Obama - 44th President of the USA

Yesterday morning, I woke up and practically skipped my way to the polls while listening to Korean Drama soundtrack music. I don't know if it was the chance to get out of my oven baked apartment, the chance to breathe in the fresh air of East Falls, or simply the opportunity to cast my vote for the 44th president of the United States, but for that brief duration, my mood was oddly good. Actually, I was fairly confident of an Obama win based on all those polls leading up to the election day. One can argue one way or another about the reliability of the polls and I know for a fact that many Americans and Obama diehard fans probably lost a good deal of sleep previously as they worried about the election. Maybe medical school has induced in me a very singular mindset, insular, coccooned, everything revolves around my exams and my grades. I didn't feel like I had extra time or energy wringing my hands worrying about the "fate of the nation" when in reality, all I had within my control is to cast my vote and then let history unfold for itself.

Still last night, despite my pretty cavalier attitude towards the politics and the elections, I was oddly stirred when President (can I call him that now?) Obama gave his acceptance speech in Chicago. Many in the crowds were moved to tears, I guess I can only attribute to Obama's power of personality. There was something about his countenance, so calm, so determined and yet so wholesome still, that it does inspire trust and at the very least, hope. And as he stood on the stage waving, with his family in tow, music playing in the background - isn't it always the music? -- I too uttered a prayer that America will now see better days to come. If for nothing else, I sincerely hope President Obama lives up to the hype and start rebuilding a country where its citizens can lose its long standing feeling of cynicism, jadedness and recapture that lost feeling, something close to, I'd say, pride.

Latest happenings

The last few days passed by in a whirlwind. Saturday I went to New York City and spent the day in lower East side Manhattan. I had become "country mouse" in my extended absence from NYC and I was amazed at the number of people shoving past me during the course of the day. Still I was ecstatic to be back in the city, you see, my erstwhile nostalgia for NYC was revived greatly by a recent exposure to Sex and the City, the movie, which I had watched only the night before. In any case, I was there to visit a friend and I was also there to do a little window shopping for home decor, as it was a time of transition for me, with my old roommate moving out and my new roommate moving in, all crammed packed into this weekend. So I had a grand old time time the city, it was nice to be away from Philadelphia and school.

Sunday, I woke bright and early, refreshed from a sleep that was almost comatose in its depth. (The traveling on Saturday and all the bright noise of NYC wore me out) Soon enough, I found myself pitching in to help my roommate move out. It was a funny dilemma when we had to maneuver a full size IKEA bed frame out our narrow doorway. We were like the three stooges and altogether, we carried the bedframe in and out of the doorway four different times in an effort to find the perfect angle. After many attempts, (perseverance won out here) we were able to just squeeze the bedframe out the door, not without some collateral damage to both the door and the bed, unfortunately. After that huge obstacle, everything else seemed like a piece of cake and we moved everything else out duly for the next hour and a half. The most incredibly annoying thing then occurred. When my roommate's friend was about to drive off, the truck battery went dead!! Then proceeded a series of going to Pepboys to find the jumper cables, oh no, it was too dead for the jumper cables to work their magic, then it was back to the store, to get a brand new battery. All in all, I stayed largely out of the drama, because I was meanwhile in my now empty apartment, putting together the table set from IKEA, haphazardly I might add. I had run out of steam and found it difficult to bolt in the screws and here I relied on my feminine wiles and a little sweet cajoling to get my wonderful boyfriend to finish the task. Really, he's such a darling, couldn't have done it all without him. So if you reading this, just know your help was very much appreciated, sweetums. =)

Shortly after my old roommate left, my new roommate popped in on the scene. It was literally, out with the old, in with the new in the brief time span of like 2 minutes gap. Very interesting and maybe that's why I'm finding it difficult to adjust a little. Before I even had time to get used to the idea of living with a different person, that person shows up and replaced my old roommate. It's all good though, it's just a matter of adjustment, kind of like a jet lag for roommate transitions.

So here I am, on a school day, somewhat in a semi-funk and not motivated to study. It's about getting into the groove and I know once I get on track, I'll be fine. What I should really look into is making an effort to do a cleaning process, that will probably be most helpful at this point.

Okay, just wanted to write a little and I hope to become a more constant blogger from now on, because it's a good way to exercise some creativity and it records, however subjectively, the events of my life as it unfolds. Thirdly, I've been reading these awesome and inspirational blogs that others have written. Of course, this blog is just a little personal avenue for me to rant and rave and prattle, but I find the idea of starting a blog that can help inspire others a very appealing one. But as I also learned recently (or relearned), I shouldn't bite off more than I can chew so I should probably first take an honest look at my current capacity and be careful not to exceed my abilities.

Tata for now!

Little Children

I stumbled on this film tonight by a stroke of good luck. It starred Kate Winslet, Jennifer Connelly and Patrick Wilson. I've only been exposed to Patrick Wilson since Angels in America, except for the fact that he has a receding hairline, he has an exceptionally Adonis-like face, the epitome of Western male beauty, almost, almost. But regardless, I was more captivated not by the looks of these stars, but by the storyline and the acting.

The scene stealer however would have to be Jackie Earle Haley, of whom I've never personally seen before, but in this particular movie, plays a sex offender, an adult male with serious psycho-sexual issues. I was blown away by the ending of the film, actually. It was heartbreaking, it was stunning, it was tragic on the level of the best of those Greek dramas.

The film's title "Little Children" is brilliant, as it offers a satirical reading on the film's characters, most of whom are ostensibly adults yet behave in ways that makes it clear that they are still very much, children.

I suppose I ought to provide a movie synopsis like any faithful fifth grader giving a book report, but I don't really want to. All I want to say (or gush) is that this film stirred something deep within me. I've always been of the mindset that there is nothing more repulsive and reviling than a man who has to expose himself in public, or do dirty things to little children. I guess I failed to consider that these are sick individuals who are probably aware of their problems, but have not been able to overcome them, as humans often are apt to do. I fail to see them in a more humanistic light. Though I admit, it's difficult for me to draw that line. I do think though that next time I want to pass tall judgments on anyone, I should take a second or so to rein myself in and see if I can adjust my thinking to become a better human being.

My sublime day in Philly

Yesterday, I arrived at a doctor’s office all spic and span in my little white coat, ready to play doctor. I was to be thrusted into the role of neophyte trainee for the next eight hours but to my surprise, I enjoyed the experience immensely. We saw a total of 7 or 8 women that day, each coming in with their unique problems and requests, but in my romanticized view perhaps, all were seeking a momentary solace in the doctor’s office from the pain and stresses of their everyday lives.

If I had to pinpoint what was so fun exactly about the experience, it is hard to pinpoint. I appreciated the trust and confidentiality that these women automatically offer up and the momentary glimpse into each of their lives. The doctor I shadowed is whip-smark, fast-talking and compassionate female practitioner. She reminds me of an old time cowboy, but instead of sharpshooting from her hips with smoking pistols, she dashes razor sharp beams from her eyes as she appraises you while her mouth goes off at 90 miles per minute, barely keeping up I’m sure with the rate of her neurons firing off the thoughts. To say I’m impressed by her intelligence would be an understatement. However I’m more impressed with the degree and dedication of her personal philosophy to the betterment of women, broadly and on an individual level.

She also put me to work too. I had to take histories of patients and then write up summaries. On occasion, I took blood pressure and looked up people’s noses. I made some glaring mistakes too. For instance, one patient who had just been in an auto accident comes in the second day and I failed to ask her one of the most basic questions anyone should ask of an automobile accident. Can anyone guess? It’s “Were you wearing a seatbelt?” I am definitely not a detail-oriented person, but hey, I’m working on it!

So at the end of the day, and it was a long one too, I walked away tired but happy, satisfied that I put in a good day’s work and that I was too busy the entire time to focus on my own pitiful problems or age old anxieties. But wait! My day was not even over. God had more pleasantries in store for me

In the evening, I went to this church in Philadelphia, dedicated to advancing the causes for the homeless, among its many philanthropic arms. I was to sit in on a focus group composed mainly of homeless men and discuss their opinions on health and what healthcare means to them individually. My word, I was in for a real treat. As fast as I could write (my job was to observe and record the contents of the focus group), I was dashing off 100 words/min as these people very passionately articulated their feelings about health and the state of healthcare in America today. One woman, the only one in the group, was particularly well spoken and commanded a real presence. She had a lot of really vindictive things to say about doctors. It was truly eye-opening. I felt that as a doctor in training, I am so fortunate to be hearing all this now, so that I can learn how to become a better physician when I do start practicing. The lady railed at everything from the physician not truly caring, the physician only interested in forming a nice, easily understandable picture in his/her mind, and the physician not respecting or seeing the patient as a true human being. She said doctors don’t look her in the eye, they can’t seem to even bring themselves to touch them on a human to human level, to showing caring in an unspoken way and to reserve their judgements, biases, self-perceived level of superiority and education. Such a disgrace! I can easily see many doctors behaving exactly as she had described.

Of course there are flip sides to the coin too. Many doctors are overworked and fatigued, whatever compassion they had as they entered medical school, bright eyed in that squirrelly manner has long since dimmed as they encounter the system for what it is. And a lot of physicians probably get disheartened once they realize how little of a difference they can truly make in a person’s health, when you take into account the whole person perspective, healthcare being so much more than just popping in a pill and downing it with water, in a timely manner.

So well, obviously this is not exactly going to be easy to sum up in a few short sentences. The issues brought up were complex and at times heart breaking. But after it was over, I reflected on how privileged I was, to be given a glimpse, (yet again), an intimate glimpse, in fact, to these people’s minds, thoughts, lives and personal, deeply personal stories. I’ve been reflecting for some time now on how everything is interconnected and everyone is connected to everyone else, but I felt that yesterday, by some divine force or grace, I was shown in a very powerful and real way how that is true. We are indeed all together in this. So to borrow a rather cheesy line from the show “Lost”, we either “live together, or we die alone.” And that can be interpreted on many many levels.

Dreaming of Bale

Had a fantastic dream last night, not so much in the content, but in the feelings that it aroused in me. I dreamt that I was Madonna’s adopted daughter, so I had money to spare. But more importantly, I was married to Christian Bale! And Christian Bale was talking to me about something, related to being careful, and he had this awful awful haircut with long jagged bangs. I looked at him as he was nagging me, and I affectionately swept his bangs to the side of his face to give him a more clean cut look. He smiles at me and I swooned terribly. I think that was the euphoric moment when I fell I love with him, in this obsessive way and was truly delighted to know that he was mine.

As for me, I was this awfully prissy girl, rich, spoiled, I had a ton of shoes and I didn’t seem to have a good handle on my life. Then Bale went missing, or he left, I wasn’t clear what happened, suffice to say, he disappeared from my line of sight. Then I had this project of looking through his old movies for “clues” and even the prospect of staring at him for hours on the screen delighted me and I was eager to begin.

Now, by this time, I had already awoken several times. But the dream had such a fascinating allure to me, that I kept insistently going back to sleep and as well as going back to the dream. So this was one of those times when I had fallen back into the dream, there was a bit of a disconnect, but the sequence went as follows.

I was trying to navigate my way around a building, with lots of tall steps and security. Doors were locked but I had the keys. I was at this one door and I knew this other man was coming up behind me and he was vaguely threatening. Perhaps I just didn’t want to talk to him. I fumbled with the keys, finally putting the key in the lock and opened the door. But I had to climb really high to get through the door and that delayed me further. I knew the man was closing in on me and truly, I didn’t know what threat he represented. But somehow I made it through the door and had it shut behind me. And I was relieved.

Next I encountered these ridiculous shoes, two of whom were falling apart, and I had to try a third one. It was plastic, with fur, it had blue and pink patterns, I guess I thought they looked awesome.

Next I was with a receptionist and I was struggling to grab a bag of money. Then I guess it dawned on me that I had money to burn as Madonna’s relative, and I threw the bag of money down and said, “what do I need money for?” The girl laughed too, in agreement and I shook my head and went out of the office.

Finally I met my man again. And I knew that if I had just a few minutes of alone time with him, I would make him fall irrevocably in love with me. I can’t be sure if he was Christian Bale still, but my level of delight at having him is such that I think he must have been Bale in my mind. Truly, I don’t remember being this obsessed with a movie star in quite some time.

Randy Pausch dies at age 47

Actually I apologize for making that somber announcement the title of this post, though I think it will be more of an attention grabber. The truth is, I don't intend to focus on his death at all, in the same way that Prof. Randy Pausch never did, even when he was in the active process of dying.

His last lecture, which has reached millions of people across the world, gave us all an opportunity to do a fascinating character study on this individual. He represents, in my mind, all that is best about America. This is not America of the 2000's, dark, somber, struggling with foreclosures and at the back of everyone's mind, the war in the Middle East, the perpetual terrible prospect of another terrorist hijacking haunting the corridors of every major airport security. No, he represents America at a simpler, happier time. What decade that is supposed to be beats me. Maybe it's more of an idea of America that he represents, but even so, that faint, delicate idea is enough, more than enough to change some people's lives forever.

Prof Pausch espouses creativity and individuality and tenacity to overcome hardships, but not in those tiresome nagging old words, repetitively droned into the children of America. We all know or think we know that it's a good thing to be those qualities. Dr. Pausch shows us a way, teaching by example, in effect. Make no mistake, there is no one way about things. HIs way will most definitely not be my way. Still, I can grasp to some limited extent, how wonderful it's all worked out for him and it wasn't necessarily any magic formula. It's all those cliches we've heard one too many times, but instead of being dismissive, he somehow made those cliches the foundation and structure of his life.

So this is my dedication to this sincere and impressive man and to another who preceded him, another favorite professor of mine, Dr. Morrie Schwartz, both had the tremendous burden of teaching and sharing their experiences in life, while in the process of dying. My hat's off to both you men.

Angels in America

I've only just recently picked up this HBO miniseries from the library to peruse in my spare time. I found the series surprising on multiple levels but ultimately, delightful.

First of all, I did not realize this was going to be about homosexuality. I am by no means anti-homosexuality, my surprise is due to the fact that one does not usually see this topic treated in greater depth within the mainstream fare, besides the token gay hairdresser dotting the cinematic landscape. Of course I have much to learn about the gay culture. For instance, the other day, I was informed of what the term "down low" meant, of which I had hitherto never been aware of its double entendre.

But back to the subject at hand - Angels in America is essentially a play that was adapted to film and it is somewhat evident in the way the film is directed that it is still very conscious of its play roots. I don't know if I can explain it adequately, but a lot of the scenes still have a stagey feel, and one can get most of the dramatic impact from viewing the scene from one perspective only. The characters do a fair share of moving around, but the camera was not as nimble.

That is all well and good, because in my opinion, the two most delightful qualities about this work are a> its dialogue between the characters and b> the sheer melodramatic weight that it brings forth at key moments in time. It was damned funny too, at certain moments, as when Roy Cohn (played by Al Pacino) fakes his death to one up a gloating dead nemesis ghost who is very likely conjured in his imagination. The acting was great, stellar, magnificent by all its cast, but I thought the words, those words, are truly brilliant and of a class that I've not encountered in a while in any movie or play.

So many times throughout the film, I was rapt, thinking, "That's amazing! Why have I never thought to phrase things like that?" I suppose it's the egomaniac in me speaking, always wishing I could spit out brilliant phrases as casually as breathing, but it's also my genuine appreciation for literary prowess, of which Tony Kushner displayed to full glory in this masterpiece.

I would be in remiss if I don't actually try to give a summary of this story (spoiler alert), for those who happen to read this post. So few visit these days, so perhaps it doesn't even matter. sniff... Okay, enough self-pitying for now. So, the story is as follows. A gay Jewish man finds out his lover, a beautiful WASP, descended from a grand and noble lineage, has AIDS. He is horrified, understandably so, and struggled to be there for him. In a parallel story, a young Mormon lawyer married and living in NYC, struggles with his own hidden sexual identity and ultimately decides to confront it openly. His wife, with a history of abuse at home, is now a grown woman with emotional issues and is addicted to Valium. She has also perhaps been long aware of her husband's lack of desire for her and struggled to come to terms with the truth as well. The third story is of an aging Jewish lawyer, very vitriolic and hateful but still formidable. He also comes down with AIDS. The three stories, at first seemingly disconnected, intertwined ultimately in a very satisfying way.

The great thing is, all these people with their significant issues and problems and angst managed to not come across as a drag, a bore, a party pooper, or just plain depressing. Even at their worst, there is something delightful in the way they try to reason their way out of their miseries and bumble and stumble about, lost, confused, talking to imaginary friends.

It's poignant, it's touching, it's funny and it's sad, but the story triumphantly paints a picture of real human beings, not postcard characters, flat and glossy.

I am thankful of being reminded yet again what happens when several major talents (literary, dramatic, production and packaging) intersect successfully at a point in space, the result? An explosion of fireworks that gave birth to a story that will forever have at least one devoted and captivated fan from yours truly.

Taiwan, my homeland

Every now and then I get a stab of sharp nostalgia for my homeland, a place half constructed out of my own unfulfilled fantasies and half from real experiences. For instance when I listen to the radio station online Voice of Taipei, Mandarin voices accented in that distinctive Taiwanese way fill the air and flood my eardrums. Simultaneously, feelings of homesickness would wash over me. Homesickness? My home is here, what exactly am I yearning for?

I think this is my primordial memory. I was born there after all, and was listening to voices like that since from the womb. From the age of 0 to 5 too, that was my entire universe. Moving to America was not nearly as traumatic as it might have been for many other immigrant children precisely because I was still so young and also because I was always coccooned safely within my family. Nonetheless, I am beginning to suspect that this displacement was still fairly traumatic on some subconscious level.

It's also true of course that the grass is greener on the other side of the pasture. While I am here in the US, I experience the good and the bad. Whereas when I think of Taiwan, my lovely Taipei, all I can recall are such things like sumptious night market delicacies, beautiful gossamer bakeries, bright and inviting department stores filled to the brim with cute outfits, even the ever familiar and to me, near and dear to my heart, the hawkings of the local vendors.

Knowing all this however does not dampen my longing to visit and stay once again, in the country of my birth.

All by myself in the library

I have an urge to break out into a dirge and sing "All by myself" as I sit by my lonely self in the library in the dead of the night. Well friends, I guess I really asked for it though. I've been slacking on neuroscience and the exam is in 28 hours, so I am slogging through 2 weeks of medical school neuro material in 48 hours.

Actually on a brighter side, it's nice and quiet and bright and I can do almost anything I want in this big old room, that always seemed so tiny by day.

Yawn, I AM getting a little tired...but I am determined to stay here til 5:30 AM. That's when it's light out and it's "safe" to venture out again. Hehe, I know I'm being silly but I've already decided on staying and studying to this hour and so I shall.

Excuse me while I began my little operetta to myself...

I caved in to the dark side...

or i.e., I joined Facebook and hence, became one of the millions of people on this network all preening and putting their best and proudest selves forward, armed with their three million friends and ten billion messages. Gosh, within a day, I had 39"friends" and counting. I never felt so popular. But then reality sinks in. Of course, except for my close circle of good friends, the vast majority added me on their list just to increase their own body counts. I am not unaware of that incentive. But I shall not be cynical. In any case, I'll have a little romp and a go at FB for some time and when I get tired of it, I will treat it the way I did Friendster. Life can be as simple as a click of a button!

Today was an oddly productive day given the fact that I had only five hours of sleep the night before. I fortified myself with a good dose of MONSTER, that stuff probably took a few good years off my natural life span, but in the mean time, it gets the job done - and lemme tell you - keeping this borderline narcoleptic girl awake is truly no small thing! Getting her lazy ass to crack open the book? It's a miracle!!

Alright, enough rambling for one day. Toodaloo!

Stumbling on a motherlode!

It's probably not too surprising that as a blogger, I've also had both opportunity and interest in perusing other blogs. To my delight, there are so many really fantastic blogs out there! For instance, I've been reading every now and again, this blog by Scott H. Young and always thoroughly enjoyed being re-energized by his latest thought pieces on productivity.

Yet like an explorer who went out and only reached the tip of the iceberg, I had no idea the vastness of resources that lay at my fingertips simply by going into one of his hypertexts. Then, truly like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole and then going off on one adventure after another, I discovered author after author all detailing their wonderful insights to accessing a better life. So enthralled was I that I spent the last two hours hop-scotching from one author to another. What particularly amused me was how they are all linked to each other and would often leave comments and such on each other's blogs. While I would like nothing better than to join this "fellowship of the holy life hackers" I am as yet still a humble padawan and sideline observer. Still, when I was reading these fantastic and inspiring articles, so many thoughts were being whipped up in my head and the frenzy of possibilities absolutely flooded my brain. I feel as if I've had an evening of stimulating conversations not just with one person, but with multiple personalities and almost seamlessly at that.

In any case, it's difficult, I think, in my current state of heightened excitement, to really calmly and effectively reflect on everything that I've either learned today or been reminded of (and we need so many reminders in life, to gently nudge us to remember lessons that we've already learned in the past). And to be honest, I don't think I could do justice to any one author either by my attempts of recapitulations. You can just read them for yourself.

Here are a couple that I particularly enjoyed:

Schaefer's Blog

The Growing Life

These two started off a firecracker of a domino effect. And at 1:34 AM in the morning, I've probably bit off more than I could chew. But I know too that I've been battling a funk for some time now and today, tonight, I feel a glimmer of radiance that promises a sure way out. As always of course, these blogs can only show me the door, but I must be the one to walk through it.

God willing, I think I will do just that!

The cyclic nature of being in a funk

I've been lolling around in a semi-functional funk for some time now. It started a few weeks ago, or maybe it's been this way all my life, sometimes it's difficult to tell when a funk truly ends. However, I will say that a semi-functional funk might be stretching it - wheneven I'm in a lower state of mind, productivity goes down, drive goes down and then self-confidence takes a dive too. It is a cycle that is perpetuated much like the krebs cycle.

The good thing is that I never sunk completely into it. I have learned the "offical" definition of depression in my behavioral science class at school. Part of the definition requires asking, "Have you lost interest in things that you are normally interested in?" Well, let's see - sleep, movies, reading random books, and shopping. No, I'm still very much interested in all that! So I guess while that doesn't make me depressed, it depressingly still qualifies me as a bona fide valley girl. like, ohmygod!

Well in any case, I have these conversations often with my good friend on the West Coast. She has advised me on countless occasions that the only way to stop the spiral towards negativity and wallowing in self-pity is to jump out of the cycle. You can not hope to "beat the system" while inside the system, so the speak. This requires a brute force effort to simply stop, to leap out into the unknown and scary world of "confidence, of productivity, of energy and creativity." Yes, it can be scary and sometimes it's almost comforting to continue cocooned inside a dark, comfortable place.

Yet... not quite comfortable enough.

So I have managed to drag my arse out of the funk for now and I am back on schedule, a medical student whose a priori task is to focus on her studies and become the future brilliant physician decreed in her destiny.

Though, my very wise friend also pointed out, I must make peace with the fact that I will have my relapses. And that is okay, to some extent. The trick is to realize it when it is happening and to extricate oneself as fast as possible. Increase productivity, reduce relapses - I have a feeling these are words to live by.

Funny story

I heard the funniest story yesterday via first person account. This guy who's in my class grew up on a dairy farm in rural PA. He's a jolly character, very easy-going and had lots of funny stories to tell. He was once driving down a road when he accidentally hit a deer. He stops the car and he looks at the deer. "Well, this deer is somewhat hurt" he thought and he decided to do the kindly gesture of pulling the deer off the road by its antlers and then he slit its throat.

Now, another car happened to pass by and saw this taking place. They immediately stopped and dialed 911. The cop came over and this guy explained the situation to the cop. The cop nodded understandingly and in a flash, pulled out his gun and loaded two bullets into the deer's head. The other people looked on in horror. As the guy wryly deadpanned,"I don't think the folks in the other car were too pleased with the situation, for they were, after all, calling the cops ON ME."

My dental experience

Yesterday I went to the dentist to get a cavity filled. Boy was I in for a treat!

First my dentist comes in, big, tall, broad-shouldered, squared jawed. He was definitely a man's man, from just his looks. (really not a bad looking guy all told) But what really caught my attention was his somewhat bullying, persistent, aggressive and thoroughly alpha male persona.

First he tells me to open my mouth and say Ahh. He peers into my mouth and looks at the cavity and frowns. Then he says, "hmmm, THAT's unattractive." In exactly that cadence, and in exactly that emphasis. I looked at him somewhat speechless. I felt offended on behalf of my poor cavity ridden tooth. And I even briefly wondered if he just insulted my womanhood. Then I shrugged it off, I was being a nincompoop. He definitely was somewhat rough around the edges though. But by no means should I get my pretty little feathers all ruffled up, I decided there and then.

He proceeds to tell me that I have a HUGE cavity, the size of Kansas at the very least. And he's going to need to fill it with metal or give it a crown. I listened to him talk for about 2 minutes and then I asked him which one is more efficient. He cocked his head in confusion. I asked again, "which one would take less time?" He frowns and asks, "you seem to be in a dire need of expediency. What's this need for speed?" It was then that I knew, this was a dentist who likes to challenge you, he's not a Mr. Nice Easy going Fellow.

The other funny thing was that I kept trying to sit up and turn around to face him, I thought it would ease the conversation, as I was not used to talking to someone whom I had to look towards the ceiling to see. He keeps saying, "Oh, put your head and rest it down here, thank you!" In a firm, polite but still controlling way. I felt like I was grinding his gears by being so fidgety. He then asked me if I was always this energetic or if I was just nervous. By this time, he had stuck a lollipop of local anesthesia into my mouth and I was trying to talk with my mouth full. So I ended up saying, "I wus jusss nervosed." And he asked why. I said, "because there's usually pain involved." And he say, "okaaay, that's a fair answer." He gave me the impression of being a talk show host, he always has to say something in return.

But all in all, he turned out to be a pretty nice guy. He made sure I was completely pain free, by giving me extra shots of novacaine, even quizzing me on what nerves he was blocking, once he found out I was attending med school. Alas, I failed to impress, because i hadn't started my head and neck series yet. He also made sure I was able to see my cavity after he cleaned it out and it was indeed a big gaping hole in my tooth. He filled it with metal and then he asked me to bite down repeatedly to make sure I don't feel anything. He then had to file the filling in such a way to maximize my comfort. I walked away feeling like he was very competent and did a good job on my tooth. I know only time will tell if that's the case, but so far so good.

But it's just been really amusing for me too, that both dentists that I've had the pleasure of visiting in Philadelphia turned out to be such characters (see previous blog on previous dentist)

Restless energy

Is this stress? I can't even recognize stress when I am experiencing it. Perhaps it is indicative of how little stress I've had to endure in my previous lives. Maybe I've had it easy all along. Lately I have found myself a victim of that hitherto unexperienced syndrome (at least by me) and that is called insomnia. I would go to sleep at 12 and then wake up at 3 AM. Like most hapless people whom sleep evades at that ungodly hour, I'd like in bed and wonder whether or not to get up. I would make little promises to myself. "Okay, if I don't fall asleep in 10 minutes, I'm getting up." I had even gotten up at around 3:30 AM in the morning and decided to read the Bible, I figured it would be somewhat sleep-inducing (no offense intended). INstead, I read the book of Job and found to my surprise how interesting it can be. It's a study into one man's agony and suffering and his added anguish in not knowing why, nor did he believe he deserved it. This is an aside, but let me talk about the book of Job. So Job had health, properity and a happy household. In a talk with Satan, God decides to give Job a little test of faith. Overnight, he lost everything he has ever had, including his health. His three friends, good friends that they were, kept declaring that Job must have sinned somewhere along the way as to incur the wrath of God. Job steadfastly declared his innocence and he asks to have an arbitrator between him and God! What a bold statement that is. I admire such confidence. In the end though, God rebukes Job in an indirect way by saying, you can not possibly begin to question me, you speck of a human being. And Job meekly accepts that whatever God wants to do to him is in God's right and Job apologizes for his impudence. At the same time, God admonishes his three friends and told them they were misguided scoundrels as well. I thought in this case that Job's friends meant well, even if they were wrong, they shouldn't be blamed. But then again, I tend to be very lenient on mistakes, as I am a creature prone to making them.

Anyway, what of this restless energy? I don't know, I think I need to channel it better. More focus, more drive, instead it gets permeated into useless activities and then fuel useless parts of my brain. And meanwhile I still have the main course to attend to, but then I get distracted by the trillion gazillion of little things crowing my mind, jabbering nonstop, grabbing at my attention, fragmented as it is. I need peace and quiet!!

Two movies in one day - utter indulgence!

I went to see a film screening with my roommate today. It was the oscar winner for 2007 - No Country for Old Men. You know, I have a strong stomach in general and the blood and gore rarely get to me. So I can't say this film was too bloody or gory for my tastes. Yet, perhaps it's my current state of mind. I still had trouble stomaching it. In the same way There Will be Blood filled me with tense utter dread in its entirety, this film had me similarly gripped, trapped, enthralled in its horrificness.

The backdrop of this film was 1980 Texas. The landscape is desolate, barren, a wasteland. It complements the theme of the film perfectly, the hardships of living in a place like this, the pain of existing in a world becoming increasingly mad. The main story is of a hired gun, who kills for a living perhaps, but appears to be overly eager to kill for no reason at all. Like most psychopaths, this one thrives on the thrill of power and control over his hapless victims. They live or die entirely according to his whim. What is particularly scary about him and creeped me out was his page boy like hair, oddly incongruous with his stony, cold, broad face. He moves slowly too, deliberately, never in a hurry. He walks like a man who knows he has all the time in the world to kill and kill he usually does. I kept waiting for him to show a sign of weakness, anything to denote that he is anything other than a pure unadulterated demon. It appears that character complexity was not the high point of this film. Yet it occurred to me that this character later on began to become larger than life, and he represented not just himself, just another lonely serial killer with big guns, but that he was metaphorically speaking, another example of how this world has become increasingly senseless. The horrors that can take place within it, collectively, it is embodied by him.

The other guy in the film, a protagonist who stumbles on some major loot and decides to take it (as most normal people in a fit of weakness might have done) earned the audience sympathy readily enough. He is shown to have a soft spot for his family. Ironically, it is another fit of weakness that ultimately led to his demise - a momentary feeling of guilt perhaps and a stricken conscience. In any case, after he took the money, he essentially started living on borrowed time.

I watched the film with great dread. There were times when I could do nothing but wait in agony as I prepare for yet another victim to die a grisley death. It is actually, truth be told, quite tiresome for the mental psyche. I wanted to like it and I certainly had not been this tortured in a while. Still, in the end, it gave me the same feeling that I had earlier experienced in Ringu, The Grudge, There Will be Blood, and other such movies, which takes bleakness, dementia, murdering sprees to a whole new level.

Thereafter I came home from this film and in order to cleanse my mental palate so to speak, I watched Life is Beautiful and appreciated once again the beauty, the lush and glorious and iridescent hue that life can take on. And my world became a little brighter once again.

Egads I have a fat waist!

Sedentary people tend to develop fat in their tummy. This is what is termed an "apple" shape. A "pear" shaped body tends to have more fat in the hips and thighs. However, as is mostly common knowledge today, fat in your tummy is the more risky fat, as it could lead to a host of health problems such as heart attacks, high cholesterol, diabetes. Have you measured your tummy circumference lately? By itself, the actual circumference doesn't mean much. But it becomes more important when considering its relationship to the hip circumference.

For instance, my waist is 31 inches. It's nowhere near Scarlett O'Hara's famed 16 inch waist, as you can see. I'm a slim girl, but my waistline can improve. My hips however measure 35 inches. That gives me a waist to hip ratio of 0.89. Ideally, for females, the ratio ought to be 0.8 or less. So I have to get my waistline down to 28 inches. Certain factors may have contributed (I just ate, hahaha) But in all seriousness, it is quite good for your health to have a smaller waist to hip ratio.

For males, if you are interested, the ratio ought to be 0.95 or less. The hourglass appearance is not quite as necessary for guys.

I also currently have a body fat percentage of about 24.8%. It's considered normal for non-obese non-athletes. A full quarter of me is pure fat, pure viscous yellow oily lipid tubby lard! I think if I think too much about this, I would be extremely disturbed. All the more motivation to hit the gym, I suppose.

Progress is a state of mind

I think I'm finally catching on to what progress is all about. A state of change, a flux, a transient state of being. It's also about being at B when you were at A a minute ago. It's about being able to look back at A and seeing the distance that you have travelled. Is this vague enough for you? Let me give you an example.

So last night I was all bells and whistles about making my SCHEDULE. And I was ambitious, to be sure. I wanted to get up at 7 AM and start studying from 8 to 12. A good solid 4 hours of studying sounded like a good idea at the time. But in my excitement last night, I was unable to fall asleep for longer than I had anticipated. That usually is the domino effect for me and as things turned out, I wasn't able to get up early this morning. In fact, I got up 3 hours later than scheduled. I'm a German's worst nightmare come true.

Now, the old me would have been disgusted with myself and mentally slapped myself left and right and then in a fit of passive aggressive anger, I would have let the entire day go to hell after such a late start and a delay in my plans. I think in this way, I had an "extreme" side to my personality and usually detrimental.
The new me was still disappointed in myself for getting up so late, but I shrugged it off and looked at what was left of my schedule to salvage and by 1 PM, I was back on track. So there you go, I have progressed! It's not climbing mt. everest, but hey, I have finally learned the concept that if I fall back a few steps, i can still continue the climb. Sooner or later, I will scale this mountain!!

Getting my groove back

I sat down today and studied diligently for a couple of hours. After a while, I began to nod off and the material swam before my eyes. Just so I would wake myself up again, I put my frontal cortex to work (ie. plan) by making a schedule of my next three days. I realize that writing down to the T what I have to do everyday is actually a very liberating experience. It gives me a sense of satisfaction and sense of control even before I do anything.

In any case, my new plan will involve some hard core studying. The next round of exams are looming ahead of me like that monster in Cloverfield and I have a dreaded feeling that unless I institute my plan, the monster will swallow me alive.

Speaking of which, I went to see Cloverfield on Sunday. It was a very gripping thriller and I believe it succeeds in what it tries to do, to wit, it attempts to capture the terror an ordinary average joe would feel on a day when Godzilla's cousin attacks his city. It was doubly unfortunate for the girls in this film, because they were at a party and not exactly dressed to sprint. The entire film was shot with what seemed like a handheld consumer camera. At times they made it deliberately jerky to imitate an amateur who can't seem to hold the camera steady for even 5 minutes. The overall effect was to make me feel queasy after about 60 minutes into the film. I was also, absurdly, even worried that the "amateur" would at some point, turn off the camera by accident or shoot someone's back pocket for an extended period of time. I then realize I was being silly because of course the filmmakers of this movie were professionals and they WANT you to know what's going on and the only way that would be possible is to continue to shoot relevant and interesting footage, since Morgan Freeman did not magically appear to narrate for us in this film. One word of warning though, if you are a type A personality and you watch a film and want to know all the whys and wherefores of this film, this movie is not for you. It is like a poem, it tries to capture a feeling, an essence, a partial story even, but its intention was never in the plot, it was never interested in answering "what happened next, before, after, and why".

Tell me you love me

I just sped through 15 episodes of a Korean drama. Which is somewhat of a feat, since I crammed 15 hours into about 6. The story is about a happy young couple who enters a company together. An older, accomplished woman falls head over heels in love with the young man and plots to break them up. She went at extraordinary lengths too, to obtain what she wanted. And as villainous as she is supposed to be, I found myself secretly rooting for her.

The drama is called, "Tell me you love me" and it was playing on youtube. I know this is going to sound shallow, but here goes. There were more than a number of decidedly unattractive characters in the show, men with faces that looked like God wasn't paying attention when he molded them, or a little fat chubby girl with a complexion like that of rice pudding and legs that look like she has had one too many of them as well. Her height was most comical, she was almost as wide as she is tall, so she comes across oddly boxlike. Lord, they were an annoying bunch. And I didn't understand their purpose in the show, perhaps for comic relief? The reason I am going on this rant is because I think for the purposes of a soap opera, the producers ought to employ only good looking or interesting looking people to star in the drama. That is one reason why we watch them no? Eye candy. To feast our eyes on beauty. Instead, every time these odd assortment of weird looking people come on, I felt the protest of my eyes at being subjected to such unaesthetically pleasing pictures.

To be honest, this show stank. The two bright things in the show would be, the female actress is a gem and shines at her role of being both a manipulative vixen and also a pathetic woman who just loves too heartbreakingly. Secondly, even though I watched the translations, I could tell the lines are written with more care, wit and thought. It wasn't very bland soap opera fare nor was it overly dramatic. At times, there were sprinkles of philosophical statements, just the way I liked it. The minuses of the show would have to be, the show became increasingly weepy and the bawling grew both in magnitude and frequency. I was not in the mood to bawl along, so instead, I just rolled my eyes and fast forwarded. Even the male lead couldn't stop crying like a little five year old who just had his toy snatched from him. I lost a lot of my patience with him and I didn't understand why a smart 30 year old and quite beautiful woman would go completely and utterly insane over him. Over him? Surely she could have done better.

The angelic female lead, the mother theresa who is on the receiving end of all plots and manipulations, but of course also the innocent one whom her lovely young man adores - she just annoys me. Her face reminds me of other Korean actresses before her, and she's like the generic version to a brand, or a knock-off substitute. She never quite stepped up to the lead female role as well as the villainous one, with all her scheming ways, was able to. I know I've committed heresy by sticking up for the evil one. All the commentators on youtube.com were screaming for her blood by the end of the show. They got so worked up, I had almost as much fun reading those comments as anything else.

To sum, I don't always root for the good guys I guess, whatever "good" means. I am intrigued by this theme of sheer raw desire, a manic bent on grasping that which you crave, I root for mad obsessive compulsion to own or possess something, I root for wanting something badly enough that you would stoop to almost anything to get it and know it too. At times, when facing such a dark side to human nature, it takes courage to confront the enormity of one's greed and to recognize it for what it is, sheer greed, the bottomless pit in the human heart that always craves for more and more, whatever that may be. Okay, I don't endorse this, don't get me wrong, but I am admittedly captivated by this theme.

Zombies and my curious fascination with them

I just watched yet another zombie movie, the ever famous Dawn of the Dead, and all things considering, not too long after "I am Legend" either. There are some common themes that run through these films.

A) When you go anywhere alone, you will most likely die.
B) If you happen to be surrounded by zombies and you know you are a goner, then the next best thing to do is to blow things up and go down in a blaze of glory. Better to die that way than to be torn to pieces by zombies.
C) The really really big burly bald alpha male zombies (you see one in Dawn, you see one in Legend as well) - watch out for those. They are the "head" zombies and will usually do something that will surprise you - unpleasantly.

I was braced for a very scary movie so it turned out to be not that bad. In a typical zombie film, a "good" ending is if these people successfully evade the zombies and find a safe haven. However ever thought about what comes next? If these people do survive, they will probably end up with stupendous post traumatic stress disorder and may eventually break down into insanity. No one can take such a prolonged stress for such a long time. Of course in this film (spoiler alert), it is hinted that nobody ultimately survives. Sad, but somewhat more realistic.

Now a comparison study of the zombies in Legend vs Dawn. Legend zombies are fast fast fast, and usually they become bald. They are afraid of the sun and they burn when exposed to UV light. They are tachycardic, (heart rate through the roof) and they are usually very pale. They are smart too, and can strategize to a point. They seem to be made of steroids and they look like golum. They also have zombie dogs. Dawn zombies are not afraid of the sun. They can be fast too, often running. They keep their hair and they are usually decently dressed but grotesquely wounded. Missing eyes, cut off legs, ripped off arm, but they still go on. Legend zombies appear to be more intact, as far as I can tell. In the absence of victims, Dawn zombies just mill around listlessly and dejectedly. Legend zombies crouch in dark places and only come out at night to feed. Dawn zombies haven't learned how to climb, but Legend zombies are great at climbing. Legend zombies will fight each other for food.

Compared to these zombies, Chinese zombies are another breed altogether. They are usually very pale and supposedly already dead. They hop, they don't walk, and they stick their arms out in front of them. If you are near a Chinese zombie, you have to hold your breath and they won't detect you. So they have wonderful CO2 sensors, apparently.

Okay enough gabbling about zombies. I am going to become my own special type of zombie now, complete with a snug pillow, blanket and bronco bear!

A Depressing Yesterday

Yesterday I was under a black cloud for most of the day. I had a stomach bug after eating lunch and spent the better half of an hour white, pale-faced, sweaty in the bathroom after. Details are better off not discussed but suffice to say, I recovered to do battle yet another day.

Then I dragged my weak dehydrated self to the bed and dozed for an hour, with the intention of getting my strength back. I woke up somewhat later than anticipated and ended up going to the Chinatown Clinic later than anticipated as well. We were supposed to meet about 1/2 hour before clinic started. All along the way, I braced myself for being reamed by the attending physician. To my pleasant surprise, when I burst into the clinic and apologized profusely for being late, the doctor, normally with a reputation for being somewhat of a groucho marx, looked at me with a rather benevolent smile and just blew it off, saying, "That's okay."

I was working as a translator - well, thats mostly all I do there, translate for patients who walk in the door. I met yet another depressing case. This woman comes in. Her husband has stomach cancer and has been home for the past 2-3 years. She quit her job last October to take care of him. Their medical bills for chemotherapy and odds and ends were in the thousands. I had a feeling, before this is over, it would go into the tens of thousands. Both are not insured, and both were clearly not well off. I asked how they were getting by. The woman said her child, now 22, was working to support them. She became a bit teary eyed at that, thinking of how her child couldn't go to school because of the situation. I felt both terrible for her and ashamed of myself. I have had it so easy and I still go around feeling sorry for myself all the time. Sometimes I can truly see how tough life is and all things considering, life has been good to me, no, really really good to me...

Still, this realization didn't uplift me per se. It brought my mood down another notch. I also felt paradoxically that life is so meaningless too. They say that suffering means something, but for these wretched poorest of the poors, what added existential meaning does suffering bring to them? What lessons, or spiritual insights can they gain from this? They worry incessantly, I'm sure, about how to get by, how to not be sick, how to make ends meet, how to find their next meal, or ensure they have a roof over their heads. With all their energy tied up into worrying about such basic necessities, what spiritual value can their suffering have? I don't know the answer, but I do wonder.

Professional behavior extraordinaire

Today I had to go to the hospital, put on my little white coat, get all spiffed and starched up. So I was in a group of five classmates and we were given the task of interviewing a real patient. Easy peasy - we've done this more than a few times now and most of us are getting comfortable with the process. So we stride in, cocky future doctors all and before us sat this lanky man in a limp hospital gown. He had an overgrown beard peppered with gray. He looked at us with no expression but we each introduced ourselves and he shook our hands cordially.

As we gathered around him, he alone sat in a chair and we stood in front of him, in a circle in this weird ritualistic way. I cleared my throat and ventured first (the brave little pipsqueak that I am) and asked, "So what brought you into the hospital?"

He looked at me and said, "The Airforce."

"Oh?" I was befuddled.

One of my kind classmates chimed in, "Oh okay, so the airforce brought you in?"

The man mumbled, "MmmmHmm. The Airforce."

Another pipsqueak piped, "How long have you been in the hospital?"

"1974."

"Oh....Why are you here again?"

"1972."

"So you've been here since 1972. What are you here for?"

"The airforce." He looked at us amiably, calmly, patiently.

It was at this moment, or perhaps a second after, when the dawning realization came to each and every one of us, this man is COMPLETELY incoherent and possibly demented. A giggle started making its way from the depths of my belly. To my increasing horror, I knew it would erupt from my mouth if I didn't do something soon. With every ounce of self control I could muster, I froze the muscles of my face into a botox mask. I almost lost it again when I looked at him. I literally began turning red from the effort of trying not to laugh. We just stood there in silence then, not knowing what to say. My face felt freakishly hot.

I looked down at my shoes, I dug my nails into my hands, I twisted and retwisted my fingers. Then I stole a look at my classmates and I saw the early twitchings of a smile on everyone of them, all of them trying so damn hard not to giggle like little girls. It is a feeling like you're being tickled and you can't laugh, it was excruciating ladies and gentleman, I thought I would have an apoplexy from the effort of straining myself. Two agonizing minutes later, an internist rushes in all smiles and apologies and tells the guy thanks for his time and lets us scoot out of there. We all scurried out, eager to get out, sheepish about the whole business.

It turns out the guy has had some sort of blunt trauma accident and the frontal lobe of his brain had been removed. He basically had a lobotomy. Still bad bad emily! I kept yelling at myself that I should have had more empathy and professionalism. I became a blob that was about to burst at the seams and no white coat, no matter how well sewn, could have held me together if I had done that. Sigh, much to learn this one still.

Oh my eyes!

Last night I decided to do an experiment with me eyes by wearing an eye-patch on my right eye. You see, I have two eyes of vastly different temperaments. Right eye - very go-getter, very on top of things, competing to see everything first. Left eye - lazy, indolent, reliant on its stronger big brother to do the seeing, it just sits there and daydreams. I decided that left eye needs to work a little too, so I made right eye sit in the dark for a bit. It was super weird trying to read, let alone study, with one eye shut. I kept seeing, at the periphery of my vision, these pulsating bands of light. I think it was my left eye's spiteful little trick to protest.

A curious thing happened after that. Shortly after, I turned off the lights to my room to turn in for the night. The first thing I noticed was, a feeling like a curtain had just dropped over my left eye. Suddenly I had unbelievable night blindness from my left eye. To make sure I wasn't hallucinating - I alternated between my left and my right eyes. When I see with only my right eye, the room, even though dark, is like 5 shades lighter and crisper than my left eye. I felt panic rising because I thought I was losing my vision in my left eye.

I sat down on my bed and furiously massaged my eyes. Now get this paradox folks. I know to help my eyes, I have to relax them. But there's nothing like maniacally trying to relax your eyes while staving off a rising panicked feeling of gloom and doom. At one point, I even fancied that I was seeing different shades of color from each eye. Right eye - I see a bluish tint to everything. Left eye - I see a brownish tint to everything. Soon, my eyes equalized and I realize that, part of the problem was, momentarily, I was seeing BETTER with my right eye, and made my left eye seem all the weaker. Because, soon I was seeing a brownish tint from both eyes (now I was sitting in my room in pitch black while carrying this experiment out, hence the brownish look) and that's when I relaxed finally and told my silly self that I need to go to sleep.

I woke up this morning and to my relief, I seem to see okay as per my usual blind self. I do think though that I have to incorporate a system of training my left eye to see as good as my right, or else I become a physiological cyclops.

Motivation

I would like to explore the topic of motivation. The way I see it, motivation is most effective when it is an unquestioned drive to reach a goal. Whatever your goal might be, you desire it enough to go to great lengths to achieve it. Therefore, your drive must be pure enough for that motivating force to be strong.

We all know what motivating forces typically are in this world: desire for wealth, status, to please those closest to us, to avoid failure, the pursuit of happiness. Is there one thing that encompasses everything else? Some would argue that everyone's penultimate goal is to achieve happiness, which all these other things are necessary stepping stones to.

While I'd argue that is not true, too many people before me have done that every same thing, so I don't want to rehash a very old and almost cliched idea. I'd like to argue in the opposite way. What if a person has reached the point where they no longer believe that wealth status and all those good material acheivements can bring you happiness? But since a person still aspires to happiness, what then is the motivating force to achieve?

For me, I have to admit that I still have a few "ties that bind." Meaning, I feel some pressure to achieve, not merely for my own sake (in fact, very infrequently for myself per se) but a desire to not disappoint those closest to me. Which, I'm told, is not exactly the best way to go about motivating yourself. Yet a part of me wonders, if those ties should break and I am liberated, what then will I become? Will I float away gently to the netherlands, unemcumbered and unweighed by neither drives nor ambitions or any singular passion to continue striving? Wow, if ever there is a junkie in the making, I think I have great potential to live in a cloud.

But that's the thing. I know it would never happen that way. My two feet are planted solidly enough on the ground and I have a solid network, social and otherwise, that keeps me grounded too. I also have a degree of status anxiety, much as I hate to admit it, and while I'm no Napoleon, I still desire to work hard enough to get that one slice of pie.

But back to my original question and it still remains: what then shall motivate us and drive us when we are no longer so "sure" that all paths hitherto to be thought to reach happiness will indeed get us there? Then perhaps, after struggling with this existential problem - we must each forge new meanings for ourselves on what defines happiness. And then we must still continue to strive for it. It is the human condition and without it, we are incomplete.

Portals

I was recently introduced to this new game that is mostly a series of puzzles. I approached this game rather gingerly in the beginning, awkward with the controls, nervous about the challenges. I suppose it's just a mental thing more than anything else. But once my brain was able to wrap its mind around the concept of portals, it became pretty fun. However when I played it last, I got a little nauseous from spinning around too quickly. I felt this way once when I played Quake back in college.

The game involves a series of challenges that you have to use portals in order to get through. There are certain tools at your disposal but you can't always get to them unless you manipulate the access. Now, I know I am no "lightning Steve McQueen" when it comes to solving the puzzles - but at my own pace, I do eventually get them. I think I'm five levels away from the final test.

In other news - I am so thrilled that Hillary got the New Hampshire primary!!! Way to go! The way I see it, Obama is a nice guy and all, but he's still a little young and green. He can afford to wait another four years, gain more experience, add more omph to his rhetoric. I won't mind having him as president, but ladies first, dude. A lot of people do not like Hillary but well, I am clearly not one of them. I am very interested in seeing what she has to offer as the first female president, and honestly, I have no doubt she would run this country as well as any man.

Getting Political

I watched the New Hampshire debates Saturday and it was obvious even to me, a complete idiot when it comes to politics, that Edwards had decided to join the good ol' boy's club and gang up on Hillary with Obama. It was almost a little sad because Hillary had attempted, a little lamely, at the very beginning to elicit Edwards' support to team up against Obama. Edwards very flatly rejected her entreaties and turned on her with a fair degree of viciousness and vigor. The look on Hillary's face at that moment was, maybe to my overwrought imagination, a barely contained seething. Yet she held her own against the two, coming across sharp, stinging, strong. She was getting political on their asses (I am Hillary, hear me roar)

Obama, because I have not heard him speak extensively until now, but have always heard good things about him, did not really impress me overly much. He was nice for the most part and did not attack anyone, he seemed to be very somberly listening to everyone's input and took everyone seriously. He seems afraid to show confidence and cockiness. Because of this, he was always very careful about what he says, but what he had to say was uninspiring. Still, he did come across as someone who is idealistic, nice, and decent at heart, it helps of course that he has a very symmetrical looking face that just APPEARS square and upfront and honest.

I also watched some of the republican debates and most of the guys there seemed to be more relaxed and spontaneous and ready to just jabber, gibberish most of the times, but still unafraid to mouth off. A lot of them ganged up on Romney, a thorough alpha male with a big square jaw and looks like American Dad with the same amount of "I am the shit) aura. I didn't like him very much either. All he wants to do apparently is to deport illegal immigrants, regardless of how impossible an undertaking it is and how futile this gesture is to the benefit of America. I would like to know how he plans to carry that out in reality because 12 million people and their families - you can't just uproot these people overnight, it's not only wrong, it's downright preposterous.

Giuliani carried a fair deal of weight, but I was introduced to a new guy I have never noticed before, Senator Paul. He's actually a sweet looking guy who likes to talk about economy. I liked him on a personal level but sadly, I feel like his chances of being elected nominee are slim if he's only resting on his winsome personality and cute in an old man kind of way looks. Certainly I like him more than the other Republicans but when it comes down to it, I still have a major soft spot for Hillary.

300

I finally got around to watching this film about Sparta. All those nice taut and tight bodies notwithstanding, I felt like half the time, I saw a lot of men snarling at a lot of other men. Actually the fight scenes in the film are nicely choreographed, but I thought the excessive beheading was a little lame. The captain's son gets beheaded, the big monster that has a perpetual snarl (most snarliest of all the snarls) was beheaded, and even one of Xerxes' generals was beheaded by some creature/human being? with large blades for arms. Where do they find these people?? The Asia portrayed in this film was exotic to the point of being a freakshow or traveling circus. All of this was feast for the eyes mind you but also raised some befuddlement and left me scratching my head.

The main guy, King Leonidas, he's got character and he reminds me of Hector. Up until his death, he was doing pretty well on the battlefield. But it seemed to me like after his failed attempt at killing Xerxes, he just gave up and assumed a sacrifical position (the crucifix position - a favorite with many filmmakers). I didn't understand why if they so easily dodged the first onslaught of arrows by assuming a Spartan military formation, shields up, covering left neighbor, they couldn't do that again the second time around, because most of the 300 died by arrows in the very end.

The Spartan code of warriordom is simple, brutal, but effective. They train for the military in almost the same way a monk trains to serve God. Life is simple, disciplined, pared down to the basics. A simple life leaves less room for doubt, even in the face of certain death. I would have liked to see some warriors actually show fear, as it would have been realistic but you can't help but admire a group of men who are so brainwashed as to become nearly invincible in their psyche.

Nana

Feeling bored last night, I scoured the internet for some amusement. First I went to Moorewatch, an anti-Michael Moore website that was mentioned in Sicko. I must say, this is a fascinating case in point of two people who sticks to the principles of things. One guy, who watches Moore's every move and criticizes him with zeal has apparently had some financial troubles and was likely to have to shut down his site because of it. Michael Moore sends him some money via anonymous donation. However later on, he tells the guy that he's the one who sent the money and the guy graciously thanks him of course and then with the new cash in hand, he proceeds to run his website bashing Michael Moore anyway. He's got a lot of enraged letters since, asking him how he could do it, but I think he's got a point that, the whole reason Moore sent him money in the first place is so that he could continue to exercise his right to free speech. Money shouldn't shut his mouth and put an end to it. From a principles standpoint, I can see why he does it. From a humanistic standpoint, I confess that it is difficult to comprehend. A guy takes another guy's money and then continues to badmouth him anyway. It's what it boils down to. I wonder if, despite all his principles, he will lose steam eventually.

Anyway, I began this post intending to talk about a Japanese film that I got hooked onto. It's called Nana and it's about two girls who are the same age and with the same name. They became friends under very coincidental occurences and though the two are as different as cats and dogs, somehow they become bonded through shared pain and mutual goodwill. I really liked the film because it is a simple one, but made with some heart. One girl is infectiously cheerful and bounds around like an eager puppy, hence her roommate calls her "Hachi" affectionately - apparently meaning "Doggie." The other one is cool, a bit insolent, very prideful but a decent girl all in all. She's one of those people who smolders under a surface of apparent calm, like a volcanoe, made all the more apt by her constant puffing on cigarettes.

I can't help but think that my roommate and I are somewhat similar to these two girls. Instead of having the same name though, we have the same or very same birthday and ethnicity. Yet we are very different animals, she and I. I think I am more girly than her, but she is more friendly than me. Still, I think as different as we are, we can still form a good understanding between us, at least, it's a work in progress.

It's a new year once again

In the past I've always been inclined to make a big New Year resolutions list, celebrate the end of a year and the beginning of a new year with a decisive clink of the champagne glass, watch the ball drop, toast my loved ones. This year, 2007 slipped away quietly and 2008 glided in seamlessly. I went to bed around 11 PM and didn't even wait to greet the new year. I made no new resolutions and I didn't make a big to-do about celebrating its arrival. It's okay, I realize. I am not making any big decisions to turn my life around 180 degrees and become a new super powered emily. This year, I'm going to live through it as gracefully as I had let it arrive, quietly, steadily, softly. I don't want any big dramatic moments, but I do want a year of progressive steady developments, towards my career goals, towards my future life.

Last night I watched Sicko. It is a very humorous movie actually, lots of dry ironic wit Michael Moore style. Creative and acerbic and makes you go, "Yeah, why is that?" Jason keeps telling me it's biased and of course that is true, but I am glad he made this documentary anyway because it does highlight some glaring issues within our health system and why is it that a mere 30 some years go by and we are already accepting this as a fact of life, as something that is just how it is? We are reputedly the most powerful, the richest country in the world and this is how our citizens get by in life, this is what happens when one of our own gets sick? I am befuddled and I don't pretend I know what's wrong with the system and how it can even begin to be fixed, but I do think I owe it to myself to think more deeply about this issue because it is certainly going to involve me both on a personal level and a professional one as well.