotos Club, where Mark Twain was feted. Elizabeth was getting her turn now. Her father, mother, sisters, husband, old neighbors, friends all stood up to say several words about her. We celebrated her birthday, her success, her person. She was too moved to give a speech herself, so she sang. With her singing group from ten years ago, she sang two songs, one Macedonian, one Serbian. Beautiful a cappella singing. I was transported. The fields in Eastern Europe. Peasants working in the evening. Mountains. Joy, nostalgia, yearnings. She'd done it again, found some way to inspire us and bring some beauty into a quiet morning. Truly, we've all been blessed to have her in our lives. And I didn't realize how much I believed this until I said goodbye to her. I remembered that after that day, I wouldn't be seeing her for a long time (I have no idea when I'll see her again) and I promptly burst into tears. We held each other a long time; I didn't want her to see my wretched face. My tears surprised me; I'm not one for emotional displays. I couldn't stop, so I told her I'd better go. I bumped into Georgi, her husband, and started crying again.
Later, when we returned to our hotel room, I stared out the window for a long time. Times Square spread before me, and masses of glass and metal buildings rose like fingers touching the sky. Cars honking and whirring; blurred sounds of street conversations; flashy billboards, gold sculptures, green roofs, purples, blues, and pinks; a helicopter traversing the sky like an insect seeking lunch. In the afternoon, when we arrived at Liberty Island, I left Michelle to wander the base of the statue on her own. I sat by the water and faced the Manhattan coast. I picked out buildings I recognized, watched the boats go by, traced the lines of bridges.
I was saying goodbye to New York, but also to America. I've done a lot of growing up on this continent. From the age of 19 to 22, from 25 to 27. English major, camper in New Hampshire, driver of a Del Sol and later a Golf, very amateur chef of Italian and French dishes, student in an MFA program. I'm mostly Singaporean, but a significant part of me has been a temporary resident of the U.S. Whenever I go home, I'm never quite the same person I was before. I'm there in Singapore, but some part of me yearns for America, and even Italy. I'm restless even when I'm happy. Is it because Singapore is so small that I always look beyond her shores? Is it because I gained so much in America and Italy that I want to return? Is there more beauty elsewhere? Can I find it? Can I keep it? I hate to let go.
"It's a sad day in the Hundred Acre Wood: The voices of Tigger (Paul Winchell) and Piglet (John Fiedler) both passed away over the weekend. Both were known, of course for other roles - Winchell as the ventriloquist behind Jerry Mahoney, Fiedler as henpecked Bob Newhart Show patient Mr. Peterson - but they'll probably be best remembered for their work in Disney's Winnie-the-Pooh cartoons and features. Upon learning the news, Eeyore simply let out a deep sigh." ~ from http://popwatch.ew.com
I'm getting tired of the Dan Brown comparisons. She never aimed for her book to be like his; they have very different styles. But here is one I'll take - Salon.com's Laura Miller tacitly approves the high cost [of Elizabeth's advance], calling the debut "a fine Bordeaux to Dan Brown's overcaffeinated Diet Coke."
An interview with Elizabeth on National Public Radio. Listen here.
I finally got to watch Howl's Moving Castle. It's the dubbed version though, but having Batman (Christian Bale) and Emily Mortimer voice the lead parts was quite exciting.
Perhaps I made the mistake of reading the book before the movie came out. I loved the book immensely (so did my mom, who read it on one of her visits here), and wanted a film that worked in all my favorite aspects of the novel. I believe Miyazaki kept in many things - Howl being incredibly vain, the green gobbledy-goo scene, a very mousy Sophie, a cheeky Calcifer - but certain things seemed too random and inexplicable, perhaps out-of-place in the film Miyazaki aimed to make.
And so the farewells continue. I met up with Tom today to get a copy of his saxophone recital CD and to say goodbye. Because it's his last night here, we could only find time to meet at his Argentine tango lesson. Tom's been taking lessons for quite a while now, and since I might be taking lessons too, I went to observe the beginner's class while Tom went off to his intermediate class.
Later, we met up again at the practica, where everyone gets together and dances or practices under the dim lights of G115 Angell Hall (the basement floor of the building where I used to teach and have classes). I wanted to run off but Tom persuaded me to stay back and dance. I was nervous but agreed to let him teach me a few basic steps. Thankfully the ballroom dance lessons I took six years ago came in handy. I already felt comfortable gliding backwards. Tom is six feet four and I'm a measly five feet so it was a little tough dancing in a close embrace. We tried the practice embrace (further apart) first and once I got the hang of the few steps I knew, we joined the crowd and danced properly to milongas and tangos - real Argentine tango music! (No Piazzolla, but I still enjoyed the music).
Tom said I was doing well, and I credit it to his terrific ability to lead. He's very patient and I had a good time dancing only because he led so well. I danced with a few other guys - all good dancers too - and now I finally understand that, in tangos (and other dances), the fellow really does all the work and the woman just enjoys and follows. I think the best step is the ochos; a hidden quick two-step taken by the male leads the female into criss-crossing or tracing a figure-8 backwards with her feet. And the turns are very thrilling as well. Tom later introduced me to someone who had only 2 lessons, and as we danced, I felt so impatient I wanted to lead him! He kept telling me what to do when I was actually waiting for his cue, his lead, which didn't come across clearly at all. He probably thought I was an inept dancer.
When I got home, I signed up online for the beginners course (only $10!) and I called Lin Kiat to confirm his earlier promise to take tango lessons with me when I move home. I hope I can find an Argentine tango course - it isn't the same as the usual flamboyant tango, which evolved from the Argentine tango. I can't wait! I can already imagine LK, back straight and looking tall and dashing, (he's a good eleven inches taller than I, but at least he's not a giant like Tom), sweeping me around the dance hall.
Dancing with a friend is terribly fun too. Tom could tell I didn't want to stop. I stayed on far longer than I'd intended. Halfway through, the instructors said the next dance was Tom's, in honor of his departure. Before moving to Grenoble, he'll be teaching at Interlochen (up in northern Michigan) for part of the summer, then study music in India for the rest of the season. I watched all the women take turns dancing with him. They all looked beautiful and so full of grace.
I don't think I've met anyone as gifted as Tom, or anyone with such varied interests. All year through, I've enjoyed talking to him about writing, Piazzolla, Italy, books, dancing. He's been a splendid friend - wise beyond his years, kind, thoughtful, and blessed with the ability to converse with just about anyone. When at last the night wound down, I thought I should leave him to the more expert dancers, so I hugged and kissed him goodbye, as good amici always do.
On a slightly different topic, I decided that if I were to be buried when I die years from now (not that getting buried in Singapore is a possibility anymore), I would want these words to be my epitaph - "Vissi d'Arte, Vissi d'Amore." This idea came to me soon after I got home, when I put Tom's CD in the player and listened to the final piece, perhaps the most beautiful aria I've ever heard - "Vissi d'arte," from Puccini's Tosca. Vissi d'arte. I lived for Art. And of course, I lived for love. Vissi d'amore.
Michelle and I went walking at Matthei Botanical Gardens. The last time I was there was six years ago. It was the orientation for NELP, the New England Literature Program. I remember LK driving me. I was awfully nervous about meeting everyone and I didn't remember much of the gardens at all.
This time I did. Some of the small gardens reminded me of Italy. The Boboli Gardens, to be exact.
I liked the quiet on a Monday afternoon. Michelle and I stopped to look at insects, plants, rocks. The weather was perfect. Cool, sunny. I wish walking could always be so pleasant.
I went to a bbq or, as everyone calls it here, a cookout at Georgi's and Elizabeth's. Elizabeth had just returned from North Carolina - she'd driven Tony to camp. As expected, Yanka and Kiril pounced on me. Yanka in the front, and Kiril hanging off my back. I'm like a little tree, I suppose. A bonsai? It reminded me of the first day I met them. Within five minutes of introductions, Yanka and Kiril were all over me. It certainly feels as if our time together has come full circle.
I got to talk a little more with Georgi's dad, who's visiting from Bulgaria. Mr. Kostova's English is better than my Bulgarian so we managed. I bumped into him in the kitchen where he was checking on the mushrooms. I expressed a deep fondness for mushrooms, and he kindly served me three before he brought the tray out to the party. I attacked them with much enthusiasm. I was impressed that he made most of the side dishes, Bulgarian summer fare. Eggplant, beans and peppers, mushrooms, potato cubes. All very, very good.
Later we found strawberries growing by the swing in Elizabeth's garden. Yanka ate them all. Some frisbee, some kickball. I let Yanka use my camera to take portraits of us all. Georgi will now have to buy her a little camera. Much laughter, then goodbyes. A good summer evening.
I had coffee with Tom, the saxophone, Italian, and English major (newly graduated). As usual, our conversation covered music, Italy, and writing. Later, we joined Irene and Corina, a Romanian comparative literature PhD student, who were having an early dinner next door at Noodles and Company. The four of us talked endlessly about writing, travel (Tom's off to India and then to Grenoble in France to teach English for a year; Irene is headed to Korea on a Fulbright; and Corina always seems to be traveling to Europe), and a professor whom we all worked with. It was the first time Tom was meeting Corina and Irene, so when Tom learned Corina is fluent in several languages, they began conversing in French since Tom needs the practice.
After dinner, the four of us headed to Borders to catch Nicole Krauss' reading. Her second novel, The History of Love, is about an aging man who named the heroine of his novel after his one love, Alma. The book, the manuscript, gets lost in the war, and after he goes to America where he becomes a locksmith, he thinks it gone forever. But it did get published, and a young girl is named after the heroine. Somehow, these two characters find each other.
Mr. and Mrs. Smith - Never mind the naysayers. I thought it was entertaining. The leads looked splendid (how could they not?); I liked the music; and I appreciated the real issues in marriage which the less-than-real characters were struggling with.
Mad, Hot Ballroom - I'm not sure if folks outside the U.S. have heard about this documentary, but it's a terrific one. You can watch the trailer here and the first six minutes of the film here. Inspiring, hilarious, and engaging. Everyone was clapping, laughing, and cheering throughout the film. In New York, public schools provide free ballroom dance lessons for 10 year-olds. It's noted that rich children get to have dance classes, music classes whenever they want. The program lets average and less fortunate kids enjoy dance, learn about the history of rhumba, tango, foxtrot etc. They gain confidence, poise, style. Dancing is a useful skill to have. One day these young boys will grow up and attend proms, and they'll be able to feel comfortable dancing with a girl.
After watching it, I felt very strongly that Singapore should have a similar program for primary school kids. Not the independent schools but the government ones, where both boys and girls attend. It's better than P.E. It gives the children focus; they learn to dance and befriend children they wouldn't normally talk to. Dance is a very natural way to engage each other. And they also learn a bit of culture from other countries. And of course, dancing is fun.
Ladies in Lavender - Elizabeth recommended this one. She saw Natasha McElhone in the film and thought she could play one of the characters in her novel.
I've always loved Cornwall, and I've always loved melancholic music. This film has both. It also has Judi Dench and Maggie Smith in it. And a handsome young German actor, Daniel Bruhl, who appeared in Good Bye Lenin. The two British thespians play sisters living in a cottage by the sea in Cornwall. One morning they find a shipwrecked violinist who speaks no English. Much ensues. The music is wonderful, performed by Joshua Bell. The story is about loving and letting go. And I thought of all the mothers who are aware that their children could excel at their gifts if they went away, but stubbornly keep them close because they fear to lose them. The more you hem them in, the more you drive them away. What good is possessive love?
"You gave me life; now I am making use of that life."
Bonus - the trailer for March of the Penguins. Just watch, and smile.
Michelle and I went to the Ann Arbor Brewing Company, where we met up with a few retired MFA folk, and Amy, Elizabeth's agent. Amy remarked that the Michigan program is special because of how its students really bond and genuinely care for each other. I suppose the faculty has a knack for picking out nice people.
I certainly am going to miss these friends.
Michelle, Irene, and I thought we were early at 6:30. Many of the seats were already occupied, so we bought coffee and used the chairs from the Seattle's Best Coffee outlet within Borders, which were conveniently beside the front of the reading area.
The reading was also an unofficial reunion for many MFA students and faculty. Many of us hadn't seen each other for a couple of months so we were embracing, chatting, laughing. We got to chat a little with Elizabeth, and I was so thrilled that she was wearing the beaded spring green tunic I bought her from Little India in Singapore. The star of the night wearing something you bought her? Wow.
She was extremely collected (the most "together" person I know) when she began reading. A measured pace; clear, bright enunciation; wonderful expression. She's a perfect storyteller. She handled the question-and-answer session very well too. She could hear every question, even the ones which I found inaudible, and answered each one confidently. I kept thinking...when I grow up, I want to be just like Elizabeth. Sad thing is that I am grown up, and I'm nowhere near the cool mother, gifted writer, disciplined scholar, or terrific person that she is.
Well, it was a success. And while everyone lined up to get their books signed, the MFA crowd continued to cheer Elizabeth on and find time to socialize.
The dog is called "Snowy." We tried coming up with all kinds of names - Chewie, Padme, Puteh (Malay for "white" - my favorite), Peapod, Lucca, Frodo, Pippin, Kara etc. But we couldn't agree on any one. I got lambasted for coming up with the Star Wars and Lord of the Rings names. So we decided to call her Snowy because it's phonetically close to "Winnie," what she was called by her previous owner. We didn't have to change her name, but I suppose in our family, "Winnie" is too closely associated with Pooh. At least "Snowy" is a dog, and white. Like her namesake, this Snowy is very hyper and clever.
I met up with Elizabeth yesterday for a post-lunch tea where she gifted me with an inscribed copy of her book. This is one book I'm planning to hand-carry home. I've also begun reading and it's deliciously chilling.
Apart from discussing my agent questions, and writing and moving woes, we talked about casting for the film. The producer (the production people are the ones doing Memoirs of a Geisha) had asked her if she had any ideas. I quickly told her to forget Irene's suggestion of Orlando Bloom for the romantic interest of the narrator. Get Hugh Dancy instead - he's a better actor, slightly older, less well-known (and therefore less expensive to hire).
I also threw in the name, "Jeremy Irons," for an older version of Professor Rossi. Emmy Rossum looks appropriate for the role of the narrator - precocious and full of innocence. I peeked at the other names Elizabeth has on her list - Alan Rickman, Anthony Hopkins (for the narrator's father), Helena Bonham Carter, Natascha McElhone.
Apart from the excitement about the film, she's been really busy with the children - Yanka (look out for her name in the novel) just graduated from kindergarten and Tony is off to camp in North Carolina soon. Kiril is probably up to cheeky business as usual. Elizabeth's days are filled with phone interviews, email interviews, personal interviews - the picture Entertainment Weekly took of her was shot at 1 in the morning! - and writing. I'm surprised she can still squeeze in writing at this stage, but Little, Brown is planning to reprint Bram Stoker's Dracula and asked her to write the introduction. Who wouldn't say "yes" to that? She's also writing a travel piece on Eastern Europe for BBC History.
Last weekend, she was at BookExpo America in New York City, and I read that many people wanted to catch a glimpse of "the two-million dollar woman." One blogger said she looked like a cross between J.K. Rowling and Caroline Kennedy. Bizarre!
Although I'm in awe of her talent and success, she's still Elizabeth to me - former classmate; the friend I used to drive home after workshop; whose beautiful and playful children sapped my energy; whose teaching advice I valued very much; and with whom I traveled to Chicago by train, where we danced (she loves to dance!) and had borsch at the Russian tearoom. I'm going to miss her when I leave. Her Japanese publisher has invited her to Japan though, and if she does make it there next year, Irene, Elizabeth, and I will have a little reunion!
My family has adopted another semi-homeless animal. Last year, my brother's girlfriend, PL, told us about a maltese who needed a home. One of her aunts wanted to give away a pup; we were interested then, but another aunt took her instead. This year, after her young son became too distracted by the dog and neglected his school work, she wanted to give the dog away.
So here's the new member of the family, a 9-month old maltese, who looks more stuffed animal than real dog. She'll be of some comfort to my folks, who still miss the hamster.
I can't wait to meet her in August.
She certainly needs a haircut soon!
Not exactly new, but quite unfamiliar to me. I'm now driving Jake's 1991 Isuzu Rodeo, which looks a little like this (the one I'm driving isn't as shiny though) -
It's electric blue and a little battered but rather fun to drive. It's the largest vehicle I've driven and rather like a truck. The engine roars (I like it that way), and the air-conditioning doesn't work so well, but I'm quite happy prowling the streets of Ann Arbor in it.
It's also been very hot here. On Wednesday, I met up with Irene for brunch at Northside Grill; we've agreed to have brunch every week at a different place before we leave the US - me to Singapore and she to Korea for the following year on a Fulbright. We watched The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, and as far as chick flicks go, it's not bad at all. And Alexis Bledel is too pretty for her own good.
So the Roald Dahl museum opens tomorrow. Incidentally, Lim Jia forwarded me the link to the Roald Dahl website today. It's quite a joy to visit.
Things that will be available in the US only after I'm gone -
2. The Complete Calvin and Hobbes
And of course, a whole bunch of Region 1 DVDs that I usually purchase at USD11.99-18.99 compared to Singapore's SGD35-50.
On the one hand we have Mr. Cruise fervently expressing his love for Katie Holmes, who is getting the hang of things and also declaring her adoration for Tom.
On the other hand, there's Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie denying any relationship of sorts except a healthy respect for each other. And friendship, of course.
And nobody believes either couple.
Reading this article makes me wonder how US immigration officers expect to keep their homeland secure.
So they couldn't find any warrants and they felt being "bizarre" wasn't a reason to keep him from entering - just following the rules in the book.
Thanks to LK for the link, who knew it'd make me mad. *manic grin*
Hammie has died. It's exactly a month after his adopted sister, Milou, died in Ann Arbor.
He came to my family as a runaway last year, a little scrap of mottled grey fur and legs. With a good deal of care and food (and a lot of love, especially from my dad), he swelled to normal proportions. But my mom wrote to say that he'd gotten skinny again a couple of months ago.
Over the past two weeks, he barely ate and drank, save for the morsels of fruit my brother gave him each morning. He got weaker, barely moving around his home. My mom would stroke his back, and then he'd go back inside and fall asleep.
The little fellow was the most gentle of creatures I'd ever seen. Unlike most hamsters (that is, unlike my fiery Milou), he never bit anyone.
Rest in peace, Hammie. I'm glad you found us. Goodbye.
I had to make a short trip recently, which took me out of the US. Since I've graduated, I can't return as a student so I re-entered as a tourist. I had a copy of my return ticket to Singapore in August, and I was willing to explain fully my intentions for the 8 weeks I plan to remain in the US - pack and ship my belongings, attend readings, etc. But I didn't expect the immigration officer to be such an anal piece of work.
There were two of them in the booth, but only one of them was dealing directly with me. Were it not for the other woman's intervening and finally telling the first one that my case seemed sound, I might not have been able to re-enter the US.
The first question was about my plans - I answered as honestly as possible, saying I was visiting friends, traveling, and since I'd just graduated, I wanted to pack and ship my books and other items home. Next question was the length of stay - I said 8 weeks. I should have also said my lease doesn't end till the end of July. But she didn't give me a chance, interrupting with "8 weeks is a long time to pack your things." So I said I wanted to visit friends and attend readings. She raised her eyebrows at me; she clearly didn't know what I meant by public readings. So I had to explain that when a book is published, writers give readings and parties. She also asked if I'd be doing any research or any coursework. The truth is that I would like to carry out some individual research for my novel, but that would just entail me going to the library and sifting through books. Somehow I gathered the woman wouldn't be able to understand this. She'd probably say I needed a student or work visa to do this - to go to the library! - so I said no, no research; I might just sit in a library and read. And then she started getting jumpy and turned to her colleague saying, "Doesn't look good. What do you think?"
The other woman now queried me, this time about my degree - creative writing - and whether I had a job at home in Singapore and could they see my return ticket. I gave them my e-ticket printout and said I'd be freelancing and would start working at the end of the year. I gave a company's name and they wanted to know if it was an editorial/publishing company. Thank goodness it was, since they probably thought editorial work is the only thing I ought to be doing. If the work is relevant to the degree, then it's fine by them. What if I'd planned to work in a bank? Or a radio station? Would their wee brains be able to comprehend that? It was only after I mentioned the job (which in truth, isn't even a sure thing) that they decided to let me through.
These two - if not most - immigration officers at Detroit work by a limited set of expected answers. Because my case seemed a little different from a typical tourist's, they didn't know what to make of me. Perhaps they imagined I was trying to seek work or do research in the US without a permit. At the very worst, all I want to do is go to the library. Is that so bad? Would that jeopardize the country's safety, its citizens? In any case, my visa-waiver form states that I may remain in the country for as long as 90 days. I'm only staying two months and I have a return ticket and these officers still got antsy. At one point, I got so upset I wanted to say, "I wouldn't stay a minute longer than I have to." It's sad that I've met such wonderful people during my time here but folks behaving like this bring to the surface my personal prejudices.
More inefficient administrative handling experienced by unfortunate Tiggie.
Forget about those chapter excerpts in Starbucks cafes, The Historian is already out in Singapore. My dad saw it today at MPH. There's also a 20% storewide sale until June 5, so that puts the book at about SGD21 or SGD22.
There was a discount of 30%, so I decided to buy Adidas's competition t-shirt, the same one that Justine Henin's wearing in the French open. Mine's yellow though, not black. No point emulating her outfit entirely if I can't even play a decent game of tennis yet!
Some time back, when I was closing a bank account in Singapore, the lady teller asked me while playing air violin, "Are you...the violin player?"
She'd mistaken me for that famous violinist of Singaporean and Thai heritage because we have very similar names. The only difference is the placement of the hyphen. I quickly pointed out the error and said that the musician resides in England. The teller thought she might still have links to Singapore, coming back every now and then to handle affairs like the closing of bank accounts. I laughed and told her I only wish I were that gifted.
Last Friday, I met up with Lim Jia, who was struggling with a large shopping bag, so I offered to carry her trumpet case for her. It's black, sturdy, and has a solid handle. Carrying it, I almost believed I could be a musician.