Monday, November 29, 2004

incredulous.

The Schubert song Am Meer (By the Sea) that I've yet to analyze (cuz I didn't have Schenker paper till this afternoon), is set to the tackiest text I've ever read in my life.

It's by Heine, and this is the English translation:

Maybe I'm dense, and insensitive and what not, but that sounds like a whole lot of tosh to me.

And I can't believe deranged, angsty people aka poets in the 19th century actually wrote these stuff, and recited them during poetry readings. Omg. How embarrassing.

It's going to be a long night.

p.s. 'Procrastinator Lynne' strikes once more, blogging, and just about doing everything and anything but her essay (due in 12hours).

Sunday, November 28, 2004

If only...

...I can do a Clementine from Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind.

And selectively eradicate all the gray matter clogged at the back of my head.

In addition to that, I'd definitely erase the paralyzing pressure of essay deadlines, and the inertia to do something about it. There's so much work to be done, that I barely know where to start.

As Selena and I coined the phrase, it's going to be a ghoulish week of "livin' on the edge".

It's time to dig out my Schenker paper.

Saturday, November 27, 2004

you know who you are.

Remember: I'm just a phone call away.

And don't take too long, I might end up in W.B. by then.

Friday, November 26, 2004

bring on the candy, cake and chocolate.

As I was telling someone today, sometimes, it seems as if there can't be more to life than:

1. Good friends/company.

2. Good music.

3. Good food.

4. Good weather

5. Pretty clothes/shoes/bags/accessories

6. Free manga and anime.

and...

7. Fit blokes. Haha.

Life's good for now, despite the onslaught of incoming essays and stressful auditions.

Then again, I suspect this uncharacteristic bout of optimism is brought about by my latest purchase of Crunchy Nut Clusters. I absolutely ADORE this sugar-laden cereal. Excellent stuff.

From my personal experience, the amount of sugar-intake is directly proportional to your rosy outlook on life. The sweeter, the better. It's also proportional to the waist-line, but never mind, at least I won't be too cold during winter.

So boys and girls, chuck the weed outta the window, sugar's the new way to go.

Go get some. *winks at Lenny*

Wednesday, November 24, 2004

warning: upcoming ditz post!

I had the weirdest, but most nostalgic dream ever.

So I found myself suspended in space, taking my place amongst the infinite constellations of stars. (Marcus: cld this be due to too much Gundam?) There were all these weird translucent bubbles surrounding me, and I poked the one nearest to me. And there was the sound of a toilet flush (?) and I was literally flushed into the sphere.

And then I heard the Marcello's oboe concerto. The one I played with Yibin ages ago, in Chijmes. It reverberated around me while I looked down at the Milky Way below my feet.

Isn't that weird? Sound/Music/Memory took on a physical form in this weird dream of mine.

The bubble burst at end of the song. Free, I flew towards the other bubbles (Oh Jo, it's so nice to be able to fly! :P Hahahaha!), and the sound of the toilet flush would accompany each immersion of myself.

And I can't believe the amount of music I could remember. Some of the bubbles were 'advertisement music' like "Paddle-pop, yeah! Paddle-pop, yeah! Super-duper-yummy!", there was the Batman theme song "Baaaattt-man....da-da-de-de-da-da-doo-doo-da-da, Baaaaat-man...". I could even recall the theme soundtrack of Johnny Quest, and "Captain Planet! He's the hero! Gonna take pollution down to zero!"

Sometimes, I was unlucky enough to get into two bubbles which had merged. Do you have any idea how awful it is to have the MGS and ACS school anthem juxtaposed together? And the ACS school anthem is 3 bars behind and in a different key? Awful, I'm tellin' ya. Awful. It ended with these lyrics to the MGS anthem: "In days of yore and joyous song, we sing to ACS..." Shudders.

Theme songs from TCS dramas long past: "Moses Lim is Tan-ah-Teck, Nicholas Lim is Ronnie.."(i think), and this particular TVB serial starring Leon Lai (omg how passe) [it's the one where he keeps playing this goddamn flute and everyone dies in the end], and choir songs "Orange and green...", "Quam Glorium..", "E-I-E-I-O", Miss Kon's "And the old.. rugged cross..." And I actually remember Victorine singing the Teresa Teng song: "Ni wen, wo ai, ni you, duo shen, wo ai ni you ji fennnnnn..." Sometime like that anyway. OMG.

And top it all off, I was treated to the remnants of the brain-washing kiddy songs that PAP dreamed up:

All together now!

Roll over the ocean, roll over the sea!
All together, we can build com-mu-ni-ty!
Roll over the ocean, roll over the sea!
something-something-something build com-mu-ni-ty!

OMFG. That is SO pre-school. The best part was I started singing along to this inane ditty and when I realized it, I wanted to stop but I couldn't? Then a shooting star came from above and collided with me, and I flew crashing onto 'Junius 6' (!!! What is Gundam doing in my dream!!) releasing the familiar wails of my phone alarm.

Needless to say, I woke up dishevelled, disorientated, and severely traumatised. "Roll over the ocean, roll over the sea.." was still ringing in my head.

This is the true reason why I couldn't make it for my morning class. This persistent refrain subsequently haunted me for the rest of the day. Even if I had woken up on time, who would be able go to school after this?!

I'm sure all of you agree unanimously with me on this, aye?

It's me, it's me, it's me who builds com-...

Oh, shut up already.

Monday, November 22, 2004

haphazard orders to myself.

I don't ever want to take anything for granted again.

Patience and tolerance are virtues I need to cultivate.

I need to exercise self-control.

And be responsible for my own actions.

And neither will I continue to be stupid and selfish.

Will make a persistent effort to 'wake up my bloody idea'.

Shit happens. Get over it.

In the meantime, I really should stop eating this bar of Crunch.

Pauses for a few seconds.

Ah hell. What-ever.

Munch, munch.

Friday, November 19, 2004

how to get mugged.

Sodden shoes and clammy socks.

Hate it.

Anyway.

For those not in the know, The Mother and Tiny Scrawny Cousin have returned from Barcelona with a brown tan. They're also 600quid poorer, after a fateful encounter with 4 burly guys masquerading as 'policemen'.

But at least they're safe. Apart from a bleeding pocket and bouts of mild hysteria (my money!! my money!!), they've no gaping wounds whatsoever. Thank goodness for that.

You know, I thought I was Blur Queen. Apparently, I've been outranked and outclassed by the Blur Empress Dowager aka The Mother. What do you do when a freakin' stranger comes up to you in a foreign country and asks you for directions? Of course you RUN AWAY right? Common sense! When strangers ask you for your wallet, what do you do? Of course you RUN AWAY TOO right?? But nooooo, The Mother is a true blue Singaporean right down to her toes. She obeyed what she perceived to be 'authority' and meekly handed over her wallet.

.... Sigh. My family has a strange affinity with thefts.

I've tons of personal experience under my belt, and I thought I'd come up with the following guidelines on How-To-Get-Mugged / Cheated / Pickpocketed. Adhere to them religiously, for a memorable life-changing experience! 'Confirmed, guaranteed, plus chop'.

This is the low-down:

1. Always look bulliable. e.g. Lynne Huang: #1 target for Gypsies.

2. You don't have to carry your passport with you, just leave it in your suitcase.

3. Of course, you can always leave your luggage unattended anywhere, even in the car boot. It's perfectly safe.

4. Be glamorous, and do not clutch your tote bag under your armpit. Just hold it loosely with your fingers, and the arm should be relaxed and hanging down. For immediate effect, hang around at King's Cross on a Sunday morning.

5. When squeezing through a crowd to get to a bus, leave your mobile in an open coat pocket. Your mobile should disappear between the time you start pushing through them, and sitting down on the bus.

6. Be a kind soul and help out poor but dodgy folks who are lost in European countries.

7. Always trust strangers, even if that means handing your wallet (and all your cash) over for a while.

8. When asked: 'Are you a tourist?", always reply in the affirmative. And give additional information if possible: "Yes yes, it's my 1st time here." "We don't really know our way around too." Etc etc.

9. Always endeavor to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. For further instructions, go on to the next point.

10. Hang out with Lynne Huang, cuz she not only has an amazing knack for bad timing, she's a Sucker-For-Disasters, and also #1 Ultimate-Sway-To-The-Max. With her around, it's only a matter of time before you'd be mugged / robbed / pickpocketed.

Those are the essential top 10 rules to follow, any takers? Haha.

Going out with them tomorrow. Blur-Empress-Dowager + Tiny-Scrawny-Defenceless-Cousin + Bulliable-Lump-Of-Lard = Precarious-Situation-For-Us = Pickpocket's-Idea-Of-Walking-Cash-Machines.

*crosses fingers reflexively*

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

ego booster.

Today, I came across the most gorgeous, cutest, and adorable puppy alive. The silky terrier was dashing all over the place in the manga shop, with a little toy mouse in its mouth. Who could resist such a sight?

So I put on my 'animal-loving mode', which comes along packaged with silly smiles and inane clicks of the tongue. I approached the cutie pie, did my best to emanate waves of benevolence and goodwill, only for the puppy to spurn my advances (you cruel, cruel creature).

And it headed straight for Lee Yang's feet.

Oh, to be passed over for a shoe.

Traumatised for life.

Sunday, November 14, 2004

random thought.

It's always easier to obtain others' forgiveness for your mistakes, than it is to gain absolution from yourself.

Friday, November 12, 2004

synopsis of the fallen woman.

Insomnia strikes without warning.

Just finished the last cup noodles in my junk food stash.

The muted strains of La Traviata waft above my head.

Can't sleep. So I shall tell the story of La Traviata / The Lady of the Camelias, by Alexandre Dumas.

Consumptive Violetta, the courtesan heroine of Verdi's opera inevitably falls in love. Not with a man. Rather, she falls for a romantized notion of security in the form of honeyed words from Alfredo the Wimp. She knows she shouldn't, but she does anyway. Waltzing, waltzing to the tunes of the bourgeosis and her naive ideals. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. Her steps are numbered. Stupid woman.

And of course, her love of the Wimp dooms her in all ways. She gives up her sugar daddy for the pauper. The Wimp's Father assumes his Little Boy is squandering the family's fortune on her, and seizes on their unholy and blasphemous cohabitation as an excuse to get rid of her. He wants to keep his money. Thus, he blames their bourgeosis family's blackened reputation on her, which affected his daughter's arranged marriage. He blackmails her with that and sneers you high-class prostitute.

She feels guilty about her previous occupation, but I don't see why she should be. Infidelity and polygamy are not well-kept secrets. She does the customary 'I don't love you anymore' to the Wimp, even falling back on whoring and the stupid Dolt believes her lies. He publicly humiliates her by throwing money at her in public, announcing to the world that she's a kept woman. Not that it's not public knowledge, but some things oughta be left unsaid. He was a kept man too. After all, she paid for Toyboy's frivolous activities e.g. hunting insipid creatures such as foxes with her jewellery. Women are incredibly attached to them, you know. Reverse prostitution takes place. She sinks into poverty. You fool.

Of course, by the time the Idiot realizes that she's just putting on a front and rushes to her side, he's at her deathbed and watches her waste away from tuberculosis. The music hiccups along with her spasmodic gasps. The Sanctimonious Father pops up, and generously forgives her for 'leading his son astray'. He can well afford to, she's going to keel over any minute. Former Toyboy and dying Violetta muster up the energy for a good 10 min to warble together in a duet before she pukes and dies in his arms. Her death is the punishment meted out for leaving the demi-monde to be with Wimp. For 19th c. bourgeosis society demands she be ushered aside, to make way for a respectable lily-white woman to be Alfredo's trophy wife.

Such is the fate of Violetta, the Fallen Woman.

The End.

I can happily go to bed now.

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

invasion of the petites.

My mum and my cousin, Melody, will be in London tomorrow. Yep, so it's back to Singapore-the-land-of-skinny-farts, where my GIANT mode will be activated in the presence of my miniscule relatives. They're tiny, ok? T-I-N-Y.

(Cher and Euge>> they're as petite as the two of you!! My cousin's even smaller if that's possible.)

As I was telling someone, I'm absolutely drunk with anticipation from their impending arrival. I'm really really thrilled, cuz this means the following scenarios will take place in the next few days:

[#1] Mum-meets-friends

Mum: (cooing) "Lynnnnneee lynnnnne!!! Mummy misses you sooooo much!!! Are these all your friends?? Wahhhh they're soooooo pre-eeee-ttyyyy!! Wow all of you are so clever!!! You all must take care of my Lynne Lynne okay?"

If this was a manga, I can imagine all the faces of the Canterbury Hall gang, with the customary 'sweatdrops' drawn next to them. And a few "wtf?!" faces.

Note to myself: remember to bring a brown paper bag to cover my head.

[#2] Mum-unleashed-in-Oxford-Street

Mum: (cooing) "Lynnneeeee lynnnnne!!! Don't walk so fast, don't walk so fast!! Why is everyone walking so fast?? Aiyoh, so crowded. Ehhhhhh where are we? Lynnnne lynnne!! Don't walk too far without Muuummmmy!!!! Lynnne lynnne!!!"

Five min later:

Mum: (cooing) "Lynnnneee lynnnnne!! Mummy is tired already, let's go home now okay Lynnnne lynnnee?"

.....

[#3] Mum's-virgin-foray-into-rm-326

Mum: (horrified) "Lynnnne lynnneeee... How can you be so untidy?? You're a girl you know!! Aiyoh!! Why are all your clothes everywhere? Fold them properly now!!! Why do you have so much junk food? I told you that you cannot eat supper already!! Aiyohhh my poor Lynne Lynne is living in such a pigsty.. Aiyoh my Lynnnnne lynneeeeee..."

And I'm not exaggerating. My mum is REALLY like this. (Right, Jing?) Omg she's going to drive me NUTS.

But don't get me wrong: I love my Mum loads and loads and loads, but sometimes, even the people you love dearly just get on your nerves.

I know I oughta be happy that my Mum and Mel are coming down to see me. I am, I really am. But I can't help feeling a sense of trepidation. My anxiety probably stems from the fear of my two distinct worlds overlapping. For pple studying overseas, you know how it is: you lead separate lives in SG and UK. Different seasons, different clothes (who the hell wears winter clothes in SG?) etc etc = different lifestyle.

(When you're in SG, UK seems like a dream. When you're in UK, SG seems like an absolute nightmare.)

It's only natural to keep your lives in SG and UK independent of each other. Having characters and figures from one life enter the other? *shudders* Just like playing Debussy and Usher simultaneously: the result is chaotic, and simply, a mess.

The collision between the opposing polarities, is going to be unsettling. I can feel it right down to my toenails.

On the other hand, I do miss my Mum and Mel tons, so it's gonna be awesome seeing them again. I love them so much!!! And I really, really adore them. This also means unlimited shopping sprees, uninhibited girl talk, and lots of fun! I wish my sister would be here too, but that poor dear has O levels to sit for. (Meimei>> That was so, *tosses hair*, 1999. Haha.)

And so, it's 18hrs to the chillipadis' descent onto London soil:

Let the countdown begin!

chillipadi - small but fiery, do NOT underestimate.
Definition reprinted w permission from 'Lynne's Dummy Guide to Singlish', (Blogspot Press, London, 2004).

Saturday, November 06, 2004

"..and one eric can-to-naaaaaaa!"

Firstly, a warning: very, VERY, long post ahead about my trip to Old Trafford, with tons of photos. Read on only if you're a die-hard Man U fan. If u're not, I sincerely promise a slow death from sheer boredom before you even reach the end of the next two sentences.

That being said, I conclude: I am definitely NOT a die-hard Man U fan.

An example of a die-hard fan [dare I say obsessed?!! ;)] would be Shihua, who goes regularly to Manchester to watch their matches. At least once in two weeks I think? May I add that it costs at least 30quid to watch each match, 20quid return for coach (without coach travelpass), and 10 hours of travelling to and fro.

I can't be arsed enough to do all that on a regular basis. I'd rather buy a pair of boots with that money. Anyway, huge thanks to Vincent for organizing the whole trip and getting me a ticket to Old Trafford.

Here are some pictures, and I make no apologies for my poor photography skills:

This is how the stadium looks like. Impressive, wot?

Vincent bought fish and chips, and the oil actually soaked through the styrofoam plate onto his hand. Marcus and I settled for oily hot dogs. And so we went in:

Hysterically euphoric at being able to set foot on holy ground aka Old Trafford, cloistered amongst fellow fans and scream "U-ni-ted (boom-boom-boom), U-ni-ted (boom-boom-boom)".

And I rue the day that I didn't force my dad to buy me one of those snazzy digicams with 1000000whatever optical zoom functions. That's the closest I'm ever going to get to the Man U players!

It's actually kinda weird watching a live match. I kept expecting to see a replay after each goal, and it just wasn't the same without all the different angle shots of it on telly. Without the flashbacks, it was strangely less dramatic. Where are the slow-mos, the impossible arch of the goalkeeper's back as he tries to reach for the ball, only for it to slip past his fingers? And the close-up of the scorer's sweaty and ecstatic face?

Then again, there's simply no substitude for cruising on the crest of the crowd's enthusiasm, and the crackling atmosphere of a live match. The u-ni-ted way (sorry, couldn't resist) everyone rises to their feet when a Red Devil approaches the opposing goalpost with the ball, (and you hear all the stadium seats go snap snap snap), and the collective sigh (or vulgarities) each time they fail to score, followed by a flurry of encouraging applause.

But there was quite a lot of action that night: 5 goals, 2 yellow cards, 1 red card and plenty of Spartas who were clearly inflicted with the falling disease. As long as a Red Devil was within 3m radius of them, their legs would give out under them as they collapse to the ground like loose rigging on a ship. They were spectacular. For their beautifully engineered fainting fits, I hereby salute them. They oughta give up football for a career on stage.

A bit of vertigo there...

That's Vincent and Marcus, with Chris in the background.

The 6-hour trip back home on the coach was horrible. Left Manchester around midnight and reached Victoria Coach Station at 0615. Absolutely frightful. If I didn't have Marcus to talk to on the way home (we had to sit separately en route to Manchester) I think I'd have rotted to death.

So I did it: I went to Manchester, and watched a Man U match at Old Trafford. All done via a SMELLY coach for 10 hours in total. And I only got up from my seat once. What an amazing feat huh. Now I know how mother hens feel when they are forced to sit on their eggs for DAYS. I don't even have the disposition to sit still for 10 min. Thank God for wombs.

My butt will never be the same.

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

It's amazing how playing on a Steinway or Bosendorfer can be so invigorating and therapeutic.

It's even more intoxicating when you see and hear a master at work, coaxing all the hidden tone colours from the piano.

Rejuvenated once more.

Monday, November 01, 2004

whatever..

..I can't be arsed any longer.

I've really taken foolishness and stupidity to absurd new levels.

I'm officially a naive and fat cow with pink contact lenses, so kindly continue to do as you will.

For all I ever see is pink, innit?

The lenses will be coming off soon.

split guts = split milk.

Why can't people ever be honest?

I can answer my own question: lies come all too easily. It's really simple. "Take care", "love you lots", "miss you", "you're such a sweetie pie" and whatever nonsense. Even someone with an IQ and EQ of sub-zero can say that.

With all the practised smiles and easily regurgitated words, hypocrisy (the nicer term is diplomacy but it means the same thing) has never been more rampant.

I just hate it when people can't tell me the truth upfront. Hey, I can take it you know. Bring it on. You just don't dare to tell the truth.

But then again, I'm guilty of that too. So what if people don't tell me the truth? I don't either.

When looking at others with a quizzing glass, use that upon yourself too, you silly twat.

Why is it so hard to be honest? What are we afraid of?

Why can't we just come forth and say what we truly mean? The unspoken words will only fester inside, like an open sore. And it will never go away.

Once again, I can answer my own question. It's our bloody PRIDE getting in the way. Isn't it funny? It's intangible, it's invisible, it's not even a physical entity, and nobody else is even affected by this mental and emotional construction of ours. It's really all in our heads, all in our minds. Yet, we cling on to it for dear life, like a babe to his mother's bosom, refusing to relinquish control of it.

Stubborn, that we are. It's silly, innit? It's just pride.

But without our pride, our self-worth, what have we left?

I suspect I'm slightly hysterical and incoherent as I have finally come clean, and I have regurgitated, puked and retched out all the nasty feelings that I'm not supposed to feel, all the caustic words I'm not supposed to say. And I would be lying if I said I didn't expect immediate absolution from spilling my guts. The funny thing is, I actually feel worse, even lower than a snake wriggling on its belly, even worse than ever before. Abject misery. In telling the truth, I have just passed on the flaming and diseased torch of churlishness to someone else.

I had forgotten my early reasons for shutting up: there's no telling what sort of sharp objects would come flying out of Pandora's Box. Knives, axes, spears... leaving behind a host of mutilated wounds to body, spirit and mind.

And I regret my insane act of folly. Had I known the severity of the repercussions, no matter how excruciatingly painful my sore would be, I would have kept it all within me. I would rather carry the burden of my own making by myself. For this is not what I wanted, not what I intended.

We can try, but we can never have everything that we want.

Had I known... had I known.

There, there. It's no use crying over spilt milk.

blueprint

I will like to spend my days, as though they are my own, which I mostly end up doing in halves, for duty beckons, and I am answering its clarion call. Soon enough! I am also a veteran procrastinator.

fresh monodies

Old wounds hurt most, I learned this today, becaus...
She speaks, repeating the old litanies, of worn ac...
time skips
and it all comes together!
beethoven's symphony no.7 2nd mvt
again,
towards that something
In the alley of shadows and death
Masking Tape
another end of the world

previous rants

August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
November 2010
January 2011
February 2011
August 2011
October 2011
May 2013

treatises on life

arty jen
betty boop
carmentica
charming-linn
chasing snowy cars
cheeky lynn
cheryliciously glam
clean and cute
cyclist-mad bass
darling dominic
feisty jing
fellow ditz-sista/porkSTAR
hail mary!
hell's kitchen
hero on the beach
h-Euge heart
hunky lenny
lipgloss queen
little cheryl
live n learn, baby
lolita lou
loony loon
mr popular
musically dan
m y s t j
phringe
princess tania
roger smurf
runaway pigeon
sabotage king jeremiah
sibling angst1
sibling angst2
spector dan
spunky tian
steffy bunny
sun-sunzzz
teeny wee-nee
weeeee, leonard!
yangtze yang'en

frivolous pursuits

for shallow ppl
for very geeky ppl
for the truly bored
spun prose
binary thoughts
past imprints
some stamps
montage of images
other memories

mulling over

And there were phlegmatic souls.