Omg I LOVE this video! It's so french and black-and-white and pseudo-arty and so cute and funny! *screams*
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Henri
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Qualifications & explanations
Well, my previous post was obviously (I mean, obvious if you were there) inspired by a discussion some gal friends had last night. I truly felt that their 'standards' for guys - at least those articulated last night - seemed to be specially designed to include only the rich spoilt brats of the world. Of course I know that my friends aren't so shallow as to really mean what they said, and that drinks with the gals is not particularly conducive to sincere, serious conversation, so it was more the circumstances and the place speaking than my friends. Nevertheless, I was a bit quiet and a bit of a wet blanket (I'm sorriiieeeee!) during that conversation because of... well, my beliefs and values and what I've experienced these few weeks.
My dad has always been a slow, cautious driver. My dad therefore wouldn't pass my friends' test (their guys have to drive at least 130-140 on the expressway). When I was young, I used to get really irritated and impatient when my dad drove slowly, but whenever I complained he used to scold me. (and my dad doesn't really scold me, so that's a big thing.) Now I truly feel treasured and loved because I know my dad drives slowly not because he's a lousy driver or because he's scared of driving fast. He drives slowly because he doesn't want anything to happen to us. He would much rather be late or miss an exit than take chances with our lives. Even when people blast their horns and his passengers grumble complain, he's held his course all these years and never wavered. He's also created, with my mum, a very very happy family. I feel very fortunate that all my family members get along with each other and actually enjoy spending time with each other. Yet my dad wouldn't have passed my friends' test.
A few days ago, a man broke down and cried in front of me because of the problems with his wife and children. He's not dumb but he's not Oxbridge material. He doesn't earn enough to afford a car. He's middle-aged and plump and balding and looked like a total wreck when he cried. According to my friends' criteria he wouldn't be worth a second glance (or a 1st for that matter). But I really respect him and I believe his wife made the right choice when she married him.
On a slightly different note, some of you might not know this, but I've recently met up with HG, not once but twice. HG is a guy who, well, crossed a certain line more than a year ago, and I spent more than a year ignoring his calls and smses. Yes, those of you who know about this should know who I'm talking about now. I don't know why he did what he did. Perhaps I gave the wrong signals or maybe he was feeling really lonely or maybe he was just being an ass. I've been annoyed with his persistent attempts to contact me, but I've long forgiven his initial transgression, and I've never actively disliked him. So when I bumped into him earlier this year and he acted decently, I basically renewed my friendship with him. (not that there was much of a friendship at first anyway.) And so far it's been good. He's behaved okay, he's quite nice to talk to, we've discovered a common interest in classical music, and I feel good that our friendship didn't end on a sour note. It's not, as some people seem to assume *ahem*, an attention-seeking thing on my part. I'm not a 'call the crusher and lead him on' kind of person.
It might be that this time he's just taking things slowly and he'll reveal his inner bastard some time down the road. Of course I'm still wary of him, and if it really turns out that way I'll probably have to cut him off again. But you see, the point is I don't believe that just because a guy crosses the line you should be mean to him and sever all ties with him. I don't believe in being unforgiving and merciless, and I don't ever believe that someone's bad behaviour reflects the whole of his personality. Just because a person behaves like a bastard once or twice doesn't mean that he is one.
Anyway, a post like this couldn't leave out LSB, could it? I'll admit, a lot of my criteria for my ideal guy has been heavily influenced by LSB (you should have noticed already, right?). But I don't think LSB is that ideal guy. For one, he might just be a car over house person. LSB is huge spendthrift when it comes to certain things (books & cab), and he's not known for his acute financial planning skills (not in my part of the world anyway). He's also got that 5-year old living in his brain - that same 5-year old that urges him to love football and play computer games - so he might just choose a flashy gadgety car over a nice sensible place to live. LSB can also be self-centered and inconsiderate, and he's not as careful about protecting me from hurt as my dad is. But then again, an ideal guy is only someone I think I could like very much. 'Think' is not 'feel', and our hearts and minds often take very different paths and end up in very different places. So if my ideal guy really appears I might really like him, but I don't know if I would love him.
My dad has always been a slow, cautious driver. My dad therefore wouldn't pass my friends' test (their guys have to drive at least 130-140 on the expressway). When I was young, I used to get really irritated and impatient when my dad drove slowly, but whenever I complained he used to scold me. (and my dad doesn't really scold me, so that's a big thing.) Now I truly feel treasured and loved because I know my dad drives slowly not because he's a lousy driver or because he's scared of driving fast. He drives slowly because he doesn't want anything to happen to us. He would much rather be late or miss an exit than take chances with our lives. Even when people blast their horns and his passengers grumble complain, he's held his course all these years and never wavered. He's also created, with my mum, a very very happy family. I feel very fortunate that all my family members get along with each other and actually enjoy spending time with each other. Yet my dad wouldn't have passed my friends' test.
A few days ago, a man broke down and cried in front of me because of the problems with his wife and children. He's not dumb but he's not Oxbridge material. He doesn't earn enough to afford a car. He's middle-aged and plump and balding and looked like a total wreck when he cried. According to my friends' criteria he wouldn't be worth a second glance (or a 1st for that matter). But I really respect him and I believe his wife made the right choice when she married him.
On a slightly different note, some of you might not know this, but I've recently met up with HG, not once but twice. HG is a guy who, well, crossed a certain line more than a year ago, and I spent more than a year ignoring his calls and smses. Yes, those of you who know about this should know who I'm talking about now. I don't know why he did what he did. Perhaps I gave the wrong signals or maybe he was feeling really lonely or maybe he was just being an ass. I've been annoyed with his persistent attempts to contact me, but I've long forgiven his initial transgression, and I've never actively disliked him. So when I bumped into him earlier this year and he acted decently, I basically renewed my friendship with him. (not that there was much of a friendship at first anyway.) And so far it's been good. He's behaved okay, he's quite nice to talk to, we've discovered a common interest in classical music, and I feel good that our friendship didn't end on a sour note. It's not, as some people seem to assume *ahem*, an attention-seeking thing on my part. I'm not a 'call the crusher and lead him on' kind of person.
It might be that this time he's just taking things slowly and he'll reveal his inner bastard some time down the road. Of course I'm still wary of him, and if it really turns out that way I'll probably have to cut him off again. But you see, the point is I don't believe that just because a guy crosses the line you should be mean to him and sever all ties with him. I don't believe in being unforgiving and merciless, and I don't ever believe that someone's bad behaviour reflects the whole of his personality. Just because a person behaves like a bastard once or twice doesn't mean that he is one.
Anyway, a post like this couldn't leave out LSB, could it? I'll admit, a lot of my criteria for my ideal guy has been heavily influenced by LSB (you should have noticed already, right?). But I don't think LSB is that ideal guy. For one, he might just be a car over house person. LSB is huge spendthrift when it comes to certain things (books & cab), and he's not known for his acute financial planning skills (not in my part of the world anyway). He's also got that 5-year old living in his brain - that same 5-year old that urges him to love football and play computer games - so he might just choose a flashy gadgety car over a nice sensible place to live. LSB can also be self-centered and inconsiderate, and he's not as careful about protecting me from hurt as my dad is. But then again, an ideal guy is only someone I think I could like very much. 'Think' is not 'feel', and our hearts and minds often take very different paths and end up in very different places. So if my ideal guy really appears I might really like him, but I don't know if I would love him.
My ideal guy...
A long time ago, I came up with an utterly ridiculous list of things my ideal guy must do/have, which included things like 'must play musical instrument'. Now it's boiled down to a simple 'I need to respect my ideal guy'. Or is it that simple?
My ideal guy will never drive over the speed limit (or at least,not by much) because if I'm in the car with him he'll be deathly afraid of getting me into an accident. If I'm not in the car, he won't want to get into an accident because he's deathly afraid of hurting me and the people around him. He won't want to get into an accident because he doesn't want to hurt the strangers on the road. While he doesn't always respect rules and laws, he respects people and therefore respects the rules that protect people, and that's why he doesn't want to speed. To him there're more important things than getting somewhere fast or looking cool or driving faster than other people just for kicks.
My ideal guy would never choose to buy a car over a house because that wouldn't make financial sense. He's an adult, not a boy insisting on getting the toys he wants.
My ideal guy is intelligent, not smart. He doesn't need to be some Wall Street trader or a Harvard professor, but he's got his own mind and has one or two intellectual pursuits that he's passionate about. He thinks before acting, and he acts in a mature, responsible way. He's not some snarky smart-mouthed ass who constantly reminds the world how intelligent he is. I hate people who love telling you who they know, how they cleverly got back at the people who offended them, what praises others have heaped upon their deserving backs.
My ideal guy might laugh at people who're not as intelligent as him, but he wouldn't think less of them, nor would he respect them less. Because he knows that you don't respect someone for his intelligence; you respect someone for his heart.
My ideal guy's world is a large one. He's aware of what's happening in his country and other countries. He doesn't see other countries as mere tourist destinations; he sees them as places where people live in very different ways, and also as places where people destroy, exploit, kill, fight, suffer. While he likes music and the latest movies and all sorts of modern entertainment, these are not all he talks about, and they're not the world to him.
My ideal guy loves his country, but he never loves uncritically. He is painfully aware of the faults of his country, but manages to love it deeply and truly anyway. If he loves his country blindly then he doesn't really love at all.
My ideal guy is a humanitarian. He's not the type of guy to do something really flashy like organise a fundraising event only when a publicised disaster strikes. He doesn't go around calling people to arms to save the helpless and bring light to the world. My ideal guy doesn't need a disaster to ignite his humanitarian spirit. He spends time and effort volunteering at a low-key organisation, and never spouts melodramatic crap about saving the world. Perhaps he mentors children. Perhaps when I start work at a company I'm delighted at the collateral samples they give me even when I know I'll never use them. Because my first thought is that maybe my guy's kids can find some use for them, and they won't end up in the hands of well-to-do adults who'll just throw them away. He knows that the work that really counts isn't flashy or glamorous, and it requires determination and patience and sacrifice.
My ideal guy sometimes seems weighed down with responsibilities. That only shows that he's a man who does his duty even if he'd rather be doing something else. He's sometimes preoccupied and tends to ignore me when he's busy. He puts work above entertainment, and doesn't care for parties or drinks or dancing.
Dates with my ideal guy are usually quite run-of-the-mill, dinner and movies all the time. But sometimes my ideal guy is surprisingly creative and original and romantic. Once in a long long while.
My ideal guy is not perfect. Sometimes he's immensely inconsiderate and self-centered, but other times he can go out of his way for me. When he's inconsiderate and self-centered, it's because he is thoughtless, not because he doesn't care.
I don't know if LSB is my ideal guy. So, dear LSB, are you? Or should I start recruiting?
My ideal guy will never drive over the speed limit (or at least,not by much) because if I'm in the car with him he'll be deathly afraid of getting me into an accident. If I'm not in the car, he won't want to get into an accident because he's deathly afraid of hurting me and the people around him. He won't want to get into an accident because he doesn't want to hurt the strangers on the road. While he doesn't always respect rules and laws, he respects people and therefore respects the rules that protect people, and that's why he doesn't want to speed. To him there're more important things than getting somewhere fast or looking cool or driving faster than other people just for kicks.
My ideal guy would never choose to buy a car over a house because that wouldn't make financial sense. He's an adult, not a boy insisting on getting the toys he wants.
My ideal guy is intelligent, not smart. He doesn't need to be some Wall Street trader or a Harvard professor, but he's got his own mind and has one or two intellectual pursuits that he's passionate about. He thinks before acting, and he acts in a mature, responsible way. He's not some snarky smart-mouthed ass who constantly reminds the world how intelligent he is. I hate people who love telling you who they know, how they cleverly got back at the people who offended them, what praises others have heaped upon their deserving backs.
My ideal guy might laugh at people who're not as intelligent as him, but he wouldn't think less of them, nor would he respect them less. Because he knows that you don't respect someone for his intelligence; you respect someone for his heart.
My ideal guy's world is a large one. He's aware of what's happening in his country and other countries. He doesn't see other countries as mere tourist destinations; he sees them as places where people live in very different ways, and also as places where people destroy, exploit, kill, fight, suffer. While he likes music and the latest movies and all sorts of modern entertainment, these are not all he talks about, and they're not the world to him.
My ideal guy loves his country, but he never loves uncritically. He is painfully aware of the faults of his country, but manages to love it deeply and truly anyway. If he loves his country blindly then he doesn't really love at all.
My ideal guy is a humanitarian. He's not the type of guy to do something really flashy like organise a fundraising event only when a publicised disaster strikes. He doesn't go around calling people to arms to save the helpless and bring light to the world. My ideal guy doesn't need a disaster to ignite his humanitarian spirit. He spends time and effort volunteering at a low-key organisation, and never spouts melodramatic crap about saving the world. Perhaps he mentors children. Perhaps when I start work at a company I'm delighted at the collateral samples they give me even when I know I'll never use them. Because my first thought is that maybe my guy's kids can find some use for them, and they won't end up in the hands of well-to-do adults who'll just throw them away. He knows that the work that really counts isn't flashy or glamorous, and it requires determination and patience and sacrifice.
My ideal guy sometimes seems weighed down with responsibilities. That only shows that he's a man who does his duty even if he'd rather be doing something else. He's sometimes preoccupied and tends to ignore me when he's busy. He puts work above entertainment, and doesn't care for parties or drinks or dancing.
Dates with my ideal guy are usually quite run-of-the-mill, dinner and movies all the time. But sometimes my ideal guy is surprisingly creative and original and romantic. Once in a long long while.
My ideal guy is not perfect. Sometimes he's immensely inconsiderate and self-centered, but other times he can go out of his way for me. When he's inconsiderate and self-centered, it's because he is thoughtless, not because he doesn't care.
I don't know if LSB is my ideal guy. So, dear LSB, are you? Or should I start recruiting?
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Songs!
I woke up today with my head full of old songs, and LSB has gone downstairs just to escape my singing :(
I've always felt that this is a song that manages to be sad AND noble.
Ol' man river,
Dat ol' man river
He mus'know sumpin'
But don't say nuthin',
He jes'keeps rollin'
He keeps on rollin' along.
He don' plant taters,
He don't plant cotton,
An' dem dat plants'em
is soon forgotten,
But ol'man river,
He jes keeps rollin'along.
You an'me, we sweat an' strain,
Body all achin' an' racket wid pain,
Tote dat barge!
Lif' dat bale!
Git a little drunk
An' you land in jail.
Ah gits weary
An' sick of tryin'
Ah'm tired of livin'
An' skeered of dyin',
But ol' man river,
He jes'keeps rolling' along.
There're plenty of slow versions on Youtube, but I really prefer the uptempo version. It's much more french, non? I've always enjoyed playing this song on the piano.
Keep the home fires burning!
Somehow I feel as if I'm in a World War songs mood...
I've always felt that this is a song that manages to be sad AND noble.
Ol' man river,
Dat ol' man river
He mus'know sumpin'
But don't say nuthin',
He jes'keeps rollin'
He keeps on rollin' along.
He don' plant taters,
He don't plant cotton,
An' dem dat plants'em
is soon forgotten,
But ol'man river,
He jes keeps rollin'along.
You an'me, we sweat an' strain,
Body all achin' an' racket wid pain,
Tote dat barge!
Lif' dat bale!
Git a little drunk
An' you land in jail.
Ah gits weary
An' sick of tryin'
Ah'm tired of livin'
An' skeered of dyin',
But ol' man river,
He jes'keeps rolling' along.
There're plenty of slow versions on Youtube, but I really prefer the uptempo version. It's much more french, non? I've always enjoyed playing this song on the piano.
Keep the home fires burning!
Somehow I feel as if I'm in a World War songs mood...
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Perfume and Poetry
I'll leave the story of my long and arduous journey back home from Malaysia to another time.
LSB once commented that I seem more suited for poetry than plays. Possibly it was his way of siam-ing my demands that he mentor my non-existent play writing efforts (he was teaching some other girls how to write plays see, and how could I be left out of that?), but I do agree with him to some extent. Even in my now almost-forgotten Creative Writing Club days, I chose to write poetry. I think the main reason was because poetry was shorter and faster, and I could anyhow-ly link words together and get away with it. But never mind that.
I've always felt there is a natural affinity between poetry and perfume. Poetry is the art of expressing what cannot be said. Perfume evokes memories and emotions that we never knew we possessed. It seems to me that both perfume and poetry hide between words and hide from words, so that the truth of both can never truly be communicated. They fall between the gaps of our knowledge, yet do not fall too far from our understanding. We do not know, yet we can understand; what is hidden is also revealed in equal measure.
Blah I don't know if I really said what I wanted to say there. That seems to happen a lot these days.
Anyway, here is a beautiful story about the affair and eventually tragic marriage between Ted Hughes (who also married the equally tragic Sylvia Plath) and Assia Wevill. The article hinges on Ted Hughes' poem, 'Chlorophyll' and the Dior perfume mentioned in the poem and central to their story. It's a long article, but well worth it if you can make it through.
LSB once commented that I seem more suited for poetry than plays. Possibly it was his way of siam-ing my demands that he mentor my non-existent play writing efforts (he was teaching some other girls how to write plays see, and how could I be left out of that?), but I do agree with him to some extent. Even in my now almost-forgotten Creative Writing Club days, I chose to write poetry. I think the main reason was because poetry was shorter and faster, and I could anyhow-ly link words together and get away with it. But never mind that.
I've always felt there is a natural affinity between poetry and perfume. Poetry is the art of expressing what cannot be said. Perfume evokes memories and emotions that we never knew we possessed. It seems to me that both perfume and poetry hide between words and hide from words, so that the truth of both can never truly be communicated. They fall between the gaps of our knowledge, yet do not fall too far from our understanding. We do not know, yet we can understand; what is hidden is also revealed in equal measure.
Blah I don't know if I really said what I wanted to say there. That seems to happen a lot these days.
Anyway, here is a beautiful story about the affair and eventually tragic marriage between Ted Hughes (who also married the equally tragic Sylvia Plath) and Assia Wevill. The article hinges on Ted Hughes' poem, 'Chlorophyll' and the Dior perfume mentioned in the poem and central to their story. It's a long article, but well worth it if you can make it through.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Christianity vs Paganism
Ah after a determined search, I've finally found the arguments between Oisin & Patrick!
Patrick. "Oisin, it is long your sleep is. Rise up and listen to the Psalm. Your strength and your readiness are gone from you, though you used to be going into rough fights and battles.
Oisin. "My readiness and my strength are gone from me since Finn has no armies living; I have no liking for clerks, their music is not sweet to me after his."
Patrick. "You never heard music so good from the beginning of the world to this day; it is well you would serve an army on a hill, you that are old and silly and grey."
Oisin. "I used to serve an army on a hill, Patrick of the closed-up mind; it is a pity you to be faulting me; there was never shame put on me till now.
"I have heard music was sweeter than your music, however much you are praising your clerks: the song of the blackbird in Leiter Laoi, and the sound of the Dord Fiann; the very sweet thrush of the Valley of the Shadow, or the sound of the boats striking the strand. The cry of the hounds was better to me than the noise of your schools, Patrick.
"Little Nut, little Nut of my heart, the little dwarf that was with Finn, when he would make tunes and songs he would put us all into deep sleep.
"The twelve hounds that belonged to Finn, the time they would be let loose facing out from the Siuir, their cry was sweeter than harps and than pipes.
"I have a little story about Finn; we were but fifteen men; we took the King of the Saxons of the feats, and we won a battle against the King of Greece.
"We fought nine battles in Spain, and nine times twenty battles in Ireland: from Lochlann and from the eastern world there was a share of gold coming to Finn.
"My grief! I to be stopping after him, and without delight in games or in music; to be withering away after my comrades; my grief it is to be living. I and the clerks of the Mass books are two that can never agree.
"If Finn and the Fianna were living, I would leave the clerks and the bells; I would follow the deer through the valleys, I would like to be close on his track.
"Ask Heaven of God, Patrick, for Finn of the Fianna and his race; make prayers for the great man; you never heard of his like."
..................................................
Oisin. "There is a greater story of Finn than of us, or of any that have lived in our time; all that are gone and all that are living, Finn was better to give out gold than themselves."
Patrick. "Au the gold you and Finn used to be giving out, it is little it does for you now; he is in Hell in bonds because he did treachery and oppression."
Oisin. "It is little I believe of your truth, man from Rome with the white books, Finn the open-handed head of the Fianna to be in the hands of devils or demons.
Patrick. "Finn is in bonds in Hell, the pleasant man that gave out gold; in satisfaction for his disrespect to God, he is under grief in the house of pain."
Oisin. "If the sons of Morna were within it, or the strong men of the sons of Baiscne, they would take Finn out of it, or they would have the house for themselves."
Patrick. "If the five provinces of Ireland were within it, or the strong seven battalions of the Fianna, they would not be able to bring Finn out of it, however great their strength might be."
Oisin. "If Faolan and Goll were living, and brown-haired Diarmuid and brave Osgar, Finn of the Fianna could not be held in any house that was made by God or devils."
Patrick. "If Faolan and Goll were living, and all the Fianna that ever were, they could not bring out Finn from the house where he is in pain."
Oisin. "What did Finn do against God but to be attending on schools and on armies? Giving gold through a great part of his time, and for another while trying his hounds."
Patrick. "In payment for thinking of his hounds and for serving the schools of the poets, and because he gave no heed to God, Finn of the Fianna is held down."
............................................
Oisin. "O Patrick, tell me as a secret, since it is you have the best knowledge, will my dog or my hound be let in with me to the court of the King of Grace?"
Patrick. "Old man in your foolishness that I cannot put any bounds to, your dog or your hound will not be let in with you to the court of the King of Power."
Oisin. "If I had acquaintance with God, and my hound to be at hand, I would make whoever gave food to myself give a share to my hound as well.
"One strong champion that was with the Fianna of Ireland would be better than the Lord of Piety, and than you yourself, Patrick."
Patrick. "O Oisin of the sharp blades, it is mad words you are saying. God is better for one day than the whole of the Fianna of Ireland."
Oisin. "Though I am now without sway and my life is spent to the end, do not put abuse, Patrick, on the great men of the sons of Baiscne.
"If I had Conan with me, the man that used to be running down the Fianna, it is he would break your head within among your clerks and your priests."
...................................
Patrick. "Oisin, since your wits are gone from you be glad at what I say; it is certain to me you will leave the Fianna and that you will receive the God of the stars."
Oisin. "There is wonder on me at your hasty talk, priest that has travelled in every part, to say that I would part from the Fianna, a generous people, never niggardly."
Patrick. "If you saw the people of God, the way they are settled at feasts, every good thing is more plentiful with them than with Finn's people, however great their name was.
"Finn and the Fianna are lying now very sorrowful on the flagstone of pain; take the Son of God in their place; make your repentance and do not lose Heaven."
Oisin. "I do not believe your talk now, O Patrick of the crooked staves, Finn and the Fianna to be there within, unless they find pleasure being in it."
Patrick. "Make right repentance now, before you know when your end is coming; God is better for one hour than the whole of the Fianna of Ireland."
Oisin. "That is a daring answer to make to me, Patrick of the crooked crozier; your crozier would be in little bits if I had Osgar with me now.
"If my son Osgar and God were hand to hand on the Hill of the Fianna, if I saw my son put down, I would say that God was a strong man.
"How could it be that God or his priests could be better men thin Finn, the King of the Fianna, a generous man without crookedness.
"If there was a place above or below better than the Heaven of God, it is there Finn would go, and all that are with him of his people.
"You say that a generous man never goes to the hell of pain; there was not one among the Fianna that was not generous to all.
"Ask of God, Patrick, does He remember when the Fianna were alive, or has He seen east or west any man better than themselves in their fighting.
"The Fianna used not to be saying treachery; we never had the name of telling lies. By truth and the strength of our hands we came safe out of every battle.
"There never sat a priest in a church, though you think it sweet to be singing psalms, was better to his word than the Fianna, or more generous than Finn himself.
"If my comrades were living to-night, I would take no pleasure in your crooning in the church; as they are not living now, the rough voice of the bells has deafened me.
"Och! in the place of battles and heavy fights, where I used to have my place and to take my pleasure, the crozier of Patrick being carried; and his clerks at their quarrelling.
"Och! slothful, cheerless Conan, it is great abuse I used to be giving you; why do you not come to see me now? you would get leave for making fun and reviling through the whole of the niggardly clerks.
"Och! where are the strong men gone that they do not come together to help me! O Osgar of the sharp sword of victory, come and free your father from his bonds!
"Where is the strong son of Lugaidh? Och! Diarmuid of all the women! Och! Caoilte, son of Ronan, think of our love, and travel to me!"
Patrick. "Stop your talk, you withered, witless old man; it is my King that made the Heavens, it is He that gives blossom to the trees, it is He made the moon and the sun, the fields and the grass."
Oisin. "It was not in shaping fields and grass that my king took his delight, but in overthrowing fighting men, and defending countries, and bringing his name into every part.
"In courting, in playing, in hunting, in baring his banner at the first of a fight; in playing at chess, at swimming, in looking around him at the drinking-hall.
"O Patrick, where was your God when the two came over the sea that brought away the queen of Lochlann of the Ships? Where was He when Dearg came, the son of the King of Lochlann of the golden shields? Why did not the King of Heaven protect them from the blows of the big man?
"Or when Tailc son of Treon, came, the man that did great slaughter on the Fianna; it was not by God that champion fell, but by Osgar, in the sight of all.
"Many a battle and many a victory was gained by the Fianna of Ireland; I never heard any great deed was done by the King of Saints, or that He ever reddened His hand.
"It would be a great shame for God not to take the locks of pain off Finn; if God Himself were in bonds, my king would fight for His sake.
"Finn left no one in pain or in danger without freeing him by silver or gold, or by fighting till he got the victory.
"For the strength of your love, Patrick, do not forsake the great men; bring in the Fianna unknown to the King of Heaven.
"It is a good claim I have on your God, to be among his clerks the way I am; without food, without clothing, without music, without giving rewards to poets.
"Without the cry of the hounds or the horns, without guarding coasts, without courting generous women; for all that I have suffered by the want of food, I forgive the King of Heaven in my will."
Oisin. said: "My story is sorrowful. The sound of your voice is not pleasant to me. I will cry my fill, but not for God, but because Finn and the Fianna are not living."
------------------------------------------
Oisin's Lament
I am a shaking tree, my leaves gone from me; an empty nut, a horse without a bridle; a people without a dwelling-place, I Oisin, son of Finn.
It is long the clouds are over me to-night! It is long last night was; although this day is long, yesterday was longer again to me; every day that comes is long to me!
That is not the way I used to be, without fighting, without battles, without learning feats, without young girls, without music, without harps, without bruising bones, without great deeds; without increase of learning, without generosity, without drinking at feasts, without courting, without hunting, the two trades I was used to; without going out to battle Ochone! the want of them is sorrowful to me.
No hunting of deer or stag, it is not like that I would wish to be; no leashes for our hounds, no hounds; it is long the clouds are over me to-night!
Without rising up to do bravery as we were used, without playing as we had a mind; without swimming of our fighting men in the lake; it is long the clouds are over me to-night!
There is no one at all in the world the way I am: it is a pity the way I am; an old man dragging stones; it is long the clouds are over me to-night!
I am the last of the Fianna, great Oisin, son of Finn, listening to the voice of bells; it is long the clouds are over me to-night!
Patrick. "Oisin, it is long your sleep is. Rise up and listen to the Psalm. Your strength and your readiness are gone from you, though you used to be going into rough fights and battles.
Oisin. "My readiness and my strength are gone from me since Finn has no armies living; I have no liking for clerks, their music is not sweet to me after his."
Patrick. "You never heard music so good from the beginning of the world to this day; it is well you would serve an army on a hill, you that are old and silly and grey."
Oisin. "I used to serve an army on a hill, Patrick of the closed-up mind; it is a pity you to be faulting me; there was never shame put on me till now.
"I have heard music was sweeter than your music, however much you are praising your clerks: the song of the blackbird in Leiter Laoi, and the sound of the Dord Fiann; the very sweet thrush of the Valley of the Shadow, or the sound of the boats striking the strand. The cry of the hounds was better to me than the noise of your schools, Patrick.
"Little Nut, little Nut of my heart, the little dwarf that was with Finn, when he would make tunes and songs he would put us all into deep sleep.
"The twelve hounds that belonged to Finn, the time they would be let loose facing out from the Siuir, their cry was sweeter than harps and than pipes.
"I have a little story about Finn; we were but fifteen men; we took the King of the Saxons of the feats, and we won a battle against the King of Greece.
"We fought nine battles in Spain, and nine times twenty battles in Ireland: from Lochlann and from the eastern world there was a share of gold coming to Finn.
"My grief! I to be stopping after him, and without delight in games or in music; to be withering away after my comrades; my grief it is to be living. I and the clerks of the Mass books are two that can never agree.
"If Finn and the Fianna were living, I would leave the clerks and the bells; I would follow the deer through the valleys, I would like to be close on his track.
"Ask Heaven of God, Patrick, for Finn of the Fianna and his race; make prayers for the great man; you never heard of his like."
..................................................
Oisin. "There is a greater story of Finn than of us, or of any that have lived in our time; all that are gone and all that are living, Finn was better to give out gold than themselves."
Patrick. "Au the gold you and Finn used to be giving out, it is little it does for you now; he is in Hell in bonds because he did treachery and oppression."
Oisin. "It is little I believe of your truth, man from Rome with the white books, Finn the open-handed head of the Fianna to be in the hands of devils or demons.
Patrick. "Finn is in bonds in Hell, the pleasant man that gave out gold; in satisfaction for his disrespect to God, he is under grief in the house of pain."
Oisin. "If the sons of Morna were within it, or the strong men of the sons of Baiscne, they would take Finn out of it, or they would have the house for themselves."
Patrick. "If the five provinces of Ireland were within it, or the strong seven battalions of the Fianna, they would not be able to bring Finn out of it, however great their strength might be."
Oisin. "If Faolan and Goll were living, and brown-haired Diarmuid and brave Osgar, Finn of the Fianna could not be held in any house that was made by God or devils."
Patrick. "If Faolan and Goll were living, and all the Fianna that ever were, they could not bring out Finn from the house where he is in pain."
Oisin. "What did Finn do against God but to be attending on schools and on armies? Giving gold through a great part of his time, and for another while trying his hounds."
Patrick. "In payment for thinking of his hounds and for serving the schools of the poets, and because he gave no heed to God, Finn of the Fianna is held down."
............................................
Oisin. "O Patrick, tell me as a secret, since it is you have the best knowledge, will my dog or my hound be let in with me to the court of the King of Grace?"
Patrick. "Old man in your foolishness that I cannot put any bounds to, your dog or your hound will not be let in with you to the court of the King of Power."
Oisin. "If I had acquaintance with God, and my hound to be at hand, I would make whoever gave food to myself give a share to my hound as well.
"One strong champion that was with the Fianna of Ireland would be better than the Lord of Piety, and than you yourself, Patrick."
Patrick. "O Oisin of the sharp blades, it is mad words you are saying. God is better for one day than the whole of the Fianna of Ireland."
Oisin. "Though I am now without sway and my life is spent to the end, do not put abuse, Patrick, on the great men of the sons of Baiscne.
"If I had Conan with me, the man that used to be running down the Fianna, it is he would break your head within among your clerks and your priests."
...................................
Patrick. "Oisin, since your wits are gone from you be glad at what I say; it is certain to me you will leave the Fianna and that you will receive the God of the stars."
Oisin. "There is wonder on me at your hasty talk, priest that has travelled in every part, to say that I would part from the Fianna, a generous people, never niggardly."
Patrick. "If you saw the people of God, the way they are settled at feasts, every good thing is more plentiful with them than with Finn's people, however great their name was.
"Finn and the Fianna are lying now very sorrowful on the flagstone of pain; take the Son of God in their place; make your repentance and do not lose Heaven."
Oisin. "I do not believe your talk now, O Patrick of the crooked staves, Finn and the Fianna to be there within, unless they find pleasure being in it."
Patrick. "Make right repentance now, before you know when your end is coming; God is better for one hour than the whole of the Fianna of Ireland."
Oisin. "That is a daring answer to make to me, Patrick of the crooked crozier; your crozier would be in little bits if I had Osgar with me now.
"If my son Osgar and God were hand to hand on the Hill of the Fianna, if I saw my son put down, I would say that God was a strong man.
"How could it be that God or his priests could be better men thin Finn, the King of the Fianna, a generous man without crookedness.
"If there was a place above or below better than the Heaven of God, it is there Finn would go, and all that are with him of his people.
"You say that a generous man never goes to the hell of pain; there was not one among the Fianna that was not generous to all.
"Ask of God, Patrick, does He remember when the Fianna were alive, or has He seen east or west any man better than themselves in their fighting.
"The Fianna used not to be saying treachery; we never had the name of telling lies. By truth and the strength of our hands we came safe out of every battle.
"There never sat a priest in a church, though you think it sweet to be singing psalms, was better to his word than the Fianna, or more generous than Finn himself.
"If my comrades were living to-night, I would take no pleasure in your crooning in the church; as they are not living now, the rough voice of the bells has deafened me.
"Och! in the place of battles and heavy fights, where I used to have my place and to take my pleasure, the crozier of Patrick being carried; and his clerks at their quarrelling.
"Och! slothful, cheerless Conan, it is great abuse I used to be giving you; why do you not come to see me now? you would get leave for making fun and reviling through the whole of the niggardly clerks.
"Och! where are the strong men gone that they do not come together to help me! O Osgar of the sharp sword of victory, come and free your father from his bonds!
"Where is the strong son of Lugaidh? Och! Diarmuid of all the women! Och! Caoilte, son of Ronan, think of our love, and travel to me!"
Patrick. "Stop your talk, you withered, witless old man; it is my King that made the Heavens, it is He that gives blossom to the trees, it is He made the moon and the sun, the fields and the grass."
Oisin. "It was not in shaping fields and grass that my king took his delight, but in overthrowing fighting men, and defending countries, and bringing his name into every part.
"In courting, in playing, in hunting, in baring his banner at the first of a fight; in playing at chess, at swimming, in looking around him at the drinking-hall.
"O Patrick, where was your God when the two came over the sea that brought away the queen of Lochlann of the Ships? Where was He when Dearg came, the son of the King of Lochlann of the golden shields? Why did not the King of Heaven protect them from the blows of the big man?
"Or when Tailc son of Treon, came, the man that did great slaughter on the Fianna; it was not by God that champion fell, but by Osgar, in the sight of all.
"Many a battle and many a victory was gained by the Fianna of Ireland; I never heard any great deed was done by the King of Saints, or that He ever reddened His hand.
"It would be a great shame for God not to take the locks of pain off Finn; if God Himself were in bonds, my king would fight for His sake.
"Finn left no one in pain or in danger without freeing him by silver or gold, or by fighting till he got the victory.
"For the strength of your love, Patrick, do not forsake the great men; bring in the Fianna unknown to the King of Heaven.
"It is a good claim I have on your God, to be among his clerks the way I am; without food, without clothing, without music, without giving rewards to poets.
"Without the cry of the hounds or the horns, without guarding coasts, without courting generous women; for all that I have suffered by the want of food, I forgive the King of Heaven in my will."
Oisin. said: "My story is sorrowful. The sound of your voice is not pleasant to me. I will cry my fill, but not for God, but because Finn and the Fianna are not living."
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Oisin's Lament
I am a shaking tree, my leaves gone from me; an empty nut, a horse without a bridle; a people without a dwelling-place, I Oisin, son of Finn.
It is long the clouds are over me to-night! It is long last night was; although this day is long, yesterday was longer again to me; every day that comes is long to me!
That is not the way I used to be, without fighting, without battles, without learning feats, without young girls, without music, without harps, without bruising bones, without great deeds; without increase of learning, without generosity, without drinking at feasts, without courting, without hunting, the two trades I was used to; without going out to battle Ochone! the want of them is sorrowful to me.
No hunting of deer or stag, it is not like that I would wish to be; no leashes for our hounds, no hounds; it is long the clouds are over me to-night!
Without rising up to do bravery as we were used, without playing as we had a mind; without swimming of our fighting men in the lake; it is long the clouds are over me to-night!
There is no one at all in the world the way I am: it is a pity the way I am; an old man dragging stones; it is long the clouds are over me to-night!
I am the last of the Fianna, great Oisin, son of Finn, listening to the voice of bells; it is long the clouds are over me to-night!
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Someone in China is rejoicing
I don't know, has it occurred to anyone that someone in China is dancing with joy over the recent twin disasters?
Just a few weeks ago China was faced with a huge PR disaster - people snatching the bloody torch, the protests forced secret re-routes of the torch's journey... basically it was widespread international protest against China's various sins. The theme was: China under international scrutiny as the Beijing Olympics draws near - How will China Screw Up Now?
Now with the massive earthquake, all that is put behind us, and it's all - what a horrible disaster, how can we help these lovely Chinese people (and mind you, I'm not implying that the Chinese AREN'T lovely), look at all the efforts made by relief workers and the government, oh look, the President even made a trip down. How wonderful of him, not behaving at all like a ruthless Communist leader. We're also praising the wonderful wonderful Chinese government - so brave despite all this tragedy - for, well, basically not trying to hide the earthquake. Indeed, what more could you ask for in a government?
The small group of Chinese capering around with joy over the massive loss of life in the earthquake that is PR gold for China would also be similarly festive over Cyclone Nargis. Hell, Myanmar actually made China look good.
Just a few weeks ago China was faced with a huge PR disaster - people snatching the bloody torch, the protests forced secret re-routes of the torch's journey... basically it was widespread international protest against China's various sins. The theme was: China under international scrutiny as the Beijing Olympics draws near - How will China Screw Up Now?
Now with the massive earthquake, all that is put behind us, and it's all - what a horrible disaster, how can we help these lovely Chinese people (and mind you, I'm not implying that the Chinese AREN'T lovely), look at all the efforts made by relief workers and the government, oh look, the President even made a trip down. How wonderful of him, not behaving at all like a ruthless Communist leader. We're also praising the wonderful wonderful Chinese government - so brave despite all this tragedy - for, well, basically not trying to hide the earthquake. Indeed, what more could you ask for in a government?
The small group of Chinese capering around with joy over the massive loss of life in the earthquake that is PR gold for China would also be similarly festive over Cyclone Nargis. Hell, Myanmar actually made China look good.
Knowledge
I want to talk about two things today.
1. The nature of my own subjective 'knowledge' and understanding
2. Realisation vs knowledge
1. I think this is more about associations than anything else. Let's just start from what I'm most familiar with - international relations theory.
Realist theories have always felt linear to me, with straight, simple lines. They're very solid, like the walls of a corridor. But if they're walls they're cement walls without windows.
Liberal theories come with a sensation of a 'network', countless of little interconnecting lines that envelope one. Liberal theories are also always in black and white.
Constructivist theories have a sort of translucency and a delicate mix of colours, and they feel very light and insubstantial, but they're also quite pretty. There's also a humming, vibrating sound like the echo of a bell to Constructivism.
Critical theories are always very angry. They remind me of myself when I get angry, because I tend to be very irrational and I strike out at whoever's nearby. But even though critical theories are always very angry, they're also not prosaic.
Postmodernist theories smell of rubber and over-heated wires, but they don't smell disgusting. Just interesting. Postmodernism reminds me of computers and technology, especially the Internet. I think it the 'virtual-ness' and disorientating effect and 'massiveness' of the Internet that is so postmodernist.
So that's international theory. But I also understand other things in similar ways. Take for example writing.
Policy papers remind me of the images I associate with realist theories. They're linear and progress inevitably from one point to the next. It's very hard to find surprises in the flow of the paper - no side-roads, no sudden obstructions, no stairs or windows - it's just a long straight corridor.
I remember an essay on Keats I wrote that reminds me of Constructivist theories. It was somewhat light and pretty and had the same colours too.
Political theory papers (the good ones) remind me of Postmodernist theories (whether or not the political theory paper is on postmodernism.) They smell like an over-heated computer, and they're not linear. They're almost dizzying and nauseating and almost seem to reach out in many many directions at one time.
For me, a badly written political theory paper is the one that reminds me of realist theories - a corridor with high, windowless walls.
But then again, a good realist theory is one that has many straight, windowless corridors in a huge meandering maze.
Sometimes my political theory essays feel very light-hearted to me, even though the subject matter could be very serious. Perhaps because I know what I'm trying to do with the argument, sometimes the essay seems sneaky and playful, and slightly guilty about not being serious (like a heavy, colossal museum with classical columns and greek words) enough.
Humour.
LSB's humour is of two different varieties. Sometimes his sense of humour like a hammer. It's unsubtle and hits really hard. This is the type of humour I usually associate with beefy jocks watching soccer and drinking beer, and is the type of humour that makes me roll my eyes at him. Sometimes his humour has such an unexpected turn, I'm truly surprised, and it reminds me above all of books - huge academic tomes - and the Internet. This is the type of humour that makes me giggle girlishly and fawn over him in the way that all of you are unanimously disgusted by.
My sense of humour (as I see it anyway) reminds me of the greedy snatching of a child at overhanging grapes. I don't really know why either, but when I'm trying to be funny, I sometimes feel as if I'm unrelentingly snatching at ideas hanging above me.
My mother's humour hovers over one spot on the ground and plucks that one piece of soil and lifts it into the air.
So this is how I understand stuff. And yes it's a hopeless ramble that reminds me of a whole swarm of disoriented flies flying desperately in circles in a bottle.
2. Realisation vs knowledge. Sometimes LSB doesn't understand why I suddenly get upset over something even though I've known it for months. It's simply because I've only just realised what I've known all along.
In the same way, people can know that thousands of people have died in the Chinese & Myanmarese disasters, but not realise what it means. To them it's only a statistic, not a tragedy.
At least I hope that this is the case, because this means that at least their lack of empathy is only a result of their lack of realisation, and is not because they truly don't care that people have died.
This is, I think, a fundamentally optimistic way of looking at the world. If someone's been inconsiderate, it's because he didn't realise it. If the Nazis killed millions of people, it's only because they didn't realise what they were doing. It also makes it easier for us to forgive people for what they've done.
Blah I'm feeling very irritated today, and I don't seem to be able to say what I really want to say. It's bloody hot.
1. The nature of my own subjective 'knowledge' and understanding
2. Realisation vs knowledge
1. I think this is more about associations than anything else. Let's just start from what I'm most familiar with - international relations theory.
Realist theories have always felt linear to me, with straight, simple lines. They're very solid, like the walls of a corridor. But if they're walls they're cement walls without windows.
Liberal theories come with a sensation of a 'network', countless of little interconnecting lines that envelope one. Liberal theories are also always in black and white.
Constructivist theories have a sort of translucency and a delicate mix of colours, and they feel very light and insubstantial, but they're also quite pretty. There's also a humming, vibrating sound like the echo of a bell to Constructivism.
Critical theories are always very angry. They remind me of myself when I get angry, because I tend to be very irrational and I strike out at whoever's nearby. But even though critical theories are always very angry, they're also not prosaic.
Postmodernist theories smell of rubber and over-heated wires, but they don't smell disgusting. Just interesting. Postmodernism reminds me of computers and technology, especially the Internet. I think it the 'virtual-ness' and disorientating effect and 'massiveness' of the Internet that is so postmodernist.
So that's international theory. But I also understand other things in similar ways. Take for example writing.
Policy papers remind me of the images I associate with realist theories. They're linear and progress inevitably from one point to the next. It's very hard to find surprises in the flow of the paper - no side-roads, no sudden obstructions, no stairs or windows - it's just a long straight corridor.
I remember an essay on Keats I wrote that reminds me of Constructivist theories. It was somewhat light and pretty and had the same colours too.
Political theory papers (the good ones) remind me of Postmodernist theories (whether or not the political theory paper is on postmodernism.) They smell like an over-heated computer, and they're not linear. They're almost dizzying and nauseating and almost seem to reach out in many many directions at one time.
For me, a badly written political theory paper is the one that reminds me of realist theories - a corridor with high, windowless walls.
But then again, a good realist theory is one that has many straight, windowless corridors in a huge meandering maze.
Sometimes my political theory essays feel very light-hearted to me, even though the subject matter could be very serious. Perhaps because I know what I'm trying to do with the argument, sometimes the essay seems sneaky and playful, and slightly guilty about not being serious (like a heavy, colossal museum with classical columns and greek words) enough.
Humour.
LSB's humour is of two different varieties. Sometimes his sense of humour like a hammer. It's unsubtle and hits really hard. This is the type of humour I usually associate with beefy jocks watching soccer and drinking beer, and is the type of humour that makes me roll my eyes at him. Sometimes his humour has such an unexpected turn, I'm truly surprised, and it reminds me above all of books - huge academic tomes - and the Internet. This is the type of humour that makes me giggle girlishly and fawn over him in the way that all of you are unanimously disgusted by.
My sense of humour (as I see it anyway) reminds me of the greedy snatching of a child at overhanging grapes. I don't really know why either, but when I'm trying to be funny, I sometimes feel as if I'm unrelentingly snatching at ideas hanging above me.
My mother's humour hovers over one spot on the ground and plucks that one piece of soil and lifts it into the air.
So this is how I understand stuff. And yes it's a hopeless ramble that reminds me of a whole swarm of disoriented flies flying desperately in circles in a bottle.
2. Realisation vs knowledge. Sometimes LSB doesn't understand why I suddenly get upset over something even though I've known it for months. It's simply because I've only just realised what I've known all along.
In the same way, people can know that thousands of people have died in the Chinese & Myanmarese disasters, but not realise what it means. To them it's only a statistic, not a tragedy.
At least I hope that this is the case, because this means that at least their lack of empathy is only a result of their lack of realisation, and is not because they truly don't care that people have died.
This is, I think, a fundamentally optimistic way of looking at the world. If someone's been inconsiderate, it's because he didn't realise it. If the Nazis killed millions of people, it's only because they didn't realise what they were doing. It also makes it easier for us to forgive people for what they've done.
Blah I'm feeling very irritated today, and I don't seem to be able to say what I really want to say. It's bloody hot.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
I hate the cold
If there's one thing that defines me as a person, it's my great grand aversion to the cold.
I hate feeling cold, I really really do, and I'm incredibly sensitive to the slightest drop in temperature. Whenever it's chilly for more than say 15mins I get incredibly depressed and sleepy and grouchy. Whenever it's freezing (according to me) though, I just shut down and can concentrate on nothing except the endless shivering.
I tell ya, one of the reasons why I *heart* LSB so much is cos he radiates warmth. I've on more than one occasion described him as my personal heater, and it's exponentially hard for me to resist him when I'm feeling cold. (T_T)
My temperature paradise is sitting in a pool of sunshine in an air-conditioned room. That way I get to bask in the sun but don't suffer the effects of humidity and over-heating. I get to enjoy the air-con, but I also get to enjoy the wonderful wonderful warmth of the sun. *sighs wistfully*
Don't like the cold. *cries*
I hate feeling cold, I really really do, and I'm incredibly sensitive to the slightest drop in temperature. Whenever it's chilly for more than say 15mins I get incredibly depressed and sleepy and grouchy. Whenever it's freezing (according to me) though, I just shut down and can concentrate on nothing except the endless shivering.
I tell ya, one of the reasons why I *heart* LSB so much is cos he radiates warmth. I've on more than one occasion described him as my personal heater, and it's exponentially hard for me to resist him when I'm feeling cold. (T_T)
My temperature paradise is sitting in a pool of sunshine in an air-conditioned room. That way I get to bask in the sun but don't suffer the effects of humidity and over-heating. I get to enjoy the air-con, but I also get to enjoy the wonderful wonderful warmth of the sun. *sighs wistfully*
Don't like the cold. *cries*
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Land
One of the biggest downsides to living in Singapore is probably land. The large majority of residents here will never be able to have their own piece of land, and have to content themselves with public housing - a little bit of space floating in the air, 14 storeys high. (I know I got this image from a Singaporean poet, but I can't remember the poem or the poet.)
The effect of Singapore's public housing is, I think, very alienating.
It's no surprise that land reform was often a populist (& socialist) policy in many countries. The slogan of the Russian revolution was 'Peace, Bread and Land' - people ranked land all the way up there with basics like food and security. On a national and international level, the most enduring and dangerous international conflicts are about land. The Arab-Israeli conflict can be summarised (albeit rather simplistically) thus - 2 peoples, 1 piece of land. The origin of the conflict (or 1 interpretation of the origin) is, of course, the problem of a Jewish nation which did not possess its own land. The Indo-Pakistani conflict is partly over land, land that India, Pakistan and some Kashmiris all want for themselves.
Of course I'm lumping very different conflicts together, but the point is, land is very important to people. Possession of land means you can hide in there when you don't want to see anyone, you can grow whatever you like on that land (perhaps subject to drug laws etc), you have the space to live and create your own 'country' so to speak. It means you have a great degree of privacy and freedom, and when it comes to our daily lives, these two often go hand in hand. It means you can say 'this is mine, you can't take it' (ref. lyrics: 'For Once in My Life').
In Singapore, we live in what are, quite honestly, very cramped quarters. We don't stay in one flat for very long, and we don't really own that space (it's public housing after all). When we go home from work, what do we go home to? A place that is not ours, a place that is in no way a repository of memories the way our old kampong houses were. We go home to just a temporary holding cell until we move to our next storage space.
We live too close together. Though we're all ideally supposed to be living in harmony in one big HDB estate community, most of the time, living in such close proximity. we just do our best to tolerate each other. If your neighbours make a whole lot of noise, apart from calling the police & HDB (often ineffective), you have to live with it. If your neighbours put their life's collection of pottery along the corridor, unless you're prepared to go to extreme measures, you have to live with it. If you simply don't like your neighbours, you still have to live bumper to bumper, nose to nose with them. You live so close that you can hear each other speak. You see each other the moment you step out of your door. You can smell each other's cooking and see each other's laundry. If your neighbour's a total bitch you just have to suck it up and live with the daily aggravation.
Basically we live in tiny pigeonholes stacked on top of and next to each other. Sometimes the lack of a piece of land we feel connected to makes us something like refugees without a disaster - possessing a high degree of security, yet lacking a sense of permanence and security and ownership.
Perhaps those who're born into this situation see no problem with it - I don't know. But I know plenty of people who've lived elsewhere who simply find it hard to swallow that they're to spend their whole lives travelling between work and a tiny little cell they have no choice but to call home.
I feel plenty depressed when I think about it. Do I have any solution? Du-uh, you should know me better than that. Absolutely none.
The effect of Singapore's public housing is, I think, very alienating.
It's no surprise that land reform was often a populist (& socialist) policy in many countries. The slogan of the Russian revolution was 'Peace, Bread and Land' - people ranked land all the way up there with basics like food and security. On a national and international level, the most enduring and dangerous international conflicts are about land. The Arab-Israeli conflict can be summarised (albeit rather simplistically) thus - 2 peoples, 1 piece of land. The origin of the conflict (or 1 interpretation of the origin) is, of course, the problem of a Jewish nation which did not possess its own land. The Indo-Pakistani conflict is partly over land, land that India, Pakistan and some Kashmiris all want for themselves.
Of course I'm lumping very different conflicts together, but the point is, land is very important to people. Possession of land means you can hide in there when you don't want to see anyone, you can grow whatever you like on that land (perhaps subject to drug laws etc), you have the space to live and create your own 'country' so to speak. It means you have a great degree of privacy and freedom, and when it comes to our daily lives, these two often go hand in hand. It means you can say 'this is mine, you can't take it' (ref. lyrics: 'For Once in My Life').
In Singapore, we live in what are, quite honestly, very cramped quarters. We don't stay in one flat for very long, and we don't really own that space (it's public housing after all). When we go home from work, what do we go home to? A place that is not ours, a place that is in no way a repository of memories the way our old kampong houses were. We go home to just a temporary holding cell until we move to our next storage space.
We live too close together. Though we're all ideally supposed to be living in harmony in one big HDB estate community, most of the time, living in such close proximity. we just do our best to tolerate each other. If your neighbours make a whole lot of noise, apart from calling the police & HDB (often ineffective), you have to live with it. If your neighbours put their life's collection of pottery along the corridor, unless you're prepared to go to extreme measures, you have to live with it. If you simply don't like your neighbours, you still have to live bumper to bumper, nose to nose with them. You live so close that you can hear each other speak. You see each other the moment you step out of your door. You can smell each other's cooking and see each other's laundry. If your neighbour's a total bitch you just have to suck it up and live with the daily aggravation.
Basically we live in tiny pigeonholes stacked on top of and next to each other. Sometimes the lack of a piece of land we feel connected to makes us something like refugees without a disaster - possessing a high degree of security, yet lacking a sense of permanence and security and ownership.
Perhaps those who're born into this situation see no problem with it - I don't know. But I know plenty of people who've lived elsewhere who simply find it hard to swallow that they're to spend their whole lives travelling between work and a tiny little cell they have no choice but to call home.
I feel plenty depressed when I think about it. Do I have any solution? Du-uh, you should know me better than that. Absolutely none.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
some stuff
I can't be bothered to think of titles for blog entries these days.
Went with family to Greenwood fish market today and had e.x.c.e.l.l.e.n.t. food. Of course my family is horrendously hard to please, and the inevitable complaint was that the soup was too salty. Nevertheless, relatively cheap and wonderfully good food hee. We almost went to Garibaldi, but since they only have the 56+++ Mother's Day set today, we left that for another day. :P
We also went to The Daily Scoop and got FOUR tubs of ice-cream. Unfortunately nobody likes my lime & black pepper ice-cream (T_T)
Am now imbibing red wine while blogging.
............................
If there's any piece of music that best represents le grand amour to me, it's the very appropriately named Salut d'Amour. I once heard that Elgar wrote that piece after meeting his fiancee for the first time, and really, it fits. I played this piece for one of my violin exams, but played it today on the piano. There is a tenderness and warmth and great, swelling passion that should sound cheesy but doesn't. It's really an extraordinarily beautiful piece that's easy to appreciate.
Ok, I tried to search on youtube for a good version that I could post here, but there're lots of atrocious versions up there, and those that are not atrocious, I don't quite like for reasons other than technique. So I shan't bother to put the video clips up, but shall provide links to you guys (who won't watch my videos anyway hmmpf).
This is Sarah Chang's --> http://youtube.com/watch?v=UqO7yuh8Wsg. Unfortunately I don't like her vibrato & slides (or whatever you call them).
This is Chee-Yun Kim's --> http://youtube.com/watch?v=uzCAhFfULtM. I've never heard of her before, but I think she's quite ok, except that certain parts of the piece that I imagine to be played deeper (I don't quite know how to explain this) she just plays through, so it's rather unsatisfying.
But Salut's a great piece and a good introduction to classical music, so those of you who don't usually listen, pls, just go ahead and listen to it. It's really very easy to listen to. *goes down on knees and begs*
............................
I think one of the reasons I love Heifetz is cos his playing has 'bite', you know. Your pulse races and yet it doesn't compromise the beauty of his piece. His playing is so exciting and passionate and yet so precise... urgh you see, I always sound like an idiot when I talk about music.
Oh come on, just watch it. And once you're done watching, pls, you can't tell me you haven't fallen in love with it. I'll just cry. I'll lose faith in humanity. I swear.
.............................
I think ours is a very visual world. I just feel that ever since I've started on music and then on perfumes, whole new worlds have been opened to me.
You've no idea what I go through when I walk through Taka basement on a crowded weekend evening. First there's the smell of the food, which is enticing enough. Then there's the million perfumes everyone is wearing, a million reference points that I go sniffing after. A familiar scent there - where did I smell that before - a familar scent there - the perfume I bought my dad - and of course my own perfume. Add my mp3 to that, and you get a sensory explosion, and a thousand associations that come alive - a piece of music that reminds me of scenery somewhere else, or scenery conjured up by my own imagination, a scent that brings back memory of some long-forgotten event or person... really, a thousand things. It's as if my surroundings come with so many associations, they aren't really merely what they seem. And then sometimes the scent or music is so beautiful that my entire mind goes blank and I can't think of anything else, and I live entirely in the present, and the present is so beautiful...
Ok I'm so incoherent. I really don't know how to explain it, but it's all very lovely and wonderful, and I don't think I could get through a single day without music and perfume. *sigh* I've got the feeling I'll never really be able to tell you all how I feel, which is kind of sad and lonely. If only you guys could love the things I love... :(
Went with family to Greenwood fish market today and had e.x.c.e.l.l.e.n.t. food. Of course my family is horrendously hard to please, and the inevitable complaint was that the soup was too salty. Nevertheless, relatively cheap and wonderfully good food hee. We almost went to Garibaldi, but since they only have the 56+++ Mother's Day set today, we left that for another day. :P
We also went to The Daily Scoop and got FOUR tubs of ice-cream. Unfortunately nobody likes my lime & black pepper ice-cream (T_T)
Am now imbibing red wine while blogging.
............................
If there's any piece of music that best represents le grand amour to me, it's the very appropriately named Salut d'Amour. I once heard that Elgar wrote that piece after meeting his fiancee for the first time, and really, it fits. I played this piece for one of my violin exams, but played it today on the piano. There is a tenderness and warmth and great, swelling passion that should sound cheesy but doesn't. It's really an extraordinarily beautiful piece that's easy to appreciate.
Ok, I tried to search on youtube for a good version that I could post here, but there're lots of atrocious versions up there, and those that are not atrocious, I don't quite like for reasons other than technique. So I shan't bother to put the video clips up, but shall provide links to you guys (who won't watch my videos anyway hmmpf).
This is Sarah Chang's --> http://youtube.com/watch?v=UqO7yuh8Wsg. Unfortunately I don't like her vibrato & slides (or whatever you call them).
This is Chee-Yun Kim's --> http://youtube.com/watch?v=uzCAhFfULtM. I've never heard of her before, but I think she's quite ok, except that certain parts of the piece that I imagine to be played deeper (I don't quite know how to explain this) she just plays through, so it's rather unsatisfying.
But Salut's a great piece and a good introduction to classical music, so those of you who don't usually listen, pls, just go ahead and listen to it. It's really very easy to listen to. *goes down on knees and begs*
............................
I think one of the reasons I love Heifetz is cos his playing has 'bite', you know. Your pulse races and yet it doesn't compromise the beauty of his piece. His playing is so exciting and passionate and yet so precise... urgh you see, I always sound like an idiot when I talk about music.
Oh come on, just watch it. And once you're done watching, pls, you can't tell me you haven't fallen in love with it. I'll just cry. I'll lose faith in humanity. I swear.
.............................
I think ours is a very visual world. I just feel that ever since I've started on music and then on perfumes, whole new worlds have been opened to me.
You've no idea what I go through when I walk through Taka basement on a crowded weekend evening. First there's the smell of the food, which is enticing enough. Then there's the million perfumes everyone is wearing, a million reference points that I go sniffing after. A familiar scent there - where did I smell that before - a familar scent there - the perfume I bought my dad - and of course my own perfume. Add my mp3 to that, and you get a sensory explosion, and a thousand associations that come alive - a piece of music that reminds me of scenery somewhere else, or scenery conjured up by my own imagination, a scent that brings back memory of some long-forgotten event or person... really, a thousand things. It's as if my surroundings come with so many associations, they aren't really merely what they seem. And then sometimes the scent or music is so beautiful that my entire mind goes blank and I can't think of anything else, and I live entirely in the present, and the present is so beautiful...
Ok I'm so incoherent. I really don't know how to explain it, but it's all very lovely and wonderful, and I don't think I could get through a single day without music and perfume. *sigh* I've got the feeling I'll never really be able to tell you all how I feel, which is kind of sad and lonely. If only you guys could love the things I love... :(
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
I totally rock!
I knew my sister liked someone and that he liked her back even before he told her (& she accepted!) today. I even knew the name of the guy, and I haven't even met any of her friends.
I knew simply because I asked her an innocuous question & she answered (if there wasn't anything in the works she wouldn't have answered that question).
I've been going around the house for weeks telling everyone, but nobody believed me.
Hah! Don't believe me eh. Take that all of you! I rock! I am totally triumphant today.
Haha my woman's intuition is nearly 100% accurate one :P
I knew simply because I asked her an innocuous question & she answered (if there wasn't anything in the works she wouldn't have answered that question).
I've been going around the house for weeks telling everyone, but nobody believed me.
Hah! Don't believe me eh. Take that all of you! I rock! I am totally triumphant today.
Haha my woman's intuition is nearly 100% accurate one :P
Thursday, May 01, 2008
hello - david cook
This is an incredibly sexy version of this song. Watching American Idol results show now (ok I'm uncool), and I absolutely love his voice. When it comes to voices like his I'm a swooner :P
I'm also a youtube junkie...
A perfume rant
Yes I know you're probably entirely sick of hearing about perfumes.
It's kind of strange when my friends choke on the perfumes I totally love but will probably never possess. (My life's a tragedy.) Look, I'm not kidding myself. I know these perfumes don't smell like an 18 year old girl. They might be quite heavy-going, and might even smell old to some. But they're also wonderfully gorgeous and sophisticated, and if I was a tasteful, sophisticated socialite who does not flash her underwear of choice everytime she steps out of her door (or stays at home), I'd totally totally wear them.
I'm on this because yesterday, I re-smelled Sisley's Soir de Lune for the nth time, and today I'm so obssesed by this perfume, I'm sniffing at the blotter (is that what you call it?) like a drug addict. It's such a lovely perfume, and about the only rose perfume I've ever fallen hard for. I truly truly love it. I feel like a teenage girl pining for her crush who will never look her way and doesn't even notice her existence. Argh. Help me, I really need a bottle of that perfume. It's one of the first perfumes I fell in love with, but I never had the spending power to get it. (though admittedly if I'd saved some...)
Anyway, Soir de Lune is going into my wishlist. I know it's just fantastic wishful thinking to imagine that someone or myself would spend more than 200+ on a teeny bottle of perfume, but still. And it isn't even available at discounters! *wails* But it's such a beautiful scent, a deep deep rose that is oh so classic and tasteful. A scent you'd have to wear an evening gown for. Someone just kill me, I'm pining away... It's so frustrating to love something that you can't have! Damn it all!
*sigh*
It's kind of strange when my friends choke on the perfumes I totally love but will probably never possess. (My life's a tragedy.) Look, I'm not kidding myself. I know these perfumes don't smell like an 18 year old girl. They might be quite heavy-going, and might even smell old to some. But they're also wonderfully gorgeous and sophisticated, and if I was a tasteful, sophisticated socialite who does not flash her underwear of choice everytime she steps out of her door (or stays at home), I'd totally totally wear them.
I'm on this because yesterday, I re-smelled Sisley's Soir de Lune for the nth time, and today I'm so obssesed by this perfume, I'm sniffing at the blotter (is that what you call it?) like a drug addict. It's such a lovely perfume, and about the only rose perfume I've ever fallen hard for. I truly truly love it. I feel like a teenage girl pining for her crush who will never look her way and doesn't even notice her existence. Argh. Help me, I really need a bottle of that perfume. It's one of the first perfumes I fell in love with, but I never had the spending power to get it. (though admittedly if I'd saved some...)
Anyway, Soir de Lune is going into my wishlist. I know it's just fantastic wishful thinking to imagine that someone or myself would spend more than 200+ on a teeny bottle of perfume, but still. And it isn't even available at discounters! *wails* But it's such a beautiful scent, a deep deep rose that is oh so classic and tasteful. A scent you'd have to wear an evening gown for. Someone just kill me, I'm pining away... It's so frustrating to love something that you can't have! Damn it all!
*sigh*
All about music!
These are my go-to pieces nowadays, and I need more like them:
I. Need. Songs. Like. This. I got this from Juno and I absolutely love it. I love the feedback & 'white noise'. I just got a Velvet Underground CD which I've yet to listen closely to, but I liked the same thing about that CD (the white noise). I also love the very nocturnal and glamorous feel, but with a rock edge and a touch of decadence. Like I should be wearing a slinky dress and stilettos but also a leather jacket and chugging beers instead of champagne. It's unabashedly dramatic, but not, you know, melodramatic. (pls agree with me here)
I kind of like Sonic Youth, but with the exception of some of their albums, I'm just not hardcore enough for many of their songs. (this particular song is a cover, not an original composition) I seem to be leaning towards the pop spectrum of alternative rock. As long as it's not TOO pop. Still twiddling my fingers over whether to get one of their albums.
Oh ya, speaking of feedback, Jimi Hendrix:
Cool right? Got a Hendrix CD already.
Next up, Concerto No.2 Rachmaninoff. I can't remember if I've posted it here already. Actually, I listen to the Ashkenazy version (I hope that's how you spell his name), but I can't find his version on Youtube. I guess I'll just put up the only version on Youtube that sounds right to me (even though it's somewhat faster than the one I listen to), Rachmaninoff playing Rachmaninoff:
This piece is so stormy and so unapologetically beautiful! (T_T) (I often use unapologetically beautiful to describe a lot of classical pieces).
Oh, and Horowitz playing the 3rd movement of Moonlight Sonata:
This one really gets my adrenaline going, and it's about the only version of the 3rd movement that I like. I know most people like the 1st movement better (it's certainly more famous), but playing the 1st movement always makes me want to sleep.
Hmmm I also want to listen to Chopin's concertos.
I'm falling asleep in my chair :(
I. Need. Songs. Like. This. I got this from Juno and I absolutely love it. I love the feedback & 'white noise'. I just got a Velvet Underground CD which I've yet to listen closely to, but I liked the same thing about that CD (the white noise). I also love the very nocturnal and glamorous feel, but with a rock edge and a touch of decadence. Like I should be wearing a slinky dress and stilettos but also a leather jacket and chugging beers instead of champagne. It's unabashedly dramatic, but not, you know, melodramatic. (pls agree with me here)
I kind of like Sonic Youth, but with the exception of some of their albums, I'm just not hardcore enough for many of their songs. (this particular song is a cover, not an original composition) I seem to be leaning towards the pop spectrum of alternative rock. As long as it's not TOO pop. Still twiddling my fingers over whether to get one of their albums.
Oh ya, speaking of feedback, Jimi Hendrix:
Cool right? Got a Hendrix CD already.
Next up, Concerto No.2 Rachmaninoff. I can't remember if I've posted it here already. Actually, I listen to the Ashkenazy version (I hope that's how you spell his name), but I can't find his version on Youtube. I guess I'll just put up the only version on Youtube that sounds right to me (even though it's somewhat faster than the one I listen to), Rachmaninoff playing Rachmaninoff:
This piece is so stormy and so unapologetically beautiful! (T_T) (I often use unapologetically beautiful to describe a lot of classical pieces).
Oh, and Horowitz playing the 3rd movement of Moonlight Sonata:
This one really gets my adrenaline going, and it's about the only version of the 3rd movement that I like. I know most people like the 1st movement better (it's certainly more famous), but playing the 1st movement always makes me want to sleep.
Hmmm I also want to listen to Chopin's concertos.
I'm falling asleep in my chair :(
Sunday, April 27, 2008
To love Rachmaninoff
I've fallen hopelessly in love with Rachmaninoff and am feeling very shame-faced about it. It's like admitting in public that you love Nietzsche (ahem). I don't know, Rachmaninoff is just so emotional and angsty and moody and dark that I feel quite the equivalent of a teenage emo-goth listening to him. I'm consoling myself that like Nietzsche, if you look hard & deep enough at Rachmaninoff you'll find that he transcends the popular image of him and is quite, quite divine. (Ok, that last line was pure smoke but anything to soothe my shattered self-image.)
--------------------------------------------------
If you know me, you'll know that I'm absolutely addicted to getting pretty pics off the Interwebs.
via Zena Holloway:
I absolutely love this pic (you have to check out the site for more), and am even using this for my msn pic.
via Fashion Ivy:
I really love the shadows and light and the glamorous, vintage feel of these pics.
Hmmm I really like vintage, don't I? The last one seems a bit geisha like, perhaps because of the hair.
This one is just so pretty and flower-like.
Sadly, I've forgotten where I got these:
However, I do know it's one of the Dior haute couture collections. Love the geisha-inspired look. Especially love the 1st white origami dress. For some reason, it seems very dressed-up Princess Leia, no? (even though I'm no Star Wars fan)
I also like this from some Christian Lacroix collection:
It's so black widow with a twist. Especially love the 2nd one. Absolutely love that shade of blue.
Eeks ok, need to get back to work.
--------------------------------------------------
If you know me, you'll know that I'm absolutely addicted to getting pretty pics off the Interwebs.
via Zena Holloway:
I absolutely love this pic (you have to check out the site for more), and am even using this for my msn pic.
via Fashion Ivy:
I really love the shadows and light and the glamorous, vintage feel of these pics.
Hmmm I really like vintage, don't I? The last one seems a bit geisha like, perhaps because of the hair.
This one is just so pretty and flower-like.
Sadly, I've forgotten where I got these:
However, I do know it's one of the Dior haute couture collections. Love the geisha-inspired look. Especially love the 1st white origami dress. For some reason, it seems very dressed-up Princess Leia, no? (even though I'm no Star Wars fan)
I also like this from some Christian Lacroix collection:
It's so black widow with a twist. Especially love the 2nd one. Absolutely love that shade of blue.
Eeks ok, need to get back to work.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
rumination
Yay my wireless is up. The day after I got my laptop back from repairs my wireless crashed. (T_T)
Anywayz, I've got a whole backlog of things to blog about. Actually I had two backlogs but I forgot half of it already.
First of all, I'm sorry, I love perfume reviews, but this is just funny: "The perfume conveys its, if you will, French style or Chanel world-view through its intuition for pure lines - like a French window, a French garden - in its sense of refined, controlled, balanced and clear, Cartesian elegance. At the same time there is to be found a sense of Baudelairean voyage to the perfume..."
I beg your pardon? Cartesian elegance and Baudelairean voyage? Are we really talking about a perfume here?
-------------------------------
I've just returned from a play that I got to watch courtesy of some very nice people, and that I HAD to watch and had to watch ALONE courtesy of LSB. It wasn't very good and tickets went at a whopping 50bucks (I had free tickets, else I wouldn't have stepped into the place.), but it was for charity. I guess it's only for charity that you're allowed to put up a lousy performance, over-charge people for it and THEN receive thunderous applause. Hmmpf. The last time I was in that theatre, I'd paid less than 20bucks (I think) to watch an excellent AND thought-provoking AND creative production of Hamlet, so damn charity.
I don't know, I didn't like the acting, it was all very stiff and self-conscious. I also didn't like the cannot-make-it fake accents, though it might have been some kind of voice-projecting technique that they teach. But it grates on my ears to hear kids with a very pronounced Singaporean accent labour over a snooty Brit accent.
Even the play was rather didactic (it was J.B. Priestley's An Inspector Calls), and all the moralising got tiring after a while. The plot was totally predictable except for the end, but then again I thought the final twist was kind of cheap. I was actually wondering how the playwright could possibly end the play given the way the plot was going (do NOT watch plays under the influence of LSB), and I guess this seemed like the only way. But still! cheap!
Oh yeah, it didn't help that throughout the first half of the play I kept smelling something very very familiar and I kept getting distracted by the smell, trying to find out where it was coming from and why it smelt so familiar. I solved the first - I'd let a stranger rub lotion on my hand (scandalous!) before watching the play. But the second... no answer yet. It's like that time I kept thinking a perfume smelled really familiar but couldn't place it until my mum came along and told me it smelled like the hair gel my dad used like, ten years ago.
Really, you guys should see me on the MRT to work. I'm like totally sniffing at people's armpits all the time cos there're too many perfumes wafting around the carriage. Drives me crazy!
-------------------------------------
Nowadays I've been thinking about male butts. Not in a dirty way! And not just the male derriere in general, but a certain species of guy bottoms. The ones that are exceedingly feminine. It just disturbs me that some male butts possess a distinctly child-bearing silhouette. I'm not talking about perky butts or tiny butts. I'm talking male butts with an overwhelmingly womanly, almost maternal curve. They disturb me. They truly do.
And I know you're totally not interested in this, but nope, LSB does NOT possess of a feminine butt. After more than 3 years of careful observation, I can most confidently proclaim that LSB's butt is safely in the masculine-male genus. I know, I know you don't want to hear me talk about LSB's butt, and the above-mentioned butt is probably writhing with sheer embarrassment in its seat as the attached eyes and brains process the undeniable fact that I'm talking about said butt on a public blog. Too bad, I say.
[Deity of choice] help me should this blog fall into the wrong hands.
-------------------------------------
I read a BBC article about this academic who makes the stunning argument that people love their ipod so much because it helps them assert control over their environment. (can't find article now) Is it just me or is that idea not terribly new? I'd assumed everyone knew that already. Perhaps I'm just brilliant? Oh what am I saying, of course I am.
------------------------------------
Ok that's it. I forgot what else I had to say. Besides, work tomorrow!
Anywayz, I've got a whole backlog of things to blog about. Actually I had two backlogs but I forgot half of it already.
First of all, I'm sorry, I love perfume reviews, but this is just funny: "The perfume conveys its, if you will, French style or Chanel world-view through its intuition for pure lines - like a French window, a French garden - in its sense of refined, controlled, balanced and clear, Cartesian elegance. At the same time there is to be found a sense of Baudelairean voyage to the perfume..."
I beg your pardon? Cartesian elegance and Baudelairean voyage? Are we really talking about a perfume here?
-------------------------------
I've just returned from a play that I got to watch courtesy of some very nice people, and that I HAD to watch and had to watch ALONE courtesy of LSB. It wasn't very good and tickets went at a whopping 50bucks (I had free tickets, else I wouldn't have stepped into the place.), but it was for charity. I guess it's only for charity that you're allowed to put up a lousy performance, over-charge people for it and THEN receive thunderous applause. Hmmpf. The last time I was in that theatre, I'd paid less than 20bucks (I think) to watch an excellent AND thought-provoking AND creative production of Hamlet, so damn charity.
I don't know, I didn't like the acting, it was all very stiff and self-conscious. I also didn't like the cannot-make-it fake accents, though it might have been some kind of voice-projecting technique that they teach. But it grates on my ears to hear kids with a very pronounced Singaporean accent labour over a snooty Brit accent.
Even the play was rather didactic (it was J.B. Priestley's An Inspector Calls), and all the moralising got tiring after a while. The plot was totally predictable except for the end, but then again I thought the final twist was kind of cheap. I was actually wondering how the playwright could possibly end the play given the way the plot was going (do NOT watch plays under the influence of LSB), and I guess this seemed like the only way. But still! cheap!
Oh yeah, it didn't help that throughout the first half of the play I kept smelling something very very familiar and I kept getting distracted by the smell, trying to find out where it was coming from and why it smelt so familiar. I solved the first - I'd let a stranger rub lotion on my hand (scandalous!) before watching the play. But the second... no answer yet. It's like that time I kept thinking a perfume smelled really familiar but couldn't place it until my mum came along and told me it smelled like the hair gel my dad used like, ten years ago.
Really, you guys should see me on the MRT to work. I'm like totally sniffing at people's armpits all the time cos there're too many perfumes wafting around the carriage. Drives me crazy!
-------------------------------------
Nowadays I've been thinking about male butts. Not in a dirty way! And not just the male derriere in general, but a certain species of guy bottoms. The ones that are exceedingly feminine. It just disturbs me that some male butts possess a distinctly child-bearing silhouette. I'm not talking about perky butts or tiny butts. I'm talking male butts with an overwhelmingly womanly, almost maternal curve. They disturb me. They truly do.
And I know you're totally not interested in this, but nope, LSB does NOT possess of a feminine butt. After more than 3 years of careful observation, I can most confidently proclaim that LSB's butt is safely in the masculine-male genus. I know, I know you don't want to hear me talk about LSB's butt, and the above-mentioned butt is probably writhing with sheer embarrassment in its seat as the attached eyes and brains process the undeniable fact that I'm talking about said butt on a public blog. Too bad, I say.
[Deity of choice] help me should this blog fall into the wrong hands.
-------------------------------------
I read a BBC article about this academic who makes the stunning argument that people love their ipod so much because it helps them assert control over their environment. (can't find article now) Is it just me or is that idea not terribly new? I'd assumed everyone knew that already. Perhaps I'm just brilliant? Oh what am I saying, of course I am.
------------------------------------
Ok that's it. I forgot what else I had to say. Besides, work tomorrow!
Friday, April 18, 2008
laptop up & running!
Yay my darling laptop has returned to my loving embrace!
I'm not supposed to be up at this time, but I took a half-day today and slept the years of my life away.
Critical Theorist: You're being oppressed!
Poor sot: But I'm not.
CT: You only think you're not, but actually you feel oppressed and miserable.
PS: But I don't feel oppressed and miserable. I'm quite happy.
CT: You're so oppressed that you don't even know it!
This is why I love crit theorists, you just can't beat them. If you're a glass half empty kind of person, they'd probably tell you either: 1) the glass belongs to someone else anyway, you don't even have a glass, so why are you being so darn cheerful?, or 2) you're so oppressed that you're thinking about glasses when you should be thinking about subverting the hegemonic order.
This is one of my favourites from Mayday:
約翰藍儂
作詞：瑪莎/阿信 作曲：怪獸 編曲：五月天
那年冬天 子彈 它給了你自由
沒了 軀殼 就活在人們心中
看著 今天 你會笑還是會搖頭
整個世界 曾經 都跟著你作夢
如今和平 依然在歌曲裡頭
猜忌 戰火 還跟著我一起生活
能不能暫時把你的勇氣給我 在夢想快消失的時候
讓我的歌 用力的穿過天空 為我愛的人做一秒英雄
一顆紅豆 為何 想單挑這宇宙
都要 怪你 在我心中播了種
一把 吉他 就想對抗萬千炮火
玩著遊戲 出糗 喧鬧的攝影棚
怪獸 石頭 默默的吐在廁所
OK 再來 要世界為我們感動
能不能暫時把你的勇氣給我 在夢想快消失的時候
讓我的歌 用力的穿過天空 為我愛的人做一秒英雄
能不能暫時把你的夢想給我 在勇氣快消失的時候
總有一天 要人們叫我披頭 最後沒成功 也做過最美的夢
This song (especially this line: 一把 吉他 就想對抗萬千炮火) always reminds me of this iconic picture from late 1960s America with young protesters (students?) placing flowers in soldiers' gun barrels. Yeah, google it yourself if you're interested. I've learnt the hard, bitter way that no one ever follows my links or watches the videos I painstakingly put up. I'm a bitter, bitter person.
Hmmm I actually haven't listened to Mayday for a long time because I've been totally seduced and won over by Rachmaninoff's angsty brooding artist image. I was walking to work this morning when the sky grew ominously overcast and the wind whipped my now-rebonded (oh didn't I tell you?) hair around my face. And guess what? I was listening to Rachmaninoff and suddenly, the whole world made sense.
I'm not supposed to be up at this time, but I took a half-day today and slept the years of my life away.
Critical Theorist: You're being oppressed!
Poor sot: But I'm not.
CT: You only think you're not, but actually you feel oppressed and miserable.
PS: But I don't feel oppressed and miserable. I'm quite happy.
CT: You're so oppressed that you don't even know it!
This is why I love crit theorists, you just can't beat them. If you're a glass half empty kind of person, they'd probably tell you either: 1) the glass belongs to someone else anyway, you don't even have a glass, so why are you being so darn cheerful?, or 2) you're so oppressed that you're thinking about glasses when you should be thinking about subverting the hegemonic order.
This is one of my favourites from Mayday:
約翰藍儂
作詞：瑪莎/阿信 作曲：怪獸 編曲：五月天
那年冬天 子彈 它給了你自由
沒了 軀殼 就活在人們心中
看著 今天 你會笑還是會搖頭
整個世界 曾經 都跟著你作夢
如今和平 依然在歌曲裡頭
猜忌 戰火 還跟著我一起生活
能不能暫時把你的勇氣給我 在夢想快消失的時候
讓我的歌 用力的穿過天空 為我愛的人做一秒英雄
一顆紅豆 為何 想單挑這宇宙
都要 怪你 在我心中播了種
一把 吉他 就想對抗萬千炮火
玩著遊戲 出糗 喧鬧的攝影棚
怪獸 石頭 默默的吐在廁所
OK 再來 要世界為我們感動
能不能暫時把你的勇氣給我 在夢想快消失的時候
讓我的歌 用力的穿過天空 為我愛的人做一秒英雄
能不能暫時把你的夢想給我 在勇氣快消失的時候
總有一天 要人們叫我披頭 最後沒成功 也做過最美的夢
This song (especially this line: 一把 吉他 就想對抗萬千炮火) always reminds me of this iconic picture from late 1960s America with young protesters (students?) placing flowers in soldiers' gun barrels. Yeah, google it yourself if you're interested. I've learnt the hard, bitter way that no one ever follows my links or watches the videos I painstakingly put up. I'm a bitter, bitter person.
Hmmm I actually haven't listened to Mayday for a long time because I've been totally seduced and won over by Rachmaninoff's angsty brooding artist image. I was walking to work this morning when the sky grew ominously overcast and the wind whipped my now-rebonded (oh didn't I tell you?) hair around my face. And guess what? I was listening to Rachmaninoff and suddenly, the whole world made sense.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Just stay single.
I came online sacrificing essential work sleep because I forgot to blog about the most important discovery of the weekend!
*clears throat*
After 3+ years of dating, LSB STILL does not know my birthday!
Yes, I know, classic LSB, always making a girl feel like a million bucks.
Yeah, anyway, it's not like he remembers anyone's birthday, right? Oh... oops. Well you see, it turns out he DOES remember other people's birthdays and... let's just say I sincerely hope she rots in hell.
I also liked the way he told me to (this was after I waited THREE hours to meet him. after work.) deal with my emotions cos it was putting lots of pressure on him. Congratulate me, I got the most caring boyfriend in the world! Really, my happiness is top priority for him.
What more could a girl ask for?
*clears throat*
After 3+ years of dating, LSB STILL does not know my birthday!
Yes, I know, classic LSB, always making a girl feel like a million bucks.
Yeah, anyway, it's not like he remembers anyone's birthday, right? Oh... oops. Well you see, it turns out he DOES remember other people's birthdays and... let's just say I sincerely hope she rots in hell.
I also liked the way he told me to (this was after I waited THREE hours to meet him. after work.) deal with my emotions cos it was putting lots of pressure on him. Congratulate me, I got the most caring boyfriend in the world! Really, my happiness is top priority for him.
What more could a girl ask for?
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