monoceros blogsAnd did I get what I wanted this year? Not really. Then again, I had many things on my want-list. It was a trying year, but it wasn't without good times. For once, I won't dwell much on the year I'm leaving behind but will keep my eyes focused on the next. Today, my old pal, June, asked me what I have planned for 2007 and I gave her a short list. I've expanded it here, though I'm sure I'll be adding to it as the year progresses.
1. Get used to being a university instructor again.
2. Write my novel.
3. Finish up the story collection too.
4. Let my agent know I'm still alive and surprise her with something to work with this year.
5. Run and exercise.
6. Take part in the 10 km run in the middle of the year.
7. If no. 6 happens, run the half-marathon by the end of the year.
8. Travel to at least one country nearby and another country far from home.
9. Organize my growing ink collection.
10. Organize my gargantuan book collection.
11. Unpack my belongings in the new home.
12. Make use of the Williams-Sonoma Breakfast recipe book I bought last month.
13. Keep my two terranium plants alive.
14. Relax more.
15. Enjoy this one life I have.
I'm going to take it mellow as I head into the new year, listening to Jason Mraz's "Sleep All Day", a great song that dimsumdolly recommended.
Happy 2007 to the world.
It's the end of the year and I should be resting, packing up, psyching up for the new school year and my new teaching job, but I'm still editing. I took on a last-minute project that I didn't really think was the wisest thing to do at this time of year. Against my better instincts, I agreed, and since I'm getting a little extra cash, I thought I'd make myself merry by buying something I don't need but do want.
Women can get by on one or two pairs of shoes, but few do. Instead they (okay, we) stock up on shoes that catch their (our) slightest fancy, that serve the feet on occasions that never take place, that would better suit a display case than hard concrete. I confess that I own a pair like this, a pair my father calls a museum piece. I've worn the beading-on-velvet four-inch heels only once and nearly keeled over at a friend's wedding.
It's gotten worse, now that I dance Argentine tango. At the start, I was happy with one pair. I used it for lessons, practicas, workshops, milongas. I could certainly survive with one pair of tango shoes, at most two. But then the number rose to three. These three I got at very inexpensive prices after finding a little Argentine website that makes shoes according to your measurements. Since the package was coming all the way from Buenos Aires, I figured I'd save on shipping if I got more than one, or two.
This latest pair though, is pricey and comes with a lofty reputation - "the Manolo Blahniks of the tango world" (a very well-worn cliche; every blog writer describing Comme Il Faut shoes mentions this and I suppose I'm now one of them). I am thankful that despite the analogy, Comme Il Faut shoes do not cost as much as a pair of Manolo Blahniks. But they sure look it; the shoes come in a wide assortment of colors and fabrics and styles, but not in very large numbers. All the better for tangueras then, as they don't have to cringe in embarrassment when someone else turns up at the milonga in the same shoes.
It's really funny how I told myself, when I first started dancing, that I would not fall prey to such ridiculously high and too-thin-heeled shoes. But as months went by, as my mileage on the dance floor increased, as I realized how important shoes are in tango, I learned that despite the dangerous look of Comme Il Faut's stilettos, they actually offer great support and balance, put the dancer on her toes, and keep her poised and ready to step forward or backward. I also got very used to dancing in high heels and wanted them to go higher (I've progressed from 2.5 inches to nearly four now) - they do make moving and stepping easier. And it's so true - the higher the heel, the longer the leg looks.
Well, the new local tango shoe store has a December discount and a new supply of Comme Il Faut shoes. And so, I succumbed at last and bought a pair in a color that will not match most of my clothes, a fact that failed to secure a place in my brain (moments prior to buying fancy shoes, the brain shuts down in certain areas, namely the part that exercises common sense). And about that detail of hardly ever seeing anyone else wearing your pair of Comme Il Faut shoes? Not for me, unfortunately, since I bought a pair that another dancer had purchased in a different size a little earlier this month. But then, I couldn't help it, since that particular design was the best fit for my small, uneven feet.
I watched the first two or three Rocky films when I was a kid (yeah, my parents weren't afraid about exposing me to violence in films; I even watched horror movies back then and I could stomach them a lot better then than now) and don't remember much except that Rocky had to fight really hard and get bloodied a lot before winning. Sly Stallone was the underdog in the film, and even in real life, especially during the past couple of decades, he seemed one too; people would snicker at his name, his movies. He wasn't a respected actor, not a veteran, not a character actor, not a Robert de Niro or an Anthony Hopkins. Still, I never really got into those Stallone jokes. I didn't care a whole lot for him, but I didn't think it was cool to deride him either.
Watching the trailers for Rocky Balboa woke more than a few memories of seven-year-old me sitting in a movie theater with my parents and brother. Here is Rocky once more - an aged Rocky with a son who could be my age (played by Milo Ventimiglia, my favorite hero on Heroes) - ready to enter the ring again. He's even more of an underdog now because of his senior citizenship. Still, that feel-good theme of under-dog-makes-it gets me. Is it the music? The scenes of tough training, those sound-effects-amplified punches or Rocky's eternal determination etched in his jowly face? Whether it turns out to be a bad film or not, I think I'd like to see it. It's the last one - Stallone (and Rocky) is 60 - and in a way it's saying goodbye to a familiar figure from childhood for me. Rocky's getting old, and I'm getting older.
And whaddaya know, it turns out that Rocky Balboa has been well received and well reviewed - it's fresh on rottentomatoes.com
There's nothing quite like the theme song to get you excited about the finale of a movie franchise stretched over three decades. Except that the excitement's got to last you for three months before the movie gets to Singapore in March.
I've had two tracks from the self-titled album for quite a long time now, but it wasn't till I caught the youtube video of R and G playing "Diablo Rojo" that I was blown away by their playing. The songs are certainly giddy, delightful marvels but I didn't know it required that kind of playing to produce that kind of sound (I thought someone else was doing the percussions, not the guitarists themselves).
The song's on my "Morning music" playlist, and it certainly gets me moving on the hardest days of the week. The strong beats, the lighting-quick playing. It makes you sit up, learning their the album made it to no. 1 in Ireland; but then you learn also that Dublin has a reputation for taking in struggling musicians and then it's little wonder that an album by two not-very-ordinary guitar-playing Mexicans got that no. 1 spot.
Rodrigo y Gabriela played in Singapore some three, four years ago, at Womad, and I hope the folks who loved them then will remember to get their new album now. It's a studio recording but reputedly captures the magic of the duo's live performances. Listening to "Tamacun" and "Diablo Rojo," I'm more than convinced of it.
Here's a listen. (You might want to hold on to your feet once the song starts.)
I've never seen rain like this before, rain that's pounding the land hour after hour like a relentless plague. Certainly not in my lifetime, not in Singapore or in any other place I've lived. If only I could edit at the same rate. I still can't quite see the end of these two projects, the last of the year and the last before I start teaching at the local university in January.
Still, staying up late to work and listening to the rain hurtle from the heavens to the roofs and pavements is something I'm learning to relish. The weather phenomenon makes me want to mark these days as strange, something strange and beautiful. It's certainly not beautiful for the people who have to put up with the inconvenience of crowds and traffic jams and floods, or worse, mounting water damages; but receiving the rain just as it is - watching it fill the fields and slosh against brick walls, feeling it chill the air and cool my feet - leaves me with a renewed sense of wonder at this time of year. In Singapore, where many things are predictable and somewhat monotonous, this unceasing rain is a surprise, a hand of Mother Nature reaching out to lift our chins so that we finally think about something other than overdue work and personal problems and Christmas shopping lists.
I'm going to remember these few days and nights as the ones when I stopped and stared, breathed air that felt new, walked barefoot in the rain, learned to be patient, and let myself believe in the unexpected.
Today is the last time survivors gather to mark the day Pearl Harbor fell. The AP article mentioned "the passing of a generation," that those who lived through WWII are fading from our world. It brings a slight chill, thinking about time, history, world events that are shifting before us. The old horrors are further from us now, but new ones always take their place. It seems we'll always be facing or reading about violence and tragedy; civilizations never seem to get past them.
That we could all be so upbeat and determined like Edward Chun, who said, "I'll tell you a secret: When your number comes up, you're going to go. Well, every morning I get up, I change my number." Chun survived not only Pearl Harbor but the Korean and Vietnam wars as well.
Of course, nothing really stops the passing of time and the aging of men and the perils of this world. I had hoped that James Kim, the missing senior editor of CNET, would be found alive just as his wife and two daughters were rescued after their ordeal in Oregon. James and his family were on a long drive from Oregon to their home in San Francisco when they took a wrong turn and got lost in small back roads with heavy snow that never got cleared. They kept the car heater going until the gas ran out then bured tyres to stay warm. After that, James struck out on his own to get help for his wife and daughters. When he didn't return, Kati and the girls set off looking for the main road and were soon rescued. But James wasn't so lucky.
Many reporters and friends describe James' actions as heroic and sacrificial. Someone who put his wife and kids first, who died for them. He might've been the gadget geek, the smart, innovative fellow who was big on information and knowledge, but many will remember him for this last physical feat; how he took it upon himself to protect his family, how he covered a great distance and lasted a long time in the cold wilderness before dying alone.
Here's to the people who fought and died, or lived, while protecting something greater than themselves.