Ode to Coffee

Black liquid exotic,
Your sweet aroma entices
and awakens dreams
of wild Africa, Papua New Guinea,
of puppets dancing in the shadows
of Java
Throbbing
the senses, aroused
Pulsing, dark rivers
of Indochine

Awake!

Awake!

The lover calls
I am yours; you are mine

Alive.

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sleek swimmers & crazy runners

Date	Place	Time (mins)	Distance (km)	Pace (km/h)
Monday, May 16, 2005	Barker	45.6	7.2	9.5

By the end of the run, I look like a xiao zha boh (mad woman). Half of my hair is already out of the red rubber band, flapping against my face as I run. I absent-mindedly hook the hair back behind my ear, only to have it fall over my face 30 seconds later. In fact, I don't notice it when it flaps against my face -- I am in that much pain -- it is only later in the lift, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflective doors that I realise what I must have been doing -- hooking and rehooking my crazy flapping hair.

Of course when I finish my run I feel so victorious I think I am the sleekest and best body around. I go and do my push-ups and what-nots by the benches overlooking the pool. It is only when the young men and woman emerge from their effortless butterfly strokes, reflecting the evening sun on their tanned and toned bodies, that I realise my victory is purely internal. Too bad I don't like swimming, otherwise I can emerge with a wet and powerful body like them, and not like the dripping smelly xiao zha boh that I look.

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The Hotel New Hampshire

This is the seventh John Irving novel I've read since November 2004. That would be an average of 1 Irving novel a month, not counting the other books I've read in that period.

I know a friend who thinks I'm reading way too many of his novels, but when you've come so far, it is almost a matter obsession to finish all of them. I am a little tired of the depressing plot -- when in the middle of his long novels I think to myself that this will definitely be the last one I read -- but the stories end with such an oomph and a strong sense of hope that I think another one by Irving won't hurt. I now know the essential ingredients of a best-selling novel -- they are faith, hope and love, and that's all there is to it.

The Hotel New Hampshire is about a family who moves from hotel to hotel because of the father's big dreams for the future. There are four hotels altogether -- the Arbuthnot-by-the-sea where the parents fall in love, the Hotel New Hampshire they run in Dairy, the Hotel New Hampshire in Vienna where they spend seven years, and the fourth and last hotel, the hotel truly built on dreams, back at Arbuthnot-by-the-sea.

By the end of the novel, the family is ravaged by the father's need to dream. When Lily died, and Frank was blaming himself for her death, Win Berry said, "But who is the dreamer of the family? She just wasn't big enough to meet her own expectations, and she inherited that from me." Sorrow the dog was put to sleep for the plans of the very first hotel, and he returns to haunt the deaths of Iowa, Mother, and Egg -- all sacrifices on the altar of the father's dreams.

Despite the tragic effects of Win Berry's illusion, Irving in no way condemns this dreaming, but in fact endorses it with a kind of power to redeem. At the end of the novel, Win Berry becomes the best rape therapist on site, despite the fact that he is completely in his own world, blind to reality, subsisting on illusion. Irving seems to say that there is a power in dreaming, a power in stories from the past, and a power in fiction.

As Frank would say to John, "Keep passing the open windows." And somehow, things will work out.

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Bulging like a pregnant snake

I had a conversation with my friend yesterday evening while walking along the street. She was describing to me the cooking show she had just watched. The cook (a handsome Englishman, in her words) stuffed small aubergines with a scumptious mix of ricotta cheese and pieces of dark chocolate. The end result is wonderous bulging brinjal, "as fat as a pregnant snake". Of course I had to ask, "Hmm.. How do snakes do it anyway?" And she said, "On top of each other?" We both had to laugh. "Or beside each other? Or coiled?"

"But where are their genitals?" I asked.

Well, I looked it up, and apparently male snakes have two hemipenes (See male snake hemipenis here.) These are inserted one at a time into the females cloaca to fertilize the eggs internally. Okay, I feel a little sick now.

Anyway, after our short foray into the largely unknown (to us anyway) topic of snakes and sex, she jumped right back to how yummy the eggplant looked.

Update: Told my friend about male snakes having two hemipenes and she said, "Wah lau, snakes got all their priorities wrong! No arms, no legs, but two penes???"

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I will resist

In spite of my secret ambition to be a published and popular writer, in spite of the fact that there are less than 10 regular readers and less than 90 hits a day, in spite of the feeling that my words change nothing, in spite of the seductive hike in anonymous traffic that sites like blog soldiers promise, because of my principle of not letting people who know me read this blog, I will perservere with my piddling attempts at building up a base of readers.

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The ultimate tool for precise back scratching!

Haha! This came from the International Chindogu Society's website. The tenets of Chindogu are:

1. A Chindogu cannot be for real use
2. A Chindogu must exist
3. Inherent in every Chindogu is the spirit of anarchy
4. Chindogu are tools for everyday life
5. Chindogu are not for sale
6. Humour must not be the sole reason for creating a Chindogu
7. Chindogu is not propaganda
8. Chindogu are never taboo
9. Chindogu cannot be patented
10. Chindogu are without prejudice

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8 May 2005

My heart is beating 80 times a minute. That is the rate it used to beat before I started running. It may be the coke; it may be the adrenaline left over from the 8km+ run; it may be because my mind is exploding with thoughts and I cannot sleep.

---

Her fingers found the grooves in the pew again.

---

It was a wet day. She had two pairs of clean socks in her backpack, but she was too civilised to change into a dry pair in the restaurant, and too lazy to make a trip to the loo. When she took the umbrella out of the plastic bag back home, it left a puddle on the parquet floor.

---

They pretended to read the newspapers together, somehow drawing strength from the empty space between them.

---

8km+. Cool night air. Steps in beat to the music. Running is a great way of emptying out unwanted thoughts and emotions. But what do you do when the road comes to an end?

Her heart beats 80 times a minute.

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young and powerful

It is a powerful feeling to be young. It is Saturday afternoon. I am sitting in front of the computer, my hair wet from a shower. I am wearing faded cargo pants and a white V-neck top. The computer’s 6-speaker system is blasting DC Talk; my feet are propped on top of the booming base speaker. There are running clothes and a water bottle in my backpack.

This day wants to be conquered.

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COLOURFUL links

I mean it literally.

If you make maps and get tired of deciding what colour to use with what, try the ColorBrewer. I've used it to create a few demographic maps of the country.

Or, if you do powerpoints and for some reason cannot use a powerpoint template colour scheme, try the Colour Scheme Generator. You can choose whether you want a mono scheme or a contrast scheme, etc. It churns out the RGB numbers too, for easy reproduction.

That's my contribution to the blogosphere today. Next week -- where to get the entire text of Christian classics, for free.

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Mouth Wide Open

The school boy turned around and saw me, standing with a dollar coin in my hand, waiting to buy breakfast. He was so shocked that he stared at me for a long time, his mouth open and poised to bite into his bun. Then just as suddenly, he grinned and said to his friends, "Phew, Gave me a shock. I thought she was a teacher." Haha!

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$1.21 saved (which is more than the refund)

Cycled to work today in just under 26 minutes which is less than the time it usually takes by public transport. Whoo hoo!

I only decided to cycle this morning. Perhaps the article I read yesterday in Runner's World about the benefits of exercising at "Lactate Threshold" played a part. I rarely run fast or far enough to feel the lactic acid buildup in my legs. Cycling, on the other hand, builds up lactic acid fast.

Last weekend, I went cycling on the road that parallels the Changi Airport runway. Now, that is a long, unending road. When you're on the plane it takes like no time at all. But when you are pumping away from lamp post to lamp post, feeling your thighs slowly turn to concerete, that's a different matter altogether. I could barely walk the next two days, my calves were aching that bad.

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confused ponderings after may day

It feels like it ought to be Monday, since yesterday was a public holiday.

Yesterday was the day after May Day. Yesterday was also the day the former President of Singapore died. I only found out this morning in the staff pantry though. Colleague said that I was behind in my news. That’s a weird thought considering I read the newspapers from cover to cover yesterday. But it wasn’t in the papers – the headlines only lauded Singapore for having a protest-less May Day, and PM Lee’s maiden May Day speech on “strong tripartite ties” between the government, the unions, and the workers. Is that what May Day is about? Protest marches? Why didn’t they tell us this in school? If I were to have a picket fence rally, I’ll protest the rising bus and train fares especially since my salary is as stagnant as a mosquitoes’ breeding ground.

Anyway, back to Mr Wee Kim Wee. mrbrown remembers him as a gentleman. Sad to say, I have no personal memories of him apart from seeing him on TV during the National Day Parade and thinking about how pleasant he looks. I also used to wonder about the extent of his legislative powers and the specific burdens he has to carry in his position. I know that the President is given the power to give clemency to those on the death row. But he can’t give everyone clemency can he? Doesn’t that undermine the entire justice system?

In any case, I think I’ll go turn on the TV at 9pm to “catch up” with the news today. Somehow I don’t think I’ll ever catch up.

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The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Loved the book. Hope the movie is just as good. Read about it here.

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What would make your life fabulous right now?

Just curious... You may post anonymously if you like.

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Ravelstein

Ravelstein was written by Saul Bellow in 2000. It was his last novel. He died in early April this year.

Ravelstein is dense, powerful, and seamless. I’ve never read a novel like it. The sinewy connections this novel has with real life are intriguing – in the novel, Chick is a old man writing a memoir as a promise to his friend Ravelstein; in real life, Bellow is writing his last novel in honour of the political philosopher Allan Bloom.

Like Ravelstein, Bloom wrote a best-selling book on Bellow’s recommendations titled The Closing of the America Mind. He too was a lecturer, a man of vast intellect and strong opinions; a man with awkward stutters and trembling hands; a man who loved his Cuban cigars, Armani suits and Mont Blanc pens.

Because of these tenuous links with reality, I cannot help but consider the morbid – How did Bellow die? Did the “pictures stop”, as aptly described by the Bellow-character Chick? Did he become more and more preoccupied with Jerusalem rather than Athens in his last days, squaring off with the cruelty of mankind, the “meat hooks”, and the essence of being fully man? Bellow was 89, married for the fifth time.

Even if there were no Allan Bloom, merely the descriptions of Ravelstein would be enough. I can see him – bald, melon-headed, pointing his students with sharp irreverent intellect towards the light in Plato’s cave, smoking Marlboro after Marlboro, himself a hodgepodge of oddities and contradiction. Merely the description of his rich textiles, the expensive bedding, the coffee stain on the $4,500 Lanvin jackets, together with his overarching historical ideas and frankness are enough to propel me into his world.

I was initially afraid that I would mix up the main character in Henderson the Rain King and in Ravelstein. Boy was I wrong.
more on Ravelstein

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