Mom's friends

Last night Mom had some guests over for dinner. I sat around after dinner and listened in on the conversation among these "adults" as I like to do. I often think that it amuses me to hear what other people have to say and then reflect on what type of person these people are. The husband has a slow, deliberate way of speaking. His sentences are logical, ordered and neat. You can see that his mind probably operates like that too, in a very deliberate, step-wise fashion. He recounted the experience of his father, who passed away last year after spending five months in the hospital. Some of the experiences must have been painful for him to recount, but he was very in control, very calm and placid. I admired his calm. I also realize that I want to think like him, in a step by step, logical manner. I don't like having undercurrents of thought that act like a monkey scrambling around wildly, from one point to another. It takes great effort to grab ahold of that monkey and keep it planted firmly in one place, all the while, it's struggling wildly to break free and scramble about again. I digress, bad monkey!

So the wife of the dynamic duo is an interesting character too. She talked about her experiences child-rearing. She had two daughters, roughly around my age. Growing up, she disliked the sound of crying. When her younger daughter would cry (after being whipped around), she would tell the girl to go into the storage room and cry, so she didn't have to hear it. However, this one time, the girl wouldn't stop crying in the room and she kept hearing it, so annoyed, she went to the room, yanked the girl out and promptly gave her a second beating. Her daughter, feeling very wretched and wronged, said, "you told me I could cry in this room!" and her loving mother snapped, "Yes, but you were crying way too long. You were just asking for another round!" Holy Canoli, I didn't know Moms come in such shapes and sizes. I mean, I thought my mom was a fierce one for once breaking the hanger in beating me and my sister up, but that probably only occurred once in my life. This mom makes my mom seem like a gentle lamb.

Regardless, now we can look back on such times and laugh (especially me, since I never had to undergo such a treatment).

Lean years ahead

Lately with typical narcissistic zeal, I realize two things. I’ve gained weight! I have color on my cheeks, overall, I’m looking healthy and well-fed, maybe too well-fed. But I console myself that I’m like a penguin, I’m trying to get fat during these months before med school (aka the lean years) and hopefully by the end of four years, I would not shrivel away to nothingness. I’m trying to stockpile on the blubber. Like most girls, the reason I can feel my expanding self is through squeezing into my skinny jeans. Hitherto, none of my jeans are “skinny” per se, but now, putting myself in these jeans in the morning has become very much a “sausage making” experience, if you can picture that imagery in your mind.

I heard a good sermon recently, courtesy of my monkey sister, who thought her sis could use a little financial wisdom 101. The main message by the speaker was, “saving” money means keeping money with you while “spending” money means removing money away from you. Very simple message right? Funny how people don’t really get it, yours truly included. In the past years that I’ve worked, I realize that I’ve exercised very poor money management on the whole and well, let’s just say, this message is very timely. Before I jump into this pit called higher education and bury myself alive with hundreds of thousands of med school tuition debt, it may help to have a little financial management know-how to weather the “lean” years ahead. At the very least, I should try not to take a shovel and too gleefully dig an ever bigger hole to rest in all eternity.

Mmm…got to know a nice group of ladies last night, most of them seem either my age or slightly older. Almost all are married, one’s expecting. We are going to study the Bible. Now, I have to admit that I don’t have the most religious temperament on the whole. From a positive standpoint, you can call me a free wheeling spirit, not given to being tied down by dogma too easily. From a negative standpoint, perhaps it’s also because I’m a lazy pug. But my intentions are good. I very earnestly hope that I will get something out of this by the end of three or four months. Like some of my friends right now, we are all, one way or another, embarking on some spiritual quests in search of greater truths.

Two anxious teenage mothers asked me today of my opinions regarding AP exams, high school grades, college competitiveness, etc. I could barely stifle a yawn. I realize how little I care about such things and because they seem so very unimportant to me, it was hard to fathom why these two mothers flutter around these issues like their lives depended on it. Then I chided myself for my lack of empathy. Obviously they care because they care abour their precious poodles. If poodle enters community college, well then, all hope and dreams are dashed. Okay, I’m being harsh. Anyway, my point is, I don’t know whether or not your undergrad colleges really have to be so great. I do think that wherever you go, you can choose to make the best of it..or not. So in short, much depends on the poodles’ own mettle. Same goes true for you and me, folks, in all stages of life.

2007 Chinese Lunar Year Performance

Friday night I was privileged to be invited to a show put on by the Chinese Broadcasting Arts Company held at Strathmore Music Center in Bethesda, MD. Such a distinguished acoustical hall in suburbia Maryland brings pride and joy to all Montgomery County denizens. Even to a musically challenged person such as myself, I was impressed by the glass or crystal panes that hung in the high ceilings of the music chamber to bounce or reflect sound to all parts of the dome. It paid off prettily when singers on the stage expanded their lungs and brought forth mellifluous notes to grace our eardrums. I was on the "upper tier" which is about four stories from the stage. My coworker next to me brought a handy pair of binoculars, that's how far away we were, the people were lego-sized to me. But enough gab on the surroundings, let's get to the meat, shall we?

My personal favorites of the show were: six dancing mermaids on the stage, in iridescent glittery blue green sequined costumes. They wriggled so delightfully up and down, giving a visceral impression of really swimming in water. I am astounded once again at the possibilities of a human body and its feats. I wish I could wriggle like that.

Another performance was given by this charming young man, singing about paper airplanes and going home. I don't really know what the heck he was singing about, but he had a nice singing voice and with the help of my friend's binoculars, I got to see his nicely chiseled features as well.

My third favorite performance was a skit by a husband and wife duo (on stage and in real life). They were "divorced" and both ended up going online to search for a second love. The skinny, effeminate husband called himself, "GORGEOUS MAN" and the middle-aged wife portrayed herself as having Gong Li's dentures and Zhang Ziyi's lips. Naturally, they ended up on a blind date together and more than a few sparks flew. It was very funny. The guy was also really effeminate.

My fourth favorite performance was by this woman who goes onstage and starts to yodel. It was incredible how high and clear her voice was and how fast she can yodel. She spoke a completely insane language of notes and pitch -- before hers, my vocal chords will surely develop an inferiority complex.

Through this entire performance, I felt a bit like Polly in "An Old-fashioned Girl", all excited to be dressed up and "going to the opera house." There was a tinge of glamour in the air but I realize it's only because such an outing is rare and far between for me and I always relish it when the opportunity arises. I also realize of course that if I were to make a habit out of going to shows or operas, say, on a monthly basis, it would soon lose all magic and excitement. Therefore, best leave it to the rare blessed occasion and allow such things to retain their eternal appeal.

The Great White Tower

Last night I finished watching this Japanese drama about two physicians. The ending was perfect. I cried. I was intensely moved by the entire story and more specifically, because the show attempted to define what a good physician entails. Overwrought and anxious as I am about my own future career, watching this provided me a timely reminder that, ultimately, my goal is simple: I want to become a good doctor, and that, is entirely, up to me.

I was also genuinely touched by the mutual respect and fullness of feeling these two main characters (both physicians) have for each other. It goes beyond friendship, it has rivalry, and jealousy and competition, but also, tremendous respect, concern and care. In Chinese, "zhai hu" comes to mind. They very much "zai hu" each other, because they are conscious that on some level, they are yin to each other's yang. They are engaged in a battle of will, a dedication to their art, and loyalty to their own creed, yet at the same time, they long desperately to reach out and touch the other person, obtain their approval and understanding, or somehow land on the same page. In the end, their differences outweighed their similarities, or perhaps, they shared a true fondness for each other that overcame their vastly divergent beliefs. They were bonded to the end.

Jaded and cynical and stone-walled as I am to mawkish sentimentality, this drama resonated a stirring within me and I felt compelled to respond, or at least, to turn it over and over in my brain until it hurt. Even as I watched the weakness of Zaigen Sensei for fame and glory, I confronted the exact same vein of pettiness within myself. I'd LIKE to think I can be like Satomi Sensei instead, a Japanese male version of Mother Theresa, selflessly devoted to the sick, the tired and the poor. Between what I'd LIKE to think of myself and what I truly am however could not exist a wider gulf.

So I am humbled by this drama and I am reminded of what my own destiny will be. Fame, fortune and glory? Maybe not in store for me. But perhaps, if I keep my focus on that which is most important, my destiny will be fabuleux indeed.

My MogHam moment

I stayed up til past one last night, reading Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham. Since this is my personal pick for my book club, I am naturally more inclined to spend the time and effort to read this book thoroughly. So far, because this book is over 600 pages long, the members of my book club are struggling a bit, but I have confidence that we shall overcome.

Funny coincidence. I was in the lab on the weekend and ran into my ever so diligent coworker. Before I was heading off, I decided to introduce Maugham to him, because good things ought to be shared. As soon as I mentioned his name and showed him the book, he grinned and zipped out of his bag, The Razor's Edge, also another book by Maugham, and one of the first books I had read by him. We ended up, of course, having quite a lively discussion of Maugham.

So why do I like Of Human Bondage? I guess because I can relate quite intensely to Phillip, the introverted but voracious reader born with a club foot. I am quite aware of course that I carry with myself my own cross and symbolic club foot. In any case, Maugham is not only an astute observer of the human condition, he's also so so good at putting into words some of the more nebulous feelings and sentiments that lesser minds like myself have encountered, but nonetheless was unable to package into verbal maxim.

My personal nightmare, as I've mentioned before, is to have the sum of my life put together in a succinct paragraph or two, and that the paragraph happens to be mainly filled with negatives and that it also happens to be quite dead on the mark. That fate befalls perhaps 98% of all characters in Of Human Bondage.

Topics that were covered in OHB include passion, lust, pretentiousness, self-delusions, disillusionment, contempt for artsy-fartsy denizens, waste of life, true love, healthy love, unhealthy obsessions, self-anaylses, critical assessments of others, etc etc. The list goes on and on.

Interviewing up north

I’m back from my two day excursion to the North, stayed with my good friend from college, froze my butt off while treking from Queens to Manhattan, sat through an agonizing presentation given by a Director of Admissions, whom, as far as I could tell, was well practiced in the art of delivering bland and comfortable stock phrases, and an interview by this loopy professor who had a habit of giggling after every sentence or two. Did I make him nervous perhaps? Zeus! I was supposed to be the one peeing in my pants from overwrought anxiety. Instead, my nervousness soon turned to befuddlement, as I pondered over the possible sources of his obvious amusement. The conversation went like this.

Me: So yeah there was a bunch of literature that followed the CR that was termed scar literature. (I was expounding on what measely knowledge I still retained of East Asian studies way back when)

Prof: Interesting. I’ll definitely have to read about the CR in my spare time. [GIGGLE]

Me: nodding politely, striving for a semblance of enthusiasm. Definitely. I could recommend some books…

Prof: don’t know when I’ll get to it though. [Giggle.] Currently reading War and Peace. [GIGGLE] [GIGGLE GIGGLE]

Me: oh very ambitious project. Do you like it so far?

Prof: I’m on page 15. I’m going to give it to page 300 before I decide if I like it or not. Hehehehe.

Me: (having no clue how long W&P is, I ventured a quip nonetheless) By then, you’ll probably be like 1/3 of the way through.

In essence, I thought this professor was nice enough. I liked him though I just found him to be mildly strange, due to his incessant giggling, chortling, chuckling, whatever you want to call it. It was a laugh condition. But I also got the sense that he just did this as part of his job description, and he really couldn’t care two bits about the interviews. He asked me on a scale of 1 to 15, what my interest in primary care is. I said 12. I probably should have been a go-getter energizer bunny, slam my fist in my other hand and yell 15!!! But frankly, that’s not my style.

Ooh well, I hope I get a nice fat letter nonetheless! Cheers and happy Pig year all!

Non Sequitur

Yesterday just before I was going to traipse out of work, trying to beat the sunset in my dash for the comfort and safety that is home, I was waylaid by a well-meaning coworker. This co-worker, and I really like her, btw, has a tendency to speak very low when at work. (Catch her at happy hour and she becomes the MGM lion) Anyhow, she came up to me and she mumbled something really low. I heard "office of screaming girls, Valentine's Day, blah blah?" I looked at her uncertainly. She smiled affably, congenially, almost conspiratorily. I hesitated. She waited. I didn't really have the heart to burst her bubbles and ask her to repeat herself. It's a very deflating experience, to be asked to "come again?" Because I've had that experience many times and I hate it when people don't hear me the first time. Finally I ventured a very bland response. "Well, Valentine's Day is very overrated, as it is." I said, a bit uncertainly. She looked at me confusedly. Then she agreed, and proceeded to say, "Yes, but blah blah blah?" Essentially, she repeated her question, the question of course which I didn't get in the first place. This time, I heard it, I understood what she was trying to ask and finally, I smiled confidently, like someone who finally learned how to recite her alphabets in the correct order, I answered her question accordingly. So I probably was not altogether successful in pretending that I caught her question in time, but then I thought I was still a pretty smooth cat for my blase quip. As I am currently waiting on my RNA to finish their mass migration south, I have drawn a little picture to humour myself.

Today

An icy blanket has fallen over the DC metropolitan area. Federal government has decreed that employees are to come in two hours later. So after enjoying a nice cozy breakfast with family, I scooted upstairs to finish my morning toiletries. My mom fretted and my dad worried, because they didn't want me to drive on the icy roads. I poo-pooed their concerns, rather looking forward to my adventurous drive on the road. The ordinary has become tinged with a little excitement and I'm always attracted to excitement.

Driving out of my neighborhood proved the most harrowing. The roads have not been cleared, and it was caked with a thick layer of ice and snow. There were tracks laid down by previous intrepid explorers however and I very dutifully followed the already trodden path, going at the breakneck speed of 5 mph.

Later on the road, two things pissed me off. One was when people foolishly decide to walk on the cleared roads, regardless of whether or nor they were for pedestrians. I pictured a bowling ball knocking down pins, that's how it would look if my car were to skid out of control and slam into those g-damn idiots. I was mad that they not only put themselves in danger, but they also made me risk manslaugther. Needless to say, while passing by these people, I drop to almost a crawling pace, just so I won't have to go to jail for their idiocracy. I gave them the evil eye though and by God, I hope they felt that.

Second thing that pissed me off was when I was trying to inch my way ever so gingerly to another lane. A car behind me had the audacity to travel at, gasp!...30 mph. How dare he go so fast?? In short, he zoomed into the lane that I wanted to change into and forced me to sharply turn back into my own lane. Pissed off by this bad driver decorum, I immediately changed lanes and began tailgating him at the heart pounding speed of 35 mph. Then I had to laugh because I felt like we were in turtle world and though we were both in reality crawling, there was still road rage.

Anyway, today's the dreaded Vday. Hope everyone has a decent day and don't get too hung up over the Hallmark propaganda.

News and notes

Do you know what is the best smell in the world? Okay, the best smell in the world is the whiff of chicken soup brewing on the stove with black mushrooms and winter melons floating lazily on the surface as you walk in the door, cold and hungry. The second best smell in the world has to be men's cologne or aftershave on clean skin. I don't know why it just occurred to me, I don't even think I realized that I was missing it, but I really do like the smell of men's cologne on skin. mmmm...yummy....This is saying a lot from a girl who is notorious for her lack of olfactory abilities. I may not smell a lot but I do appreciate it when I get to. =)

In other news, I decided to postpone my trip up to New York due to inclement weather. I don't want to be singularly responsible for adding those extra gray hairs to my mom and dad's already increasing grayheadedness and I don't want to have the reason for my early and untimely demise to be, because I skidded off somewhere on I-95 due to the snow and sleet. I always fancied that if I have to go, I would go in a blaze of glory (and no, please don't read it as fire, dear God, I hate flames). Alright, enough tongue in cheek.

I read a great article by Maureen Dowd who delivered a scathing observation and indictment on today's flurry of "Chick Lit" that has taken over commercial bookstores. Ironic that it's a female who is so vengeful about it...or perhaps not so ironic after all. I find that women are often the harshest critics of other women sometimes. Not that I disagree with her, it seems that these days, we are overrun with fluffy books like "Good in bed" and other forgettable varieties, books that I confess I would pick up to read just for fun and completely forget the minute I put down the book.

Finally, I have to say that I felt an odd surge of pride to learn that a female has become the president of Harvard University. This is finally substantial proof that progress has been made and the gender gap is decreasing, if ever so infinitesimally smaller. I also felt at the same time an equal burst of shame for myself that I am not an ambitious road-runner/gunner/shoot for the top character. Will I ever stop being so lazy? How can I hope to my coveted blaze of glory by meandering lazily through the pasture of life? This lazy sheep has some serious self-recriminations to do.

The sound of emily's thoughts

For various reasons, I'm feelin' down in the dumps today. I guess I just need to find a way to pull myself out of this mudhole of self-pity and ennui. Oddly enough, listening to the Wierd Al's song, "You're pitiful" made me laugh and I felt better immediately. After all, that's what I was doing, feeling pitiful and there's no medicine better than self-deprecation.

I watched a Korean soap opera recently. The guy in there is really not the hottest sexiest most desirable thing I've ever seen, but for some reason, I was oddly moved by this guy. If someone like him walked into my life right now, I'd marry him in a heartbeat. There's just something about him that struck a chord in me. His name is Ahn Jae Wook. I would have too much fun with the name Wook, for one thing.

Lately a cold spell has fallen over the East Coast. It's man vs nature as we hunker down, grit our teeth and try to get through this bitter chill the best as we can. The cold weather has effectively dashed all my last motivations to do anything outside work however. As soon as I finish work, I make a mad dash for home. In the morning, I make a mad dash for work. I feel like a lemming.

Perhaps I should go swimming. I bought a new swimsuit, it's red and very sporty. I feel like an Olympic swimmer in my new swimsuit. I feel like I could be the Guardian. Anyone saw that movie? It's classic Hollywood cheese, with words like, "So that others may live" that play at the end of the movie to music that is grand and uplifting and sorrowful. It jerked two tears outt of me while I was strapped to my seat at 30,000 feet. Sniff...

My lame duck moment

My lame duck moment came today when I was sitting with my coworkers and happily munching on my crunchy bbq tortilla wrap. The sauce was so good and I must have been famished because I polished off my wrap in less than 5 minutes, which is an absolute stunning world record for this tortoise eater. Hm, okay, I am getting sidetracked by the food. Anyhoo, as I was happily munching away, I suddenly heard my mentor make some snide remarks about IRTAs (that's me) and very shortly after, all spotlight was turned on me as everyone turned to watch an appropriate reaction. Now was a moment of possible glory folks. I could have very coolly tossed my shiny hair back and calmly returned a witty, dead-on remark that defused the situation and made me appear possibly brilliant. What does this creature do? She looks confused and then she splutters and then she does the possible dorkiest thing ever, she protests hotly, "Nuh uhhhhhh. that's not true!" Aahh, smack on the head a dozen times over, how possibly more idiotic could I be? It was such a classic Scrubs moment where I could have come up with a great comeback and instead, I was only able to cough up something very juvenile and childish. If only my life was scripted and I have only the great, the smart, the deadly lines to deliver. Instead, looks like I got stuck with the village idiot role. =(

Taiwan II

Got back from Taiwan on Thursday night. Have been spending the past few days in shameless self-indulgence of the lazy cat variety. I slept when I wanted, ate when I wanted and watched TV til my eyes hurt. In Taiwan, I felt like I never got to rest properly and I think the fatigue took a heavy toll on me, even causing my appetite to decrease to the point where I wasn't able to enjoy the food in Taiwan with the relish it deserved! That, in itself, is the most tragic of all grievances.

I don't think I should bore you with the play by play of my trip. I should list some highlights however.

One day, I went to Taichong with my mom and her friend. After having the famous local dish known as "shan yu mian" (which isn't really all that, after all) we headed over to the world class Shinkong department store. While my mom had a mini reunion with her old classmates, I roamed around the mall through all of its nine floors. At the very top, I was rewarded with an exhibit of silk woven tapestries and paintings. I really wanted to take pictures, but there were guards around who made sure that didn't happen. Yet it was such joy to my eyes! I remember admiring one work, which is of a girl in a red and gold background, she herself was wearing red and was possibly a bride on her wedding day. The threads woven into that painting had an irisdescent hue and the entire work was absolutely mesmerizing - well because I like things that glow or are shiny. I am a raccoon at heart.

I got to spend time with my cousins. One of them is marrying possibly at the end of the year, possibly a little later, depending on how soon she can get her braces removed. This brings me to my new beef. If you flip open any random fashion magazine in Taiwan, you'd find girls dressed in all manners of getup, multiple layers is a neccessity, boots are a near necessity, or if not, at the very least, indecently high pumps. Most girls have either very long straight hair or they have very long hair, either way, it's usually very long. I wouldn't say every girl in Taipei dresses like she just strolled off the runway, but for the girls that do dress up, they really take "dressing up" to a whole new level. In the U.S., I consider myself to be slightly above casual and maybe a tad lower than trendy, basically a comfortable blend of trendy casual. In Taiwan, I realize I've been knocked soundly into the sub-casual region. I'm under-accessorized, overly reliant on solid shades and single layers and worst of all, I plodded all over TPE in my brown walking sneakers. Never have I felt the full brunt of being so UNCOOL.

The food in Taiwan is as usual slobber worthy. Everywhere you go, food is shoved into your face. There are the bakeries that show off rows and rows of gleaming pristine buns (play Heaven music now) which always beg to be devoured. There are the street markets with vendors hawking their wares, with people hunkered down near plastic tables, sloshing down soup and noodles. My mom is particularly attached to this particular type of fried flat bun with sesame on top. Inside its savory crust, you will find meat and vegies that work in some magical combination to produce an unforgettable and satisfying mouthful. It's only 10 NT to boot (30 cents US)

Then there's the frenetic pace of Taipei. Everyone in the city always seems to be rushing to somewhere. Nowhere can this be more evident than at the main Subway station of Taipei MRT. When you're trying to transfer from one train to another and you reach this main hall, suddenly before you, you would see a sea of black heads bobbing to and fro. No matter how often I've been to that main hall myself, I never cease to pause inwardly and look on the scene before me with an appropriate degree of awe. Maybe it's because I spent the better half of my life in the suburbs. Maybe it's also because I spent the better half of my life in a diverse country. So it's always a slight cultural shock to see so many of my own kind out there, because I'm so used to being outnumbered and not part of a vast majority. Of course, on a global scale, I know I have the distinct pleasure of being part of the race that is 1.3 billion strong =P

Okie dokes, I'm a little tired from my rambling. I think I will write of more amusing adventures when it suits me. Now excuse me while I guzzle some more Robitussin down...

Taiwan

Here I am in the city of my birth. So far the weather has been very nice, cool but not cold, slightly wet, slighty drizzley, as befitting winters here. I've had some goooood food. But I confess, the simple thrill of being here sometimes affect my taste buds to the extent that everything at first taste absolutely divine.

Everyday has been very hectic. I've been rushing around with my mom, hitting up place A and then place B and then place C. It's a constant rush. I'm tired, but I feel like it's worth it.

I will have to write later because I got to rush off now for further social obligations...

The Clan of the Great Cave Bear

Each time I see this book (and I've seen it many times now over the years of my persusal at bookstores or libraries), I have a vague feeling that we've met before, but I could never be quite certain if I've actually read this book.

So recently I picked it up at the library to satisfy my curiosity once and for all. Last night, then, I spent six very companionable hours with this book. Six hours! I started reading the book at 10 PM, and by the time I finished, it was pushing 4 AM. I was amazed how fast time flew, but I was deeply immersed in the story so that's why six hours passed in a blink of an eye.

The story tells of a young blond girl, whom, at five years old, was separated from her family and adopted by a different clan, a group of people that are wholly different from her, not just appearance-wise, but on some level, they are in a different evolutionary branch altogether. However (spoiler alert) she is able to produce viable offspring with a clan member, so they must be within the same species at least.

The writing is descriptive and expansive, sparing no words to describe scenes and people. It's not brilliant writing, because it takes about 200 words to say what a more accomplished writer might be able to say in 50. From a literary standpoint, it's easy reading but the story is close cousin to the dime and nickel romance adventure novels. However, I would still give kudos to the author who made some very detailed narrative sketches of a woman who finds her inner strength, develops her skills and mind to defy a clan of neantherthals (essentially).

What also gives the story warmth and depth is the deep love that she shares with her two adoptive parents, a shaman of the clan, who is an old, crippled man filled with wisdom before his time. The other woman is a medicine woman, and sister to the shaman. The profession of medicine is unabashedly elevated to a status of honor and almost spiritual importance.

The part I like best is when she begins to secretly teach herself to hunt by using a sling weapon. It's a taboo within the clan for females to hunt (any woman who touches a weapon is severely reprimanded and if she should hunt, they are cursed with death) So my inner feminist was ra-raing the whole time while I read about her becoming as good or better than anybody in the clan with the slingshot weapon.

In short, this book was a very feminist saga of one woman who was adopted by people very different than her and imposes strict rules and regulations of male and female hiearchy. As this novel was written in 1980, I have a feeling that the whole struggle for female rights is not far from this author's mind. Yet it was also couched in a story of love, of adventure, of survival and makes for a great Friday night reading.

The Diet Coke Story

This afternoon, seized as I was by a sudden attack of thirst, I fumbled through my wallet for change. The machine was finicky about the dollar bill and has been known to swallow the paper and then go into a bill induced coma, unresponsive to all kicking and screaming by the frustrated consumer.

So, being ever so clever, I scrounged up a dollar and walked around the lab to ask for change. Person A, always kind and helpful, managed to dig up 90 cents. I went to Person B, slightly more gruff but still nice at heart, and he tossed me a dime. I was very grateful with my handful of coins and jingled them in my pocket on my way to the vending machine.

When I got there, I put everything in meticulously and pressed on the WATER button. Dasani beckons allluringly like a sea siren. However, the reverie stopped there, abruptly, when I realize that the machine was silent and stony. Nothing. Slightly alarmed, I went to push another button when HORROR of HORRORS, I hit Diet Coke instead. NOOOOOO! I was the picture of "Scream" my friends, as I clasped my head in agony and deep anguish. I was ready to beat my chest in despair, and slam my head against the wall. Okay, no I wasn't. But what I really did do was pump my fist in aggravation and even hopped a little. It was very uncharacteristic of me, but for some reason, I was all id today, I want my drink and I want it now! Person A happened to be in the same room at the time and witnessed my tantrum, she couldn't help chuckling and said, you're funny when you get upset. That's because I am usually a kabuki/botox/mask girl, I show no emotions, apparently.

Anyways, the story doesn't end here. As luck would have it, a guy in my lab LOVES diet coke, so my first thought was to pawn it off him. I went to him and tried to sell it to him. However, he saw through my ruse and very shrewdly gives me 60 cents in exchange for my room-temp diet coke. I took it meekly, because I know he was doing me a favor. The rest of the lab laughed and ribbed him hard for taking advantage of a postbac, who gets paid next to nothing. I said, this is why I'm not in business, because I'm always gonna be the one who gets ripped off.

But 60 cents wasn't enough to get another drink, so I went to my wallet once more and scrounged up another dollar bill and marched back to the machine. Lo and behold, the machine took my dollar bill without a hitch!!! And then I got an ice tea out of it. When I got back to my desk, I found that he had replaced the 60 cents with a dollar, for feeling somewhat bad, he very good humouredly bought my diet coke for the full price. All this was going on to the great amusement of my lab mates, who thought it was very funny that there was so much to do over one small drink.

Persuasion

I just spent the last three hours immersed in Jane Austen's last novel. Reading a romantic novel such as this always puts me in a pensive mood. I enjoyed the novel for its insights to the human heart, the intricacies of a woman in love complete with the full portrayal of insecurities, jealousies, cowardice, pining, subtlety of gestures and stealthy observations to satisfy one's many whimsical questions and curiosities.

I'm less satisfied with the portrayal of the men in the novel though, because they seem to be less complete, less abundantly and fully fleshed out.

But putting aside my inner literary critic, I want to talk at length about this thing called persuasion. It is true that people in positions of authority or are perceived wiser by virtue of their age or experience have the power of persuasion. They can greatly influence a less experienced person, to sway a person's way of thinking.

I'm often quite torn between the american ideals of independent thinking (self-reliance per Emerson) and following the well meaning advice of my elders, when they run contrary to my wishes. I've been told that I'm actually a very willful person, despite my laidback persona. I can't decide whether to be pleased or troubled by such an adjective. I suppose only time will tell, in a strictly practical manner, whether being willful leads to fruitful and abundant living or a joyless muck of an existence.

Such is my state of mind too when it comes to the subject of dating and marriage. It seems to me like everyone has their ideas of what would be "good" for me. I sometimes find myself wondering whether or not I truly know what's best for me. Will I be a silly foolish woman, running after the appearance of true love only to find out that it's an empty facade? Will I be a smart thinking individual, with both feet planted solidly on the ground and approach the problem from multiple angles? As I'm getting ready to embrace the twilight zone of my 20's, I have to admit that being more cautious, being more wary, being more cognizant of various factors play a bigger and bigger role. Gone are my impulsive and happy go lucky college days when I'm not capable of thinking beyond a year in advance. I think I've now progressed to at least thinking 4-5 years in advance. All this thinking though, based mostly on wonderings and endless musings, have been more than a little wearisome.

When being somewhat tired or restless, my inner houdini kicks into high gear and I think with much relish to the summer when I can take a nice long trip to anywhere in the world really, but most likely asia. I would like at least part of the trip to be a solitary sojourn, for me to travel the world, fancy myself a character in a fairy tale (to seek her fortunes in the world) and hopefully to learn more about myself at the end of the trip, or gain some pearls of wisdom through various encounters along the way.

Wormy morning

Today is a gloomy Monday morning. The steady rain that started from the night before ensured one thing: thoroughly soaked land and mass migration of worms from down below. I've never been more grossed out, as I first walked from the garage to my car and as per my custom, would look down to gingerly step over the various megadriles sprawled in every which way. I saw fat ones that were easy to sidestep and really thin ones. In fact, to my horror, I think a lot of earthworm babies had just been birthed, because I saw so many thin pink string like objects on the ground and seriously, it was like Times Square for worms.

At my work place, I had to walk about 4 minutes to the building. That was a harrowing trip and as I walked to the building, I was chanting "gross gross gross" to myself, as I once again traveled in hip hops, trying to not be the reason certain earthworms meet their maker today. I also tried not to breathe or inhale too deeply because you can smell the scent of squashed worms in the air. I was especially fascinated and disgusted at the same time by this particularly FAT long juicy oozing worm. It was so big. I think it's an all you can eat buffet for some lucky birds out there.

Okay enough about worms, seriously, I need to get a life as I just spent the last 15 minutes expounding on the topic of these legless creepy crawlies.

oh YES

I am the woman!!! I just fixed my aunt's computer and made it internet accessible by installing a wireless pci card into the computer. I did it with great hesitation and more than a little trepidation because the first time I attempted such a stunt, the computer's motherboard decided to buy a one way ticket to heaven. Which is to say, it died. After much hullahoo, we finally got another motherboard in place and at first I wanted to just use some plug and play wireless adaptor, but that was a piece of crap.

I'm so happy I'm blogging away even while the computer is still not put together fully. I guess I just wanted to gloat about my awesome hands on skills.

Hm..well...since I'm blogging anyway, I might as well provide some ever so exciting updates. I watched a Chinese film called Peony Pavilion which documented this ambiguous and more than a little sensual relationship between two women. But the hottest scene of all was when one of the women had an affair with her coworker. That guy is HOT. His name is Daniel Wu, if anyone's interested in oogling. He's got a nice build.

One poor member of my family, due to a slip, is now condemned to walk around with an arm in the sling. I am designated her "right-hand woman" -- literally, since it's her right hand that's out of commission for the time being. I am learning how to serve, but sometimes, I admit, not as gladly as I should be, especially when I'm preoccupied with my own thing, which is about 99% of the time.

I have to finish Persuasion by 1/11 in time for my new book discussion club's inaugurated meeting. I hope I will be able to finish in time and then intelligently put in some input. My lit hum professors will be so proud.

The BABY's bill of rights

On my way to work today I heard an interesting debate regarding two parents' decision to stunt the growth of their nine year old mentally disabled child, thereby, through artificial means, keep her childlike for the rest of her life. At nine years old, she has the bone age of a 15 year old, therefore, at about 4 feet 5 inches or so, she has already grown to 99% of her total height. Through surgery, she will never develop a womanly figure, nor be able to give birth, nor even to have menstruation like a fully grown woman.

Outraged callers from all over the world are tsk-tsking the actions and decisions of these parents and horrified at the violation of this child's human rights. However, they should bear in mind that the nine year old child has the mental capacity of a 3-month old baby, she can't lift her head, she can't walk, she can't even swallow food, but is fed through a feeding tube.

Although the procedures are indeed drastic and irreversible, and I question the long term health benefits of injecting her with such high doses of hormonal treatments to alter growth, let's face it, this is not a person capable of making and executing decisions for herself. Leave her on the street somewhere and she'd perish within a day or two. Her entire life is kept up through very artificial means. The word "normal" in her life is turned upside down. She may develop sex organs but she will not be a normal woman. The fact that she can develop "normally" in a physical way does not mean that in fact, she will indeed live a normal productive adult life.

Maybe I'm short on patience when it comes to the more practical matters, but the way I see it, the parents are the ones who will be her hand and foot slaves for the rest of their lives, If they feel they can take better care of her as a 65 lb "child" instead of a 150-200 lb grown woman, all the power to them. At the end of the day, taking care of a mentally disabled and physically incapacitated person is no walk in the park. The parents have actually written a blog trying to defend their decisions based on the fact that it was good for her, not just merely convenient for them. However, and this may be offensive to some people, I think it's perfectly alright that the parents may have also done these treatments on their daughter with the intent of making it easier on themselves too.

What is the problem here? This child, essentially a mindless creature, most likely devoid of self-consciousness, has the right to be loved and to be cared for by the people who will do so. That's IT. As far as I'm concerned, she has as many rights as the baby who has to get a polo vaccine shot. It would be absurd to expect a baby to clutch a baby sized pen in his chubby fingers and meticulously sign on the dotted line.

January First, immersed in the Curse

Monday night I went to watch the new film by Zhang Yimou titled “Curse of the Golden Flower.” It was so irisdescent and awashed with color, that it bordered on being an eyesore, but only in certain scenes. I was unprepared for the heaviness of this film, of an order that matched the darkest Shakespearean tragedy. Bold colors of gold, aqua blue, magenta pink, rich embers of hues decorate the cinematography. Watching this, I get the sense that Zhang Yimou was not so much a film director, but a painter artist at heart.

The opening scenes showing the multitudes of palace slaves getting ready for their day reminded me of how it was in Spirited Away, when you get a grand bird’s eye view of the spa house and what it took for all its oiled parts to kick into gear at the same time. Except in this movie, it took precision and clockwork team effort to a whole new level. Everyone did everything in synchronous motion, from brushing hair, putting on dresses and going through morning toiletries. It emphasized more than ever the dehumanization of any one person, the robotization of mankind.

Gong-li was resplendent and convincing as the miserable but still regal empress. She carries the noble burden very admirably and is able to, despite a certain distance that separates us lowly human beings from her, convey the universal themes of human emotion: jealousy, anxiety, bitterness, resignation, anger, and borderline insanity. One of my beefs with this film would be that no comic relief was ever present in the movie. It started out grand but heavy, it ended grand and even heavier. It was just heavy heavy heavy. I left the theater, half dazed from all the dazzling colors, but my heart felt heavy from the burden of such enormous bloodshed and tragedy. It was definitely not the type of movie to kick off the new year in a happy go lucky way.

My feelings about this film are mixed. On the one hand, the mega production of this film, the grandiose battle scenes were awe-inspiring. The film makes me feel like a very small insignificant thing, in the face of the millions of troops that surged onscreen. It was LOTR without the CGI effects. On the other hand, the sheer grandeur of the battle scenes also serve to make the main characters smaller than life too, less important, more distant and consequently, less to be concerned with in my mind. These petulant and conniving royalties, with their incestuous affairs and tyrannical natures, caused the deaths of thousands who have no better way to explain their deaths except that they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Tragic, really, so terribly tragic.

The film was not without redeeming characters. The second son of the empress, Prince Jai, came through as the sole purist with a noble heart. Amidst the muck and dirty swamp that characterizes his royal family, he is the sole lotus flower that rises above it. I think Jay Chou brought to the character an admirable performance. He’s not an obvious choice to be cast in that role, I guess, because he lacks the noble appearance of his parents, but it doesn’t matter, because he came through in the end. I have nothing to say about the older brother, appearance wise, he’s a major turn off, character-wise, he’s even worse. I don’t know why he was cast and what purpose he served other than to be wretched and pathetic and just gross.

Zhang Yimou was one of my first favorite Chinese directors, back when I first began to watch films critically and appreciate them above and beyond the typical Steve Chow or Jackie Chan mad-dash and entertainment. His earlier films were powerful and moving or more than a little disturbing. This film, his latest, definitely is very disturbing but also very powerful, in a different way. It wasn't so much powerful in terms of its emotional impact, but more from an aesthetic standpoint, it delivers triumphantly. The use of music and sound were also very effective. At the end, I felt like I had been to an opera and I was left drained, because the visual feast served not to nourish me, but rather, it absorbed energy from me, That was the price of enjoying this film, Curse of the Golden Flower.