This is going to be short since it is way past the bedtime of a flu victim, but talljoanne is now the proud owner of a Macbook!
This being my 1st post from a Macbook, of course I took advantage of a Dashboard widget which allows me to blog straight from an F12 key - with no browser required. This could turn out to be a very important function when I do get to Shanghai (fingers crossed very hard - by next month) because I have just found out that China bans blogspot websites. Although I read that they do not ban blogger.com per se, it still means I can't preview my site to iron out template problems. I guess if Beethoven can compose without hearing, then I'll just have to blog without previewing.
Coming back to my Macbook, so far so good - I am still feeling my way around, esp. the keyboard and its shortcuts. But I love the aesthetics and the clean architecture of the OS. Can you imagine - there is no such thing as uninstall of programs in Mac? Just drag it to trash or a simple command-delete! But I must admit that I am also sorely feeling the loss of Picasa and an office suite (OpenOffice which I just installed had a glitch but it's too late to troubleshoot). Maybe Mac lover Mr T will come to my rescue when he comes back from his work trip.
Incidentally, I must commend the Safari browser for rendering Chinese fonts so beautifully. And the idea of a progress meter in the address bar is very neat indeed. Unfortunately, Firefox's tabs is the single largest killer app for me, so until Safari has tabs, I will be sticking to Firefox...
Time for both woman and the machine to rest. Zzz.
28 June 2006
21 June 2006
长今的心
《大长今》终于圆满结束了。其实我之前就已经忍不住猛追DVD看完全70集了，但日以继夜地追看后，没有《大长今》向往的日子突然觉得很空虚*。所以又再重新追看电视播映。
我一向对韩国有所抗拒，从没想过有一天会这么追看韩剧。但大长今的确是一部令人感慨万千的故事。剧中有两大幕是让我难忘的：第一幕便是之前一幅篇章所记录的»cut losses 感想 -- 即长今被遗弃在封锁的村庄，而闵政浩奋不顾身、义无反顾（女人所要的，不也就是这样么？）地闯进疫区救她。被遗弃的凄凉，被救回的感动…感情可以说是这样磨练出来的吧。虽然说欢笑难得，但一段养尊处优的感情和一段历尽沧桑的相比，坚固程度应该是不一样的吧。Perhaps delayed gratification does make for sweeter victory and more outstanding outcomes.
因为这样，我觉得长今和闵政浩俩必须有个完美的结局。他们都经历这么多波折了，总得成全他们吧！如果连虚拟的连续剧都不美满，那就真是太残酷了。
让我铭心的第二幕，便是皇上对长今的爱慕。长今闵政浩对彼此的肯定固然可嘉（尤其是射箭比赛那幕，闵政浩有骨气，皇上输了他竟不想让 ---- 也对，感情怎么可以想让呢？），但皇上对长今的爱慕也很凄美。普通的君主想必都会希望自己心爱的人陪自己到临终，但这个在万人之上的皇上卧在病榻上还想到成全长今和闵政浩让他们脱险，也算是慷慨大方，有情有意了。他当初留长今在自己身边的那段话，凄美得让我顿时愣住：
“身为君主，我下令你；身为男人，我请求你。”
后来在病榻的他又含泪感叹：“刚刚才见过长今，可是现在不知怎么的，又想见她…”长今这时捧着药又进了殿伺候皇上。皇上眼中闪着感激爱慕的泪光，凝望着长今认真的眼神、清秀的脸蛋、白皙的耳坠、樱桃似的小嘴… 这么可爱的女人，怎不让男人败在她裙下？
我常在想：长今对闵政浩的感情虽依然不变，但日积月累，她心中的某一角是否也渐渐地爱慕了皇上？更笼统地说， 一个人的心是否能够同时容纳超过一个人？
狮子座的我不喜欢与别人分享东西，尤其是男人的心。但我不得不承认，这一点可能连我自己也做不到。你的心的一大半可以义不容辞地去爱一个人，但其中的一小隅却有可能就是那么淡淡地、细细地爱另一个人。这另一个爱既是淡、也是是潜伏的，所以你最好别去问。有些问题是绝对不应该开口的；问了不但失礼，答案也不一定是你承受得了的。
所以闵政浩不过问长今她为什么会接皇上当初的上联，含泪地在病榻说：
“身为医官，身为女人，请让小的治疗皇上吧！”
--------------------
* 用“空虚”来形容听起来似乎夸张，但5月13日的晚上看完《大长今》DVD集的时候 （我连它的制作花絮和综艺节目都看了），真的有这样的感觉。可能一样东西追逐久了，总会沉溺…
我一向对韩国有所抗拒，从没想过有一天会这么追看韩剧。但大长今的确是一部令人感慨万千的故事。剧中有两大幕是让我难忘的：第一幕便是之前一幅篇章所记录的»cut losses 感想 -- 即长今被遗弃在封锁的村庄，而闵政浩奋不顾身、义无反顾（女人所要的，不也就是这样么？）地闯进疫区救她。被遗弃的凄凉，被救回的感动…感情可以说是这样磨练出来的吧。虽然说欢笑难得，但一段养尊处优的感情和一段历尽沧桑的相比，坚固程度应该是不一样的吧。Perhaps delayed gratification does make for sweeter victory and more outstanding outcomes.
因为这样，我觉得长今和闵政浩俩必须有个完美的结局。他们都经历这么多波折了，总得成全他们吧！如果连虚拟的连续剧都不美满，那就真是太残酷了。
让我铭心的第二幕，便是皇上对长今的爱慕。长今闵政浩对彼此的肯定固然可嘉（尤其是射箭比赛那幕，闵政浩有骨气，皇上输了他竟不想让 ---- 也对，感情怎么可以想让呢？），但皇上对长今的爱慕也很凄美。普通的君主想必都会希望自己心爱的人陪自己到临终，但这个在万人之上的皇上卧在病榻上还想到成全长今和闵政浩让他们脱险，也算是慷慨大方，有情有意了。他当初留长今在自己身边的那段话，凄美得让我顿时愣住：
“身为君主，我下令你；身为男人，我请求你。”
后来在病榻的他又含泪感叹：“刚刚才见过长今，可是现在不知怎么的，又想见她…”长今这时捧着药又进了殿伺候皇上。皇上眼中闪着感激爱慕的泪光，凝望着长今认真的眼神、清秀的脸蛋、白皙的耳坠、樱桃似的小嘴… 这么可爱的女人，怎不让男人败在她裙下？
我常在想：长今对闵政浩的感情虽依然不变，但日积月累，她心中的某一角是否也渐渐地爱慕了皇上？更笼统地说， 一个人的心是否能够同时容纳超过一个人？
狮子座的我不喜欢与别人分享东西，尤其是男人的心。但我不得不承认，这一点可能连我自己也做不到。你的心的一大半可以义不容辞地去爱一个人，但其中的一小隅却有可能就是那么淡淡地、细细地爱另一个人。这另一个爱既是淡、也是是潜伏的，所以你最好别去问。有些问题是绝对不应该开口的；问了不但失礼，答案也不一定是你承受得了的。
所以闵政浩不过问长今她为什么会接皇上当初的上联，含泪地在病榻说：
“身为医官，身为女人，请让小的治疗皇上吧！”
--------------------
* 用“空虚”来形容听起来似乎夸张，但5月13日的晚上看完《大长今》DVD集的时候 （我连它的制作花絮和综艺节目都看了），真的有这样的感觉。可能一样东西追逐久了，总会沉溺…
19 June 2006
Chouinard's bODY_rEMIX
I meant to write this entry before Ms T came back from Hong Kong, but my temperamental computer (what the hell am I supposed to do about "IRQL_NOT_LESS_OR_EQUAL"?), late-night retro champagne and their after-effects got the better of me this weekend. Sorry Ms T.
Courtesy of her Artsfest ticket, I spent this past Friday night at a surprisingly full-house Victoria Theatre featuring Marie Chouinard's bODY_rEMIX / gOLDBERG_vARIATIONS.
After I got comfortable in my seat, I realized that it was probably the first time I was watching a ballet. Whoa, almost 26 years old and first time watching a ballet. What happened over the years man?
Body Remix is one of those difficult-to-read books that you must read nonetheless. You may never read it again because it takes a lot of work to read it, but you must read it at least once. I found myself leaning forward and furrowing my brow at various points, but the sense of eureka that followed made it worthwhile. I have one major complaint though - what is with glossy nipple stickers?? If they are meant to conceal, then I'm sorry - they only serve to ACCENTUATE instead. All I see under the spotlights are shiny nipples. Please please please make them matt next time and save us some crossing and uncrossing of legs... As if concentrating on the dance wasn't hard enough.
Now, on a more serious note...
In bODY_rEMIX, Chouinard underook a recombination of the dancers' bodies through the use of various supports - crutches, canes, points, harness etc. Because of the frank and matter-of-fact way in which the dancers resembled paralegics and spastics, the first 10 minutes were rather discomforting - I couldn't figure whether it was supposed to be a tribute or a parody of the less abled. But as the dance progressed, you realize that it is neither. It is merely depiction of a reality, with no intention to glorify or horrify. As for the discomfort, you never fully it shake off, but you gain the nerves and interest to watch on.
I should say something about the music too, since it seems to constitute Ms T's greatest regret about not being able to attend. I must say that I didn't take to the music very much at all. Glenn Gloud's voice sounded terribly ghostly and the remix of Goldberg variations didn't sound Bach at all. Modern, atonal? I don't quite know how to describe it. Ms T might have liked it though - erm, some parts were quite soporific ;)
The dance portion of it I liked much better. I particularly enjoyed the different discourses the dance engaged through the use of crutches and harnesses as support: Does a cane support or restrain? Can the grace of ballet and the awkwardness of paralegics co-exist at the same instant? How does Eros live among the disabled?
(On this last point, I couldn't help but feel that Eros had cloned herself in a million pieces and was floating all around the Victoria Theatre, mostly surrounding me. All these rods that were stuck to the men's head, chest and hips look terribly phallic. And those ballerina pointe shoes that the dancers were wearing on each of their right hand (yes, they affixed one to their hand as well), they should look like cranes being strutted around the stage, but again they looked very phallic to me.* I swear it is the shiny nipple stickers that is causing all this.)
Puppets pairing, angels flying, Siamese twins... I never realized that harnesses and points could be so versatile. The harness there - is it a sinister noose or a freedom swing? One instant, it is a noose holding a lifeless body of a woman, being held at the hand by her husband, and walked as if she were alive in a park. It is the most tragic scene I have seen. At the next, it transforms into a swing. As the swing swings from side to side, the couple presses close at the pelvis, backs arched back in pleasure. Sex on the swing - oooo, the most liberating feeling in the world.
I thought the curtains should have fallen here, on a high note. But it ends a while later, on a note of installation art instead.
A slight lament there, but overall, a memorable first time.
*But ahh, I have just found out a few minutes ago while writing this that it is entirely natural to think of the ballerina shoe as phallic - cf historian Susan Foster's "The ballerina's phallic pointe". Pat pat on my back.
Courtesy of her Artsfest ticket, I spent this past Friday night at a surprisingly full-house Victoria Theatre featuring Marie Chouinard's bODY_rEMIX / gOLDBERG_vARIATIONS.
After I got comfortable in my seat, I realized that it was probably the first time I was watching a ballet. Whoa, almost 26 years old and first time watching a ballet. What happened over the years man?
Body Remix is one of those difficult-to-read books that you must read nonetheless. You may never read it again because it takes a lot of work to read it, but you must read it at least once. I found myself leaning forward and furrowing my brow at various points, but the sense of eureka that followed made it worthwhile. I have one major complaint though - what is with glossy nipple stickers?? If they are meant to conceal, then I'm sorry - they only serve to ACCENTUATE instead. All I see under the spotlights are shiny nipples. Please please please make them matt next time and save us some crossing and uncrossing of legs... As if concentrating on the dance wasn't hard enough.
Now, on a more serious note...
In bODY_rEMIX, Chouinard underook a recombination of the dancers' bodies through the use of various supports - crutches, canes, points, harness etc. Because of the frank and matter-of-fact way in which the dancers resembled paralegics and spastics, the first 10 minutes were rather discomforting - I couldn't figure whether it was supposed to be a tribute or a parody of the less abled. But as the dance progressed, you realize that it is neither. It is merely depiction of a reality, with no intention to glorify or horrify. As for the discomfort, you never fully it shake off, but you gain the nerves and interest to watch on.
I should say something about the music too, since it seems to constitute Ms T's greatest regret about not being able to attend. I must say that I didn't take to the music very much at all. Glenn Gloud's voice sounded terribly ghostly and the remix of Goldberg variations didn't sound Bach at all. Modern, atonal? I don't quite know how to describe it. Ms T might have liked it though - erm, some parts were quite soporific ;)
The dance portion of it I liked much better. I particularly enjoyed the different discourses the dance engaged through the use of crutches and harnesses as support: Does a cane support or restrain? Can the grace of ballet and the awkwardness of paralegics co-exist at the same instant? How does Eros live among the disabled?
(On this last point, I couldn't help but feel that Eros had cloned herself in a million pieces and was floating all around the Victoria Theatre, mostly surrounding me. All these rods that were stuck to the men's head, chest and hips look terribly phallic. And those ballerina pointe shoes that the dancers were wearing on each of their right hand (yes, they affixed one to their hand as well), they should look like cranes being strutted around the stage, but again they looked very phallic to me.* I swear it is the shiny nipple stickers that is causing all this.)
Puppets pairing, angels flying, Siamese twins... I never realized that harnesses and points could be so versatile. The harness there - is it a sinister noose or a freedom swing? One instant, it is a noose holding a lifeless body of a woman, being held at the hand by her husband, and walked as if she were alive in a park. It is the most tragic scene I have seen. At the next, it transforms into a swing. As the swing swings from side to side, the couple presses close at the pelvis, backs arched back in pleasure. Sex on the swing - oooo, the most liberating feeling in the world.
I thought the curtains should have fallen here, on a high note. But it ends a while later, on a note of installation art instead.
A slight lament there, but overall, a memorable first time.
*But ahh, I have just found out a few minutes ago while writing this that it is entirely natural to think of the ballerina shoe as phallic - cf historian Susan Foster's "The ballerina's phallic pointe". Pat pat on my back.
13 June 2006
Dalai Lama's foot
I saw this wonderful painting in a NYT article yesterday:
A foot in a blue flip-flop on a mandala, with a hint of the floating burgundy robe. This was one artist's potrait of the Dalai Lama, among 88 who were asked to consider the Dalai Lama for an exhibition in L.A. The artist, Losang Gyatso said, "His Holiness is very casual and is often seen wearing sandals and flip-flops." Once when standing in line for an audience with His Holiness in Dharamsala, India, he realized that because most Tibetans in similar circumstances bend their heads in reverence, they see only his foot.
What a wonderful perspective for a portrait!
A foot in a blue flip-flop on a mandala, with a hint of the floating burgundy robe. This was one artist's potrait of the Dalai Lama, among 88 who were asked to consider the Dalai Lama for an exhibition in L.A. The artist, Losang Gyatso said, "His Holiness is very casual and is often seen wearing sandals and flip-flops." Once when standing in line for an audience with His Holiness in Dharamsala, India, he realized that because most Tibetans in similar circumstances bend their heads in reverence, they see only his foot.What a wonderful perspective for a portrait!
09 June 2006
No room for sentimentality: Part 2
(Part 1 is here.)
8 June 2006 - Saw an interesting NYT article today, articulating why people accumulate clutter:
Closet organization certainly seems to offer relief to all those — and there are millions — who are beset by the tendency to accumulate clutter, and who are the most obvious market for the (closet) industry. Cindy Glovinsky, a psychotherapist and personal organizer in Ann Arbor, Mich., and the author of "Making Peace With the Things in Your Life" and "One Thing at a Time: 100 Simple Ways to Live Clutter-Free Every Day," said that these people may be substituting things for relationships. There are many reasons for such attachments, she said, noting, for example, that some female clients in their 30's and 40's who complain of difficulties in organizing lost their mothers prematurely and often say they felt neglected by their mothers.--> Yup yup yup.
............
Mr. Lupo and Jesse Garza, the founders of Visual Therapy, are familiar with that sort of timidity (associated with organizing one's closets), and have little sympathy for it. Most people need permission to let go of their things, they argue, and they grant that permission with a form of tough love that they practice in their consultations.
Putting aside sentimentality (they allow that a few sentimental objects may be kept, as long as they are out of sight), they ask clients some practical questions about every single item when evaluating what to keep and what to toss. (Do I love it? Is it flattering? Does it represent me, and is this the image I want to portray?) They also advise against keeping any possession simply because it was a gift or cost a lot.
To be fair and balance out the viewpoint, I am looking out for articles psycho-analyzing people with an obsession to to eliminate clutter.
P.S. Of course I am a sucker for fancy closet organization solutions. How could you have wondered otherwise?
04 June 2006
Macarony weekend
I finally got round to trying the macarons at Canelé. I have known for a while that Canelé makes macarons, but having been spoilt by the heavenly ones at Ladurée in Paris, I have always maintained a certain prissiness about macarons.
That prissiness gave way on Friday night when Ms T and I passed by Robertson Walk on our way to dinner. We were talking about our French trip last September and of course, it is impossible to reminisce about France without a nostalgia for Laudurée’s macarons:
“Ohh, actually there is a café just right here which makes macarons. Let me show you so that you can come the next time to try if you want.”
It was almost 10 pm and much to our surprise, Canelé was still open. Even more surprisingly, there were still macarons. Not many left, but among them, the irresistible sea salt caramel ones.
Ms T and I got one each.
You know, a macaron is really just two shells of puff with filling in between. But what delightful puffs they are.
Delicately airy and quintessentially French, the first nibble of a macaron always elicits three full seconds of closed eyes and a contented “Hmmmm…” More nibbles often have the effect of producing a sustained euphoric satisfaction with life.
(To both Ms T’s and my absolute horror, a few people gobbled up in one single mouthful - like swallowing a bitter pill - the Ladurée macarons that we painstakingly brought back to S’pore the other time. Help.)
Ms T and I have both empirically proven today that the satisfaction lasts for approximately 36 hours. By this afternoon, I was at Canelé’s door again after cello class, ordering a pistachio macaron. As I settled down to partake in my tea and second macaron treat of the weekend, Ms T started messaging me about how she needed macaron therapy to get over the loss of her current favourite earrings… (I believe she eventually got her macaron two hours later – I hope, Ms T?)
My final verdict - the Canelé macarons are pretty good, but they are not as airy and delicate as Ladurée’s. Apparently one should also try those at Pierre Hermés and Hévin (in Paris) too.
Till I get my third trip to Paris, Canelé will have to do. Unless anyone knows another macaron place in S’pore?
Aside: Le Baiser from Ladurée is not a macaron, but it is too pretty not mention. Just like a geisha!
That prissiness gave way on Friday night when Ms T and I passed by Robertson Walk on our way to dinner. We were talking about our French trip last September and of course, it is impossible to reminisce about France without a nostalgia for Laudurée’s macarons:
“Ohh, actually there is a café just right here which makes macarons. Let me show you so that you can come the next time to try if you want.”It was almost 10 pm and much to our surprise, Canelé was still open. Even more surprisingly, there were still macarons. Not many left, but among them, the irresistible sea salt caramel ones.
Ms T and I got one each.
You know, a macaron is really just two shells of puff with filling in between. But what delightful puffs they are.
Delicately airy and quintessentially French, the first nibble of a macaron always elicits three full seconds of closed eyes and a contented “Hmmmm…” More nibbles often have the effect of producing a sustained euphoric satisfaction with life.
(To both Ms T’s and my absolute horror, a few people gobbled up in one single mouthful - like swallowing a bitter pill - the Ladurée macarons that we painstakingly brought back to S’pore the other time. Help.)
Ms T and I have both empirically proven today that the satisfaction lasts for approximately 36 hours. By this afternoon, I was at Canelé’s door again after cello class, ordering a pistachio macaron. As I settled down to partake in my tea and second macaron treat of the weekend, Ms T started messaging me about how she needed macaron therapy to get over the loss of her current favourite earrings… (I believe she eventually got her macaron two hours later – I hope, Ms T?)
φ
My final verdict - the Canelé macarons are pretty good, but they are not as airy and delicate as Ladurée’s. Apparently one should also try those at Pierre Hermés and Hévin (in Paris) too.
Till I get my third trip to Paris, Canelé will have to do. Unless anyone knows another macaron place in S’pore?
Aside: Le Baiser from Ladurée is not a macaron, but it is too pretty not mention. Just like a geisha!
27 May 2006
I like talking to taxi drivers
I like talking to taxi drivers.
Maybe it's because I am a taxi-driver's daughter, but I find taxi-drivers an interesting bunch, especially on night rides. (When the roads are clearer and they aren't cursing at whoever is cutting into your lane suddenly.) I am usually dead-beat when I get into a cab at night - either from work or from a night out - but I usually enjoy a good dose of conversation.
You can tell alot from cab conversations. Why, you may even be able to construct a cosumer sentiments index from cab conversations!
You learn that times are hard now. People who have worked in places like London and France are now taxi-drivers. I have excitedly exchanged reminiscence about Paris' charm and UK's shepherd pies with them before.
You learn that people are insecure about their jobs. Those working in the weekdays take on night shift driving, some on weekend nights only, but many on weekdays as well. (I am sometimes a bit concerned in such cabs 'cos they might be too tired and fall asleep at the wheel.)
You learn that the folks on the ground have come to their own conclusion that ERP = 'Every Road Pay', NTUC = 'Never Trust Union Compatriots' and NKF = 'Never Keep Funds'.*
You learn the latest upates of the election battles, who is fighting who and where the rallies are. (As a matter of fact, my daily news updates during the elections period came from cab drivers and colleagues around me. I had a big meeting in town that week and had no time to flip through the papers much.)
You learn why there was a shortage of cabs in the week immediately after the Progress Package was given out:
"Aiyah, everyone is shopping mah. Some cab drivers take a break to go shopping, those already shopping come out with big bags and all want cabs. Where got cabs for you?"
My latest one even tells me that he thinks that the latest S'pore Idol contestestants are planted:
"How can this guy possibly pronounce 'Long Long Ago' as 'Nong Nong Ago'? I mean 'L' is not a difficult sound for Chinese or Hokkiens what. Hokkien also got words like 'Ah-Long', how can it be difficult, you tell me? I think sure planted one. Just to add entertainment value.'
I enjoy my cab conversations so much that I am starting to think that it should be made mandatory for politicians to take cabs instead of being chauffeured around. (Assuming politicians are interested in knowing the pulse of society of course; one cannot be presumptuous in such things.) I definitely think cabs will give them a far superior sense of public sentiments than meet-the-people sessions or preccincts walkabouts. Maybe it is Asian mentality or something, but people tend to be very polite in such formalized settings. Worse, if you come by my house unannounced and ask me, "Any problem?", my reflex answer will of course be a polite answer of "no problem". By the time I come up with something I would like to raise to your attention, oops, you have moved on to the next house.
Cabs, on the other hand, are informal and annonymous environments. TPeople are reassured by the fact that their relationship end once they arrive at their destination. This thought sets people at ease and people share their opinions more easily. It is the same reason why Chinese emperors used to travel incognito and sit in teahouses, isn't it? Okay, the emperors might have been using it as an excuse to check out Jiangnan beauties, but certainly one of the reasons must have been to feel the pulse of society.
No individual's words should be taken as gospel truth or even representative, but public sentiments as gathered from cab conversations, is at least a piece of reality whose existence political leaders in tall towers need to know.
*For the benefit of non-S'porean readers, ERP is the Electronic Road Pricing System which charges tolls (some rather high ones!) for certain roads during peak hours. NTUC is the labour union in S'pore, but S'pore has a unique tripartite relationship among the government, union and companies. The term NTUC is hence more synonymous with supermarkets and insurance nowadays. NKF is the National Kidney Foundation, a charity organization for kidney dialysis patients which underwent a spate of scandal recently when its CEO allegedly abused the funds for personal favours and extravagances - such as gold-plated taps.
Maybe it's because I am a taxi-driver's daughter, but I find taxi-drivers an interesting bunch, especially on night rides. (When the roads are clearer and they aren't cursing at whoever is cutting into your lane suddenly.) I am usually dead-beat when I get into a cab at night - either from work or from a night out - but I usually enjoy a good dose of conversation.
You can tell alot from cab conversations. Why, you may even be able to construct a cosumer sentiments index from cab conversations!
You learn that times are hard now. People who have worked in places like London and France are now taxi-drivers. I have excitedly exchanged reminiscence about Paris' charm and UK's shepherd pies with them before.
You learn that people are insecure about their jobs. Those working in the weekdays take on night shift driving, some on weekend nights only, but many on weekdays as well. (I am sometimes a bit concerned in such cabs 'cos they might be too tired and fall asleep at the wheel.)
You learn that the folks on the ground have come to their own conclusion that ERP = 'Every Road Pay', NTUC = 'Never Trust Union Compatriots' and NKF = 'Never Keep Funds'.*
You learn the latest upates of the election battles, who is fighting who and where the rallies are. (As a matter of fact, my daily news updates during the elections period came from cab drivers and colleagues around me. I had a big meeting in town that week and had no time to flip through the papers much.)
You learn why there was a shortage of cabs in the week immediately after the Progress Package was given out:
"Aiyah, everyone is shopping mah. Some cab drivers take a break to go shopping, those already shopping come out with big bags and all want cabs. Where got cabs for you?"
My latest one even tells me that he thinks that the latest S'pore Idol contestestants are planted:
"How can this guy possibly pronounce 'Long Long Ago' as 'Nong Nong Ago'? I mean 'L' is not a difficult sound for Chinese or Hokkiens what. Hokkien also got words like 'Ah-Long', how can it be difficult, you tell me? I think sure planted one. Just to add entertainment value.'
I enjoy my cab conversations so much that I am starting to think that it should be made mandatory for politicians to take cabs instead of being chauffeured around. (Assuming politicians are interested in knowing the pulse of society of course; one cannot be presumptuous in such things.) I definitely think cabs will give them a far superior sense of public sentiments than meet-the-people sessions or preccincts walkabouts. Maybe it is Asian mentality or something, but people tend to be very polite in such formalized settings. Worse, if you come by my house unannounced and ask me, "Any problem?", my reflex answer will of course be a polite answer of "no problem". By the time I come up with something I would like to raise to your attention, oops, you have moved on to the next house.
Cabs, on the other hand, are informal and annonymous environments. TPeople are reassured by the fact that their relationship end once they arrive at their destination. This thought sets people at ease and people share their opinions more easily. It is the same reason why Chinese emperors used to travel incognito and sit in teahouses, isn't it? Okay, the emperors might have been using it as an excuse to check out Jiangnan beauties, but certainly one of the reasons must have been to feel the pulse of society.
No individual's words should be taken as gospel truth or even representative, but public sentiments as gathered from cab conversations, is at least a piece of reality whose existence political leaders in tall towers need to know.
*For the benefit of non-S'porean readers, ERP is the Electronic Road Pricing System which charges tolls (some rather high ones!) for certain roads during peak hours. NTUC is the labour union in S'pore, but S'pore has a unique tripartite relationship among the government, union and companies. The term NTUC is hence more synonymous with supermarkets and insurance nowadays. NKF is the National Kidney Foundation, a charity organization for kidney dialysis patients which underwent a spate of scandal recently when its CEO allegedly abused the funds for personal favours and extravagances - such as gold-plated taps.
23 May 2006
No more poof-poof at camera phones
Geeky Jo was made very happy recently when her cousin decided to give her a 3G Sony Ericsson phone. She has been thinking about starting her phone life afresh by switching to non-Nokia phone (*gasp* for the first time), so this was very timely indeed. In cleaning out her old phone, she discovered snippets of her life last year, nicely captured on the spontaneous phone camera:
« Ms T and I passed by a fringe event for Arts Fest 2005. Voyeurism is sanctioned as you get to sit under a glass platform... Ooo.
» My first view of the Istana; I was there to emcee for a cocktail.
« An open-air guzheng concert in a temple. Wonderfully ethereal because the temple was located right in the midst of Mohd Sultan clubs.
» Harpist@Istana: The other instrument I want to learn...
« First time at Ministry of Sound - we waited almost 2 hours!
» The London vs Madrid vs Paris Olympic decision which took place just next to my office tower...
« Ms T and I passed by a fringe event for Arts Fest 2005. Voyeurism is sanctioned as you get to sit under a glass platform... Ooo.
» My first view of the Istana; I was there to emcee for a cocktail.
« An open-air guzheng concert in a temple. Wonderfully ethereal because the temple was located right in the midst of Mohd Sultan clubs.
» Harpist@Istana: The other instrument I want to learn...
« First time at Ministry of Sound - we waited almost 2 hours!
» The London vs Madrid vs Paris Olympic decision which took place just next to my office tower...
19 May 2006
There is no room for sentimentality in a small house
Over the weekend, I threw out a bunch of stuff to make room for more stuff I was planning on bringing back from the office. Concert ticket stubs. A whole box of saga seeds collected in my childhood. Chan brother travel bags. Figurines, cute nonetheless, but which I have nowhere to display.
I was even tempted to throw out two cushions which belonged to my late grandmother, but which has been sitting in a box, unseen and forgotten.
I came to the conclusion that there is no room for sentimentality in a small house - if one does not aspire to live in a storeroom.
For some time now, I have been using the following rule of thumb to deal with clutter: if Object X has not been recalled or used for the past Y years, it needs to be thrown out. Okay, at most take a picture - a digital one please - of it. (Incidentally, this rule of thumb about Object X and Y years also comes in very handy for cutting down wedding guest list.)
I always feel that one cannot, in the name of sentimentality, hold on to everything. How big a capacity for sentimentality can a person truly have? How many possible 'specials' can there be? In trying to give special meaning to many* objects, many people end up giving meaning to nothing at all. Besides, it is not the physicality of the object itself that is memorable; it is the raison d'etre behind its existence. To me, Object X has already served its purpose by making an impression of that reason for Y years.
For this reason, I am known to be merciless at spring cleaning. The other mistress of my house is the direct opposite. She agonizes over every single object. Half of what I throw out, she takes back in. It's like we are playing conveyor belt sushi.
Come spring-cleaning time, you will see two women at different extremes in the house: one eagerly trying to clean, organize and regain control in her life, and the other eagerly trying to avoid, dart, and procrastinate about dealing with the past.
Perhaps the two polarities stem from different comfort levels about the central assumption in the rule of thumb: this assumption is that of the infallability of memory, and to a certain extent, of technology as well. One woman believes in the infallability (or perhaps, accepts its limits) of memory and technology, while the other is convinced of their unreliability.
From a piece of fabric, to a photograph, to an intangible byte on the computer - I admit it can be a leap of faith.
So I decided to let the cushions be.
*Of course, the word "many" is subjective. This number varies from person to person, but in 99% of the situations, surely it must conform to:
I was even tempted to throw out two cushions which belonged to my late grandmother, but which has been sitting in a box, unseen and forgotten.
I came to the conclusion that there is no room for sentimentality in a small house - if one does not aspire to live in a storeroom.
For some time now, I have been using the following rule of thumb to deal with clutter: if Object X has not been recalled or used for the past Y years, it needs to be thrown out. Okay, at most take a picture - a digital one please - of it. (Incidentally, this rule of thumb about Object X and Y years also comes in very handy for cutting down wedding guest list.)
I always feel that one cannot, in the name of sentimentality, hold on to everything. How big a capacity for sentimentality can a person truly have? How many possible 'specials' can there be? In trying to give special meaning to many* objects, many people end up giving meaning to nothing at all. Besides, it is not the physicality of the object itself that is memorable; it is the raison d'etre behind its existence. To me, Object X has already served its purpose by making an impression of that reason for Y years.
For this reason, I am known to be merciless at spring cleaning. The other mistress of my house is the direct opposite. She agonizes over every single object. Half of what I throw out, she takes back in. It's like we are playing conveyor belt sushi.
Come spring-cleaning time, you will see two women at different extremes in the house: one eagerly trying to clean, organize and regain control in her life, and the other eagerly trying to avoid, dart, and procrastinate about dealing with the past.
Perhaps the two polarities stem from different comfort levels about the central assumption in the rule of thumb: this assumption is that of the infallability of memory, and to a certain extent, of technology as well. One woman believes in the infallability (or perhaps, accepts its limits) of memory and technology, while the other is convinced of their unreliability.
From a piece of fabric, to a photograph, to an intangible byte on the computer - I admit it can be a leap of faith.
So I decided to let the cushions be.
*Of course, the word "many" is subjective. This number varies from person to person, but in 99% of the situations, surely it must conform to:
No. of objects in the house > No. of possible special remembrances
11 May 2006
Eureka moment
2 hours ago, I decided that I was still quite alert and wanted to watch a movie. So I went through my DVD collection for films I haven't watched and decided on Love on the Run. It was a suitable pre-bedtime film because it didn't contain violence, was a suitable 90-minute length and was also a Criterion Collection.
One hour into Love on the Run, I was happily enjoying the sound of the French language and deciphering the intertwined relationships between the characters when I saw this:
I thought, "The French must really like Balzac. Balzac was in 400 Blows as well."
Then the next frame came:
Oh my god. This IS from 400 Blows!
So I paused my film and went on Flikster to check 400 Blows. Voila, it's the same director Francois Truffaut!
I think the moment felt so wow because just 48 hours ago, I was commenting precisely on that Balzac connection in 400 Blows:
And it felt all the more Eureka because I didn't expect the connection at all until that very frame. (I have never noticed who directed 400 Blows.)
Very nice Eureka moment there. This is my lucky movie weekend. I shall plan on watching more.
One hour into Love on the Run, I was happily enjoying the sound of the French language and deciphering the intertwined relationships between the characters when I saw this:
I thought, "The French must really like Balzac. Balzac was in 400 Blows as well."
Then the next frame came:
Oh my god. This IS from 400 Blows!
So I paused my film and went on Flikster to check 400 Blows. Voila, it's the same director Francois Truffaut!
I think the moment felt so wow because just 48 hours ago, I was commenting precisely on that Balzac connection in 400 Blows:
And it felt all the more Eureka because I didn't expect the connection at all until that very frame. (I have never noticed who directed 400 Blows.)Very nice Eureka moment there. This is my lucky movie weekend. I shall plan on watching more.
04 May 2006
It really does hurt to wait - the economics of dread
Would you prefer to wait for the chance of good news, or know bad news for certain? For some, including yours truly here, anticipation can be as bad as pain they know is coming.
Click here for the original CNN article.
Click here for the original CNN article.
WASHINGTON (AP) -- Anyone who's ever taken a preschooler to the doctor knows they often cry more before the shot than afterward.
Now researchers using brain scans to unravel the biology of dread have an explanation: For some people, anticipating pain is truly as bad as experiencing it.
How bad? Among people who volunteered to receive electric shocks, almost a third opted for a stronger zap if they could just get it over with, instead of having to wait.
More importantly, the research found that how much attention the brain pays to expected pain determines whether someone is an "extreme dreader" -- suggesting that simple diversions could alleviate the misery.
The research, published in the journal Science, is part of a burgeoning new field called neuroeconomics that uses brain imaging to try to understand how people make choices. Until now, most of that work has focused on reward, the things people will do for positive outcomes.
"We were interested in the dark side of the equation," explained Dr. Gregory Berns of Emory University, who led the new study.
"Dread often makes us make bad decisions."
Standard economic theory says that people should postpone bad outcomes for as long as possible, because something might happen in the interim to improve the outlook.
In real life the "just get it over with" reaction is more likely, said Berns, a professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences. He offers a personal example: He usually pays credit card bills as soon as they arrive instead of waiting until they're due, even though "it doesn't make any sense economically."
So Berns designed a study to trace dread inside the brain. He put 32 volunteers into an MRI machine while giving them a series of 96 electric shocks to the foot. The shocks varied in intensity, from barely detectable to the pain of a needle jab.
Participants were told one was coming, how strong it would be, and how long the wait for it would be, from 1 to 27 seconds.
Later, participants were given choices: Would they prefer a medium jolt in 5 seconds or 27 seconds? What about a mild jolt in 20 seconds vs. a sharp one in 3 seconds?
When the voltage was identical, the volunteers almost always chose the shortest wait. But those Berns dubbed "extreme dreaders" picked the worst shock if it meant not having to wait as long.
The MRI scans showed that a brain network that governs how much pain people feel became active even before they were shocked, particularly the parts of this "pain matrix" that are linked to attention -- but not brain regions involving fear and anxiety. The more dread bothered someone, the more attention the pain-sensing parts of the brain were paying to the wait.
In other words, the mere information that you're about to feel pain "seems to be a source of misery," George Lowenstein, a specialist in economics and psychology at Carnegie Mellon University, wrote in an accompanying review of the work.
"These findings support the idea that the decision to delay or expedite an outcome depends critically on how a person feels while waiting," Lowenstein added.
The National Institute on Drug Abuse funded the research. What's the link between dread and drug use? It's indirect, but now that scientists know how healthy people's brains anticipate unpleasant consequences, future studies can compare how drug abusers process such information.
01 May 2006
Poor Mr Merlion
Am I getting patriotic, losing my sense of humour or is this ad just plain rude?
Faithful readers of this blog, time to tell me if I am getting neurotic / old-fashioned - hit the comment button pls...
Faithful readers of this blog, time to tell me if I am getting neurotic / old-fashioned - hit the comment button pls...
An honorary archaeology degree for the hermit crab
SIBU ISLAND, MALAYSIA - Who would have thought that a creature as small as this...
...has the ability to dig so much and create sand patterns as mysterious as these?
___ 
___ 
May all archaeologists be equally enthusiastic diggers like the hermit crab! :D
The sun, the sea and my sandy feet
An idyllic Labour Day weekend on Sibu Island...
...has the ability to dig so much and create sand patterns as mysterious as these?
___ ___ May all archaeologists be equally enthusiastic diggers like the hermit crab! :D
The sun, the sea and my sandy feet
An idyllic Labour Day weekend on Sibu Island...
26 April 2006
Cut losses
What a rational concept. One that has been imbued in me since my first economics lesson. Darn, I myself have often echoed it. When making a decision, don't consider sunk cost; just cut losses.
But when doing as mundane a thing as watching Korean drama serial with my mum two days ago, I realized for the first time how frightening the concept of cut losses is when applied to human beings. When in an epidemic, cut losses. Forget about the people who are sick. Forget about the few accidentally left behind. Cut losses. Don't create more losses.
How easy it is, for the slogan of cut losses to becomes an excuse for cowardice, for an easy way out.
So what of those who are left behind? Those unfortunate remnants of a very rational economic strategy?
(Un?)fortunately, human beings are not widgets. That is probably why it is so hard for people to cut losses in bad relationships, especially where inertia and hope feed on each other. Cutting losses is all very well when you rebalance your investment portfolio*, but when you can put a face to inanimate decision trees, cut losses just doesn't quite cut it.
Better for people to remain widgets huh?
*Yet, to take this one step deeper, rebalancing a portoflio is not so harmless a decision if you consider that you are cutting off a poor startup of fresh funds, possibly causing the young idealist boss to sink into despair.
But when doing as mundane a thing as watching Korean drama serial with my mum two days ago, I realized for the first time how frightening the concept of cut losses is when applied to human beings. When in an epidemic, cut losses. Forget about the people who are sick. Forget about the few accidentally left behind. Cut losses. Don't create more losses.
How easy it is, for the slogan of cut losses to becomes an excuse for cowardice, for an easy way out.
So what of those who are left behind? Those unfortunate remnants of a very rational economic strategy?
(Un?)fortunately, human beings are not widgets. That is probably why it is so hard for people to cut losses in bad relationships, especially where inertia and hope feed on each other. Cutting losses is all very well when you rebalance your investment portfolio*, but when you can put a face to inanimate decision trees, cut losses just doesn't quite cut it.
Better for people to remain widgets huh?
*Yet, to take this one step deeper, rebalancing a portoflio is not so harmless a decision if you consider that you are cutting off a poor startup of fresh funds, possibly causing the young idealist boss to sink into despair.
13 April 2006
The child in Japan
13 Apr 2006 - I have something embarrassing to confess.
I bought an irresistably adorable little soot ball in Japan:
I also have a soft spot for 隣のトットロ but try as I might, I couldn't find the Tottoro scarf hanger that Ms K had.
But while I have a soft spot for some Japanese cartoon creatures, it is still strange to me how much Japan loves its anime, manga and Final Fantasy humanoids. This trip too, I noticed and was baffled by just how often cutesy cartoons feature in the presentation of perfectly serious subjects like hospital ads and investment treaties.
Is this the Japanese society's way of reducing seriousness so as to reach out to the masses? Or is it just a matter of the society condoning the adult who doesn't want to grow up?
Perhaps Japan is just more tolerant about letting the child in adults show through, the way some cultures are more tolerant towards deviants.
When walking around the hip Harajuku on my last day in Japan, I was taken aback by what I saw in one of the shops. Clothes that are normally found in the kids section have now expanded thrice in size to fit the child trapped in an adult body.
The two Japanese attendants, 1.65 metres tall with very blond hair, were decked head to toe in Barbie costumes.
It felt very surreal to be looking at them, as if I was in Barbie Land or something. Yet there are the » maid cafes who specifically dress their waitresses like that to wait on the otakus hand and foot, even to address them as "Master".
Feminist sentiments aside, now that is bordering on strangeness...
I bought an irresistably adorable little soot ball in Japan:
I also have a soft spot for 隣のトットロ but try as I might, I couldn't find the Tottoro scarf hanger that Ms K had.
But while I have a soft spot for some Japanese cartoon creatures, it is still strange to me how much Japan loves its anime, manga and Final Fantasy humanoids. This trip too, I noticed and was baffled by just how often cutesy cartoons feature in the presentation of perfectly serious subjects like hospital ads and investment treaties.Is this the Japanese society's way of reducing seriousness so as to reach out to the masses? Or is it just a matter of the society condoning the adult who doesn't want to grow up?
Perhaps Japan is just more tolerant about letting the child in adults show through, the way some cultures are more tolerant towards deviants.
φ
When walking around the hip Harajuku on my last day in Japan, I was taken aback by what I saw in one of the shops. Clothes that are normally found in the kids section have now expanded thrice in size to fit the child trapped in an adult body.
The two Japanese attendants, 1.65 metres tall with very blond hair, were decked head to toe in Barbie costumes.
It felt very surreal to be looking at them, as if I was in Barbie Land or something. Yet there are the » maid cafes who specifically dress their waitresses like that to wait on the otakus hand and foot, even to address them as "Master".
Feminist sentiments aside, now that is bordering on strangeness...
12 April 2006
Quintessentially Japan
三年ぶりの日本。It is always a treat to be in Japan, especially after 3 long years. It was nostalgic and refreshing to observe many quintessential Japanese traits / objects / phenomena. In particular, 3 years had almost made me forget...
- How polite Japanese service is. When at the airport, the luggage attendants along the stretch of road ALL bowed in appreciation for your patronage as the limousine bus left. When in the train, people take very seriously the sign that says "Please refrain from using cellphone as they disturb other passengers". When shopping, every shop attendant greets you with an enthusiastic, genki-na "Irasshaimase!".
- How beautifully delicate Japanese cuisine is. I love warabi mochi and sakura mochi. Drool... I wonder if Meidi-ya here in Singapore has any? Did I also mention the sashimi which is pretending to be sushi? The portion is so generous that you can't see the rice:
...Or the tofu feast we had where the soya milk shabu shabu had me almost drinking from the pot and the tofu siew mai was so incredibly meat-like that I wouldn't have minded turning vegetarian... Slurp again.
- How fun Japanese English is! You've gotta love "Breastopia" (name of a mobile clinic to encourage women to have their first mammogram) and the sign on top of my tap that says "Good to drink" :)
- How omnipotent Japanese vending machines are. They even dispenses hot coffee in cans now! Oh, and I also like how you get little nubs of half-and-half with your coffee rather than bleh weak milk.
- How exciting it is to shop in Japan. Heater-equipped eyelash curler, charcoal-infused pore pack, blotters where the oil doesn't transfer to the other side of the paper, long wallets for men...
- How space-tight Japan is. My Tokyo hotel room is surely the tiiiniest one I have ever been in... It is even smaller than the Parisian hostel I was in! (Actually, only the bathroom that was tiny in that place; the rest of it was actually spacious.) But in their typical space-efficient fashion, the Japanese have managed to squeeze a fridge, a double bed and even a bathtub. Whoa.
- How pampering Japan is. A heated toilet seat is the BEST thing ever invented for sub-10 degree temperatures. Absolutely no argument about this.
11 April 2006
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09 April 2006
What is it about children that gives us hope?
Hope is a strange thing.
They say that of faith, hope and love, love is the greatest.
I say hope is the greatest. Hope is the undying belief that good things - like faith, like love - will come. Truly, what would life be without hope?
Seeing a park full of happy children on a day of blooming sakura, one cannot help but feel Hope.
Hope with a capital H!
______
____________
They say that of faith, hope and love, love is the greatest.
I say hope is the greatest. Hope is the undying belief that good things - like faith, like love - will come. Truly, what would life be without hope?
Seeing a park full of happy children on a day of blooming sakura, one cannot help but feel Hope.
Hope with a capital H!
______
____________
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