Thursday, September 29, 2005

dedicated to sleepy students

kidnapexam
Help! Help! There's a kid nap!

At 11am this morning, I received an SMS from my 17 year-old sis that read something like this: "Oh no! I think I am going to flunk my GP* exam! How? etc etc"

Being the older sis who used to be a teacher and a fine survivor of this island's hectic education system, I offered this piece of (useless) advice/comfort: "Don't worry."

For the past two weeks, I have come home to find her asleep at the table, her head resting on an open book.

"Hey E, why don't you go to sleep?" I would say, nudging her.

She would make some sort of a noise, but barely move. On the table I would find a mug, emptied of its coffee. And beside it, a small empty glass jar that used to contain Essence of Chicken. And on the floor a couple of steps away, there must be some 8 cartons-worth of that dark concentrate!

Tonight, J and I found her by her table as usual, the book open before her. And though she was seated upright, her head hung low.

Of course, I offered more useless words to the 17 year-old.

"You know, no one cares whether you fail this or not. When you are my age, you'll realise that all this doesn't matter. It makes no difference to your life. It's not important. It won't change anything. Just relax. You'll look back and see that exams don't really count towards anything."

She gave a weak smile to all that, her eyes half closed.

OK, since I was probably not being that convincing, the task of being the kind advisor was passed to J.

J, whose A-level results at 18 had spelled D-A-D or A-D-D (at least there's a vowel!), assumed the role with more empathy.

"Hey, I was just like you. Wah, don't know why, long ago when I was preparing for my "A-level" exams, I just want to sleep. Every time I look at my books, then immediately, ka-bom - my head would hit the table and I would sleep. I tried everything to stay awake, but cannot. Coffee. Red bull. Chicken Essence. Washing my face. I wanted to give up, don't study anymore. Maybe can go and be an air steward."

At this point, the 17 year-old giggled. "You are so himbo!"

Undeterred by the remark, J continued. "Then I thought I should sleep under the table instead."

"Huh? Why?"

"If I sleep somewhere really uncomfortable, then maybe I won't sleep for long and will wake up to study mah. But of course even this didn't work. But I found quite an effective way later. I found out that there's this other guy in the opposite block of flats who was up always as late as me. Probably also studying. So I watched the light in his room. I told myself if he is still awake, I would be too. It was like some competition. No matter how sleepy I was, I kept the lights on. Only when I saw that his room was dark, then I would go to sleep. After a while, I think he realised that there's this crazy guy living across from him who is challenging him!"

Disbelief was on her face. She looked to me, as if to ask - why are you going out with this weird guy?

"Eh, I even tried to trick him once. I was damn sleepy, but the light in his room was still on. Wah lau, still studying! So I switched off the lights in my room. He fell for the trick!" J proudly declared. "After a while, he also switched off his lights. Haha, then I turned on the lights and went back to studying. But not for long lah..."

I don't think we managed to convince the stressed-out teenager to call it a night and get herself to bed, or assuaged her fears about flunking. But at least she had 30 minues of distraction...and human company.


help for the sleepy students - the chickens have not died in vain

-------------
*GP = General Paper, a writing and general knowledge paper that is part of the "A"level examination system

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

human waves

Finally, a decent novel by Haruki Murakami to erase that nightmare Kafka on the Shore!

If there were any possible excesses in After Dark, they are reined in by the simple formal structure of the book. The novel unfolds from midnight till daybreak, following a set of characters through their sleep or sleeplessness. It is a most rhythmic book, the narrative mimics the slow descent of night with its darkening story, pace and tone; and into the lightheadedness of 4am, a time when secrets are often revealed. And the quick approach of a new day in the novel also offers a quick glimpse into a new start for 2 of the key characters - a reconciliatory, restorative sleep for the insomniac, and the promise of wakefulness for the one in the deepest of emotional slumber.

The passing of time is absolute, but the meaning of each hour is perhaps relative or relational. Four o'clock is of meaning only when it is relates to an activity or what does or does not happen at say three or five o'clock. In and of itself, four o'clock has limited meaning.

take your time to goIn the same way, human relationships offer the characters redemptive power. Alone, the characters disappear into mirrors or television screens - narcisism or insecurity. The heroic task here is for characters who can recover reference points for love and compassion outside of the self.

The one "problem" I guess the novel poses is this - If one does not even have a confident, healthy sense of identity, honest, loving relationships are also not possible. But the trick is, how do you achieve the former without turning into some narcissistic creature at some level, unable to engage in meaningful, non-exploitative relationships? It's a little of an chicken or the egg thing.

And it is here that Murakami, at his best, grounds his fantasies and escapades with a quiet critique of modern Japan. In this case, the narrative is scattered withthe things that encourage narcisism and a selfish living, but more importantly, erode our sense of identity and sabotage human relationships. The most obvious is Tokyo's distinctive "love hotels". The one in the novel is named pointedly after the movie Alphaville. It seems a little obvious, but of course, modern Japan runs the risk of turning into an Alphaville - a land where its people can no longer love or communicate.

trafficfriendsThe taxi driver who sent me home at eleven tonight taught me a new term for how humans draw out each other. "Human waves".

The passenger the driver had picked up before me was also living in my neighbourhood. Remarking on the coincidence, he went on to describe instances where he would send a passenger from pt A to B, drive fruitlessly to point C, before being brought to pt B to pick up the same passenger back to pt A. He laughed and said that maybe the fare meter had special "meter waves"... but he corrected himself and added that it must be "human waves" that they had sent to each other instead. I agreed and laughed. And I arrived home.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

Imperfection

7 random people spotted at cafes

I'm no Kabbalist, but I learnt recently that in the book of Revelations 7 is supposed to be a number for perfection and completeness. There's also the lucky 7, the 7 deadly sins, Kurosawa's 7 Samurai, John Ford's The Magnificent Seven...and now, the blogosphere's 7 meme that malefactor and thirty pounces tagged me with. It seemed simple enough to complete at first: 7 lists of 7 items. But I was wrong.

And since perfection in life is an impossibility on this fallen earth, here's my imperfect 7.

7 things that scare me:
1. Horror movies...even trailers for horror movies
2. Empty public toilets
3. Quiet, empty streets at night
4. Taking the lift alone at night (thanks to trailers for Dark Water)
5. Losing family/friends to disease/death
6. Heights
7. Lizards

7 things I like the most:
1. Chowchow (see #1 next)
2. A late morning coffee at Killiney Kopitiam on a weekday when everyone else is working
3. BBQ chicken wings (made by the guy in the photo holding the Starry Wings t-shirt )
4. Funny-looking children
5. Weekend mornings in bed (watching cartoons)
6. An empty swimming pool all to myself on a clear day
7. Stories

7 important things in my room:
1. My security blanket - Chow-chow (trans: smelly). It has been with me since I was 5...I have so many stories of Chowchow I think I shall soon dedicate a post to it. I love Chowchow. Wherever there is Chowchow, it's my room.
2. Coming in a distant second is my 6-month old ibook.
3. Shelves of booksbooksbooks

Ok, that's only 3. Imperfect but at least it's a prime number.

7 random facts about me:
1. I have been having a recurring dream for the past few years. In it, I find myself in Cambridge UK again, rushing to buy groceries at Sainsbury's before it shuts, looking for my old bike, checking my mailbox...getting asked by people why have I returned. Uneventful, really. But so persistent and predictable.
2. I have a sister who is 14 years younger than me
3. I chew my finger nails and have never had to cut them
4. I'm a good girl (my closest brush with the law is for jaywalking in front of a police station)
5. I am taller than Tolkein's hobbits
6. I have only watched 1 horror movie - Poltegeist - from start to end. Never again.
7. I had acute pneumonia last year and had to stay in Tan Tock Seng Hospital's new isolation ward (built after the SARS scare and at the start of the avian flu).

7 things i plan to do before i die:
1. Publish a picture/graphic/anything book or 7
2. Start and sustain a retail store - books, music, clothes, toys...
3. Start and sustain a good publishing company
4. Take my mom on more holidays
5. Complete a MFA
6. Help out on a regular, committed basis with a youth organisation
7. Of course, to make sure 1-6 stand a higher chance: quit my job.

7 things i can do:
1. Write funding proposals, 8 hours a day if I have to
2. Write long sentences with multiple digressions and parentheses and exclamation marks (though not in funding proposals, however much I am tempted to)
3. Look on the bright side...
4. Say sorry first
5. Curl up in an economy class plane seat
6. Draw strangers on the train between stops
7. Draw strangers while eavesdropping on their conversations

7 things I can't do:
1. Watch horror movies
2. Stay angry
3. Talk softly (here, my mother's demure Teochew ways are overwhelmed by my Father's loud, southern, Hainanese genes. Hainanese women are supposedly known for their revolutionary spirit. And of course, revolutionaries must have loud, bold voices. )
4. Whistle
5. Drive
6. Grow taller
7. Remember things I was supposed to do/bring/remember (hence #1 below...)

7 things I say the most:
1. "Aiyah, I forgot!"
2. "No probs"
3. "Funny siah"
4. "I need a coffee"
5. "Nice, very lang ga" (trans: crash/collide/clash)
6. "Nice, very let-low" (trans: retro)
7. "You ah, you're really full of shit" (To J only, and really, it's affection)

7 celebrity crushes:
Hmm...none. Another imperfection. So here's a photo instead of a perfect-looking mushroom we spotted this morning.

The photo is by J who, though not a celebrity, is the closest I can think of as a crush.






7 people who could do this:
Most people i know who have a blog have done this or have already been tagged...so the remaining folks are -
- terz
- jing
- wurx
- radiohate
- thinktank
- wheyface

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

have your cake, eat it

child suspect
A child suspect!

J was observing a photo shoot today at work involving a family scene. He told me this story of what he had overheard at the photo shoot. I stole the story to re-tell it to you here...

One of the "talents" at the photo shoot was a 4 year old girl who spent most of the breaks drawing, making cards for every one there.

GIRL: Mommy, when I grow up I want to still draw like this every day.
MOM:You sure? If you do, you won't have enought money to buy all the nice things.
GIRL: Oh. [Pause, clearly disappointed] I want to buy nice things.
MOM: Then you must be like your daddy, be a banker.
GIRL: Oh, ok! I'll be a banker and I'll draw everyday!

Now, mommy, why didn't you think of that?

My encounter was with a smart girl of a different sort. Catching me probably sketching her, she quickly cast me a suspicious look. Little girl, don't you think you are far more suspect, taking the morning train all alone?

Sunday, September 18, 2005

get the girl some poetry

midautumn
Chinese ink drawing from years ago

The mid-autumn festival is my favouritest of festivals (yes, monster ru,miles better than the delicious but tiresome Chinese New Year), only because it is the most poetic.

There is no poetry in Chinese New Year - all fake firecrackers, bad television, the greedy examination of ang baos* (I confess!), inquisitive relatives who might as well have been strangers, and long warm car rides with dad, mom, sis, bro, aunt and mandarin oranges. Even those auspicious idioms chanted like spells as the yusheng is tossed and the endless puns with luck-prosperity-wealth-health-plenty are just words enslaved to avarice and anxiety.

But the mid-autumn festival is different.

It has all the ingredients for a perfect poetry -

Firstly, there is the moon, perfect in its glow and geometry. On it are supposedly a bunny and the annual meeting of star-crossed lovers (a cross-species love, since she is a fairy and he a mortal). He would have traveled the milky way to meet with her only on this day! And if our lovers manage to disengage their gaze from each other, they would look down on earth at children and the childish with our lanterns (lit or on fire, good fun either way). Last but not least, even the festive food eschews the crass puns of New Year. Yue Bing - because the Moon Cake dares to be literal and prosaic in its name, I shall declare it poetic in its signicance! All its sweetness is tolerable only with the bitterness of a tea sipped.

Right. OK folks, since I don't write poetry, all this lyricism I have lavished on the mid-autumn festival is just a literary fancy.

Back at Toa Payoh Lorong 8, whatever poetry the mid-autumn festival promised was recited through a public karaoke session organised by the Potong Pasir Town Council. A simple stage was set up right under the large trees by the hawker centre with the world's best BBQ chicken wings. All the hawkers generously lent their chairs to the event and a crowd of 100 gathered. This was no professional getai (my guess is they don't have the money for one!). Instead, one after the other, residents in their shorts and slippers went on stage to belt out Hokkien and mandarin karaoke classics. Who says we are not a spontaneous people?

As J and I devoured our fried hokkien mee, we recognised the familiar strains of Long Shu Xia*. We turned and looked...it was a man, wearing a short-sleeved shirt, trousers and a garland of jasmines. Of course, it was Chiam See Tong! The crowd cheered and clapped for probably Singapore's most tireless opposition party member of parliament as he gamely sang!

At 9pm, with just 3 hours left before we would have lost all chance to fulfil the poetic potential of this festival this year, J attempted to save the day. Ever the sweet boy, J revealed this creation he had made in the afternoon for me while I napped... an ampulets lantern!

lanterntop.jpg lantern1.jpg

It was as much poetry as 3 toilet rolls, some wire, masking tape and 2 pencils could muster. And it was enough.

------------------------
*ang baos Red packets, containing money and given out by the married folks.
*long shu xia I think this means "under the banyan tree" and made popular in the 70s by Taiwanese singer Yu Tian?

Saturday, September 17, 2005

THEY ARE HERE!!!



We brought the T-shirts home in a big red plastic bag today. Our babies! Finally.

So go check out the Starry starry Wings and Down with Love T-shirts at ampulets-supplies, and the outcome of our living room fashion shoot.

Friday, September 16, 2005

Akan Datang...

Mrs Tan just called to say that we can go collect the Starry starry Wings and Down with Love T-shirts tomorrow! Hoorah! So folks, check back here tomorrow for the T-shirt "fashion shoot" where ampulets will play models...and get your wallets ready please!

Thursday, September 15, 2005

family

family

I spent the evening having a long chat with my aunt who recently had a worrying healthcheck. Even though we live under the same roof, it must have been more than a year (or two!) since we both last sat and had a conversation that went beyond three sentences. I'll stop here before I start sounding like a MCYS campaign, and leave you instead with this picture.

The weekend's coming up - is there someone you are thinking of?

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

scaredy cat











Scaredy Cat, scaredy cat
run away when you see a rat
- image by J


It's only been one week, but he has changed.

"No longer civil," J concluded solemnly.

He is crouched by the tree, in exactly the same spot as the past few weeks - but his posture says that he will at any moment jump, scoot, spring into the drain - and away. Gone is the open, curious gaze. Maybe the past one week has taught the cat-man to fear losing one of his nine lives to some sick, nasty passer-by.

I guess fear and possession together make a two-edged sword. The more you possess, the more you fear losing any of it. Yet if you say you fear losing nothing, does it mean that there is nothing valuable enough for you to want to protect, love and hold on to? If this fear is so real, how complete or absolute can our possession be? The people, property, experiences, and experiences that become memories (hmm, where do memories go after they leave us?) we think we possess. And on a larger material scale, whole villages, entire cities. If we do not lose them to crashing waves, wars and hurricanes, then to the sure decay of moisture, mites, dust, fungus, viruses, fire, toxins, the sun. I chanced upon this from the L.A. Times:

Houses that have been sitting in floodwater for days face severe structural damage. In many cases, it may be cheaper and more realistic to build new homes than to try to salvage existing homes.

Flooding problems
- Moisture weakens wood and can trigger growth of fungus and mold.
- Sediment and water collect in walls, short-circuiting electrical systems.
- A tilting wall or an askew roof threatens a collapse.
- Appliances suffer extensive damage.
- Contaminants migrate into household items.

Additional problems
- Interior surfaces, including flooring and drywall, are destroyed.
- Brick and cinder block expand and crack; mortar can dissolve.
- Pressure from water and soaked earth can crack or lift the foundation.
- Insects and other organisms breed in standing water.

Elizabeth Bishop gave good advice in a poem to "lose something every day". This way, we woudl get used to it. Because the truth is, like it or not, we do lose or risk losing something every day. At the very least, we shed time and tired cells (oh, sweet fruity youth!).

Yet no matter how much or little we have lost, or if we were numbed to it, it is probably still hard to respond like that man Job. Job, though having lost everything, could still declare this: "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return; the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

I am not sure I have Job's faith yet when it comes to loss.

Almost a year ago, J's health report gave birth to a fear. We joked about the "abnormal" numbers in the report, calling J's liver foie gras. But for me at least, the joke was just to cover up an anxiety whether something more serious lay behind that diagnosis. It's an anxiety that has stayed with me since then. Last night, an aunt who has always lived with my family came back from the doctor's with news that there's a growth near her ovary. I prayed for her health, but it is still worrying. How I fear losing those I love! If only they all have nine lives...then maybe the fear would go away.

Friday, September 9, 2005

living and loving

WARNING If you have not watched the film Eric Khoo's Be With Me, there are major spoilers in this post. It's really quite a decent - ok, good - film, so go watch then come back here and tell me what you think yah?

The inadequacy of words to express what we feel or mean is not an uncommon theme in cinema or theatre. We have often accused words of betraying, hurting (even if inadvertantly), distracting, misleading.

Those blessed with the capacity for speech do poorly in Eric Khoo's latest film Be with me. In 2 of the 3 inter-linked stories that make up this film, the spoken word cannot bring people together. There's probably only 1 page worth of spoken script, but when these characters do speak, they mostly use their lips to insult or curse. A lonely and abused security guard plans to confess his crush on a woman (a stranger he follows) through a letter instead, though the letter is never read. 2 teenage girls who fall in and out of love meet and bear their hearts to each other through the internet chatroom, and eventually conduct their breakup through SMSes. A broken heart is a deleted, unrequited SMS. So not only the spoken word, but the typewritten and handwritten words of love are fruitless.

As such, when people in this film truly love, they do so mostly without words.

In the 3rd story, the old shopkeeper who brings food to his bedridden wife in the hospital, silently sits by her bed, and wordlessly they hold their hands and faces to each other in a final farewell. Silently he mourns her death - but it is not a stoicism. Because silently, he also continues to yearn into her being into his presence - while stoicism perhaps knows no yearning. The shopkeeper's son, a social worker, cannot penetrate his father's grief (the old man responds with only 1 word at dinner, "eat!") with words. When the social worker rushes to the hospital to be with a teenage girl who has just attempted suicide because of a broken heart, their eyes meet and he smiles a wordless comfort.

lovers nap
Some silent loving

However, all this silent loving finds an unexpected counterpoint in the film's inspiration and central figure, Theresa Chan.

61 year-old Theresa Chan is not silent, even as she loves. She speaks. And her speech brings to your ears not only the shape, but the solidity of each word. Unexpected because Theresa Chan became deaf at the age of 14 and blind soon after. She nonetheless learnt to speak and write her second language English after war heroine Elizabeth Choy met and brought her to school. Later, she attends the Perkins Institute in the US; travels the world; falls in love and loses her only love to nose cancer - on Christmas; prays; teaches craft to visually impaired children; goes grocery shopping; takes a swim; cooks meals; sweeps the floor; and speaks those shapely words.
"When God took away my hearing and my sight, he put a wall between me and living."
Yet she goes on to traverse this wall daily.

In fact, everything else about living that God has given and not taken away from her (speech, taste and touch - and words) become the means for redeeming both life and love in this film. It is her typewritten autobiography (versus the desperate SMSes and wishful love letters of the other 2 stories) that comforts and brings hope to the shopkeeper. Her appreciative tasting of the shopkeeper's homecooked meals (versus the security guard's daily feasting to stem his frustrated desires) draws the shopkeeper out from his grief. And in the film's final scene, she embraces the weeping shopkeeper (versus the schoolgirls/boy's weighted, fickle making-out) who finally accepts the death of his spouse.

It is amazing, with so much of living and loving in this 3rd story, why Eric Khoo had even bothered with the 1st 2 stories? But I shall not quarrel with this and begrudge Eric Khoo, his crew and cast this Bravo!

-----------------
p/s The film opened at both Lido and Orchard Cineleisure this Thursday. The film is distributed by Warner Brothers.

Thursday, September 8, 2005

Everyone wants to be Eileen Chang

So do I.

Except I don't want to die alone in an apartment somewhere in LA. A recluse - my body found only days later.


Zhang Ai Ling - I prefer her Chinese name instead og Eileen Chang - was nothing less than a literary phenomenon. Despite the fact that most of her works were written only within a short span of 3-5 years in her late 20s-30s, and came to a virtual stop once she moved to America, her works continued to be printed and discussed - and she continues to be pursued, possessed and resurrected by her fans in coffee table books, literary criticism, short films, paintings, poems...

I guess she was like the Haruki Murakami of Chinese writing - and more. She was part-real, part-myth. Her life had all the promises of a grand drama, but she escaped them or simply passed them over, diffused them in the quiet melodrama of her fiction (which lend themselves well to film - Stanley Kwan's Red Rose White Rose, Ann Hui's Eighteen Springs and Love in a Fallen City). But it is her essays that I admire and enjoy most.

In the essays, what is attractive about Zhang Ailing's voice can be most clearly seen/heard - ambivalence. Like the most talented of essayists, Zhang knew when to stray from a discursive certainty into an anecdote or the trails of a story. And just when you are taken in by the seductive wit and intelligence of her observations, and so light-headed the atmosphere would have become she could have gotten away with being flippant, Zhang would pause, wonder and conclude with a hint of the pathetic, the sorrow, the regret. This woman is sly!

What got me started on Zhang Ai Ling today was a letter from the National Arts Council informing me that my short story didn't win anything at the recent Golden Point competitions. (abaden - the results were already out more than a week ago in the papers! OK, maybe the Arts Council was trying to be thoughtful.) No $ for guessing correctly...it's a story with Zhang Ai Ling in it! Well, I think it's a damn funny story...(although I think only Wheyface has found my stories amusing so far).

*sigh* So much for wanting to be Zhang Ai Ling. I don't think Zhang Ai Ling was ever so shameless as to ask for an audience! But since I am not her, and to make the most of the work that had gone into writing the story...Friends, if you want to read it, I'm more than happy to email it to you.

Exit
Out of the race

Tuesday, September 6, 2005

cat man

J fulfills his promise with this virgin post:

This fellow is outside Y's house every sunday night. I saw him again, late tonight, when i walked out to catch a cab. This time he brought the whitest white friend along this time, maybe the girlfriend. They kept staring at me. A long hard stare - but not vicious, a somewhat longing, curious, wanna-be-friends type of look. When i walked further, a tree blocked his view, so he tilted his head to continue the stare. Then he glanced at his friend, as if to say "See! I told you, this guy always walks by here."

We saw him again last night. With the same stare, unhurried, unwary. Not watching, but looking. I was thinking - what a human gaze!. Maybe because this chap has a head of black fur above its eyes, the fringe slightly parted in the middle, and 2 streaks down the side of its face, like sideburns.

I've been thinking. Whatever inspired God to make them cats? In fact, all the animals - then place them on this earth, and to top it off, trust us humans to look after all creation - the furries, the fish and the fruits!

OK, even if you don't share this same view of creation and man's fall, I guess most folks would still agree that our boast of human progress is mainly one of running away from this task and building a world apart instead. Aiyah, we admit animals into our cities in twos or threes, and into our homes if they respected the integrity of the four walls and, if dead, didn't jump out from the pot. We tolerate strays maybe because they are like public, communal pets, there to prove our compassion.

To compensate for all this, we like to bestow on their representations a semblance of humanity: dress them up (even if half of their nakedness still shows - poor Winnie, Donald and Yogi!), have them walk upright, eat from plates...and make them take on our day jobs.

Sunday, September 4, 2005

No advertising agency please

Screening.jpg Neonscreen.jpg
We love Photoshop - photos of the factory by J with his Nokia

Mr and Mrs Tan run a T-shirt silkscreen place at the top floor of a factory block at Paya Lebar. I spoke to Mr Tan over the phone before we trooped there yesterday (aiya, in my rush, I left the house without the Tshirt designs, heh) - and corrected some of our preconceptions about each other:

Y: So I just bring the file to your place, a CD or...
Mr Tan: I got no computer. Just print on paper and bring.
Y: No computer...? Oh, ok.
Mr Tan: So what school you from ah?
Y: Er, no, I am not in school... [you won't charge me more because I am not a jobless 16 year-old right?]

So what kind of place does Mr Tan run?

Well, besides having no computers, a sign outside his shop declared:
No salesagent
No middleman
No advertising agency

Whew, lucky it didn't say "No civil servants"!

Behind the wooden door is a cool, dark, musty room - a place for mushrooms to...mushroom. There were silkscreens lying around against the wall and the corridor outside. T-shirts were hanging from the ceiling everywhere and on the floor were giant bags of new T-shirts. At the centre of the room were 2 canteen tables placed side by side. About 4 clotheslines ran above the table, and newly printed t-shirts were draped across the lines. Right beside the entrance was a cupboard whose sliding doors open to reveal...Mr Tan's office space, lit by a single flourescent tube.

J and I, we went away really liking Mr and Mrs Tan's T-shirt printing business - and their time machine.

Friday, September 2, 2005

pianica lessons

Last night was The Observatory's launch of their 2nd album Blank Walls with a performance at the Esplanade's recital studio. Sitting on the teal-coloured lecture hall chairs while the band played sure made for a strange concert experience.

But since I am no music reviewer, maybe I will start with The Pianica.

Ah, the pianica! This must be what makes The Observatory a local band... As with the recorder, every kid has to go through these pianica lessons when they are in Primary school - didn't you? The pianica doesn't make a very pleasant sound - especially when it is being played by forty 9-year olds together, badly. It lets out flat and plasticky notes, like an accordian on a leash - the notes yanked back before they are completely played. But I remember clearly 2 songs during the concert when the pianica was played. Amidst the lush layers of guitars, drums, keyboards and some lovely ambient sounds, the plastic pianica first carved out its own strangely plastic, magical space - and then invited these other music to join in.

Wheyface thinks their lyrics are "naff" (you can sample a snippet from their first album here). And I cannot help but agree, remembering too what had kept me away for a long time from their previous album at first. The first-person angst and melancholy, thin in its expression and vocabulary, often seems lacking in variety, humour, wit and allusions of any kind (yes, rather cringe-worthy even). This was made all the more obvious when the band ended the night with a cover of David Bowie's Ashes to Ashes- what a contrast!

But what's true about the pianica, I think is also true for Leslie Low's lyrics. Against the lush layers of music they've created, the lyrics stand out in their almost-embarrassing immediacy and nakedness - and offer an obvious space to enjoy the busy and intricate sounds.

I like The Observatory, so maybe I am making excuses for them. But if, like me, you've once been subjected to learning the pianica, then check out Blank Walls and the band's blog.

Thursday, September 1, 2005

in the navel of a muppet

impersonators

It was similar to one of those LOTR personality tests, except it required less effort and a much more straightforward sense of honesty. You just typed your name in the space indicated on the excel sheet and...your ideal job appears.

Of course! Why hadn't I realised this before during my other navel gazes? I had thought about being a writer (aiyah, no Golden Point award for my story :< ), joining the family business, growing up to be or a a chwee kueh hawker...but a Muppet Impersonator! Of course, this would explain all those daydreams J and I (ok, mostly me) have about doing voiceovers for cartoons, acting in kids TV shows...and Aksi Mat Yoyo (with that catchy theme song in the lazy 5pm air of childhood).

So when an old friend from university I was having dinner with suddenly asked if I would like to volunteer for his church's puppet group that will be putting up a show at an old folk's home, I said "why not".

J and I went for their first practice earlier this week. The puppets look pretty much like the ones on the Muppet show and all. Plus it's a really funny gongfu script. And the best part about it is that the whole act will be in Hokkien*! Hmm, this last point will certainly make up for the fact that being a puppeteer is not quite the same as a Mupper Impersonator.

-------------------------
* Chinese dialect

Nov Update - The impersonator pic is adapted for a T-shirt design. See it here.