Dawn Xiana Moon: Melodic folk pop infused with passion and honesty. From Chicago.

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Tuesday, February 25, 2003

Cya!

Just a quick little post to say I'll be off in Niagara Falls, Canada (where it's currently colder than Ann Arbor, Michigan) for my so-called spring break. In February. You read that right. Anyway, it should be a great week; I'll be back in time to post for the blog's first birthday on Friday and should have a few pictures to boot. Can you bear the anticipation?

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Monday, February 24, 2003

Welcome to Dawn's spring break... and there are huge piles of snow on the ground. Rather than head to someplace warm, I've opted to go to Canada for a few days, leaving tomorrow (read: even colder). Does this make me crazy?

From July 17, 2002
Culture Clash. Sort of.

I'm in an interesting place... I don't entirely fit into Singapore and I don't entirely fit into America. Of course, this bears some explanation. As an American (and I have to fight with myself to keep my accent--theirs is really easy to pick up but I don't like how it sounds) I don't entirely fit the culture here--not to mention that most people can speak some form of Chinese, a feat that I have yet to accomplish--and in all honesty, I don't really want to. Singapore is not my home, though sometimes I think I'd do well here (ask me about that sometime). On the other hand, as an Asian I'm in a small minority in America, a minority I don't even fit into properly. I'm a bit of an anomaly as an American--for example, I hate peanut butter and jelly, macaroni and cheese, hot dogs, etc. In some ways, I'm more Asian than people usually realize. However, my Asian friends consider me practically white--I don't speak Chinese, I don't specifically seek out Chinese friends or join Asian American groups, I don't listen to the kind of music most of them do, I don't always dress like most of them, etc. And I sometimes wonder what the culture at large thinks of me. When a white person talks to me, are they ever surprised that I don't have an accent (or maybe I do and have never noticed--heh)? Are they surprised that I know little about Chinese culture or language even though I was born in Singapore? Why is it that Kirsten Dunst can wear a cheongsam (the Chinese dresses with mandarin collars--she wore one in Spiderman during the scene where she was at a party and the Green Goblin tried to blow everything up) but if I wore one I'd look like I was trying to be traditional (even though hardly anyone, as in I have yet to see someone wearing one, wears them in Singapore) or hadn't assimilated well? I'm a product of three cultures: Chinese, Singaporean, and American. Even though the population of Singapore is 80% ethnically Chinese, the country is different from China--local influences have played a huge part, as have western (mostly British, thanks to colonization, and some American, since many of those in power went to the US for their college education) and the rest of Asia. This country is perhaps more of a melting pot than America.

So where does that leave me? I'm not sure. Not all-American, but truly American perhaps?

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Wednesday, February 19, 2003

This is often a difficult point for me to grasp: I don't have to do everything on my own; in fact, I can't. If I'm faithful to doing what God wants me to do, the burden of success is no longer on me--it's on God himself. What a cool partnership.

From July 13, 2002
Nehemiah

One of the thoughts I'll take away from this week--Jeff Boucher's talk on God-sized dreams and Nehemiah. Nehemiah was the cupbearer to King Artaxerxes when the Jews who survived exile (in Babylon, I think) were trying to return to Jerusalem. However, the wall of Jerusalem was broken down and after 92 years still hadn't been rebuilt--in that time period, walls were best means of defense for a city. Without walls, the city was deserted because people didn't feel safe and the Jewish nation was scattered. Nehemiah longed to restore the city and his people and prayed that God would use him to make it happen.

At that time, the law said that everyone had to act happy in the king's presence or face the punishment of death. After all, who would want to be troubled with the petty problems of his subjects? Nehemiah knew the law--he was a trusted official. (The easiest way to kill a king? Poison his food. Enter the cupbearer, who eats portions of everything. Everyone waits for a half hour or so to see if the cupbearer is still alive, and if he is, the party can begin.) However, he needed to get the king's attention: "I had not been sad in his presence before, so the king asked me, 'Why does your face look so sad when you are not ill? This can be nothing but sadness of heart.' I was very much afraid, but I said to the king, 'May the king live forever! Why should my face not look sad when the city where my fathers are buried lies in ruins, and its gates have been destroyed by fire?' The king said to me, 'What is it you want?'" Not only did he live, but Nehemiah was allowed to go to Jerusalem with a contingent of officers and calvary--and took a long "leave of absence" from his job. He kept praying and seeking God, and even though he was not a builder, he managed to gather the support of the Jewish people and rebuilt the wall in 52 days amongst military threats from other nations.

Application? Some dreams seem impossible because they are--for us. But with God anything is possible. If a project costs $90,000 and you only have $60,000, if the project really belongs to God then it's his problem that the money isn't there and he'll resolve it. That's not to say that we can sit back and do nothing--Nehemiah risked his life and poured his own time out--but God's dreams are bigger than ours and even though they can seem crazy, he is fully capable of making them reality. As long as we're faithful in our part, the burden of making things happen is not on us.

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Monday, February 17, 2003

On Acoustic Concerts in Grand Rapids, Michigan

It's been awhile since I've posted... so here's my attempt to recify that. :-) So much to blog about! Here's the first bit, a concert review: on Wednesday, I drove out to Grand Rapids to catch Caedmon's Call and Jars of Clay in concert together. The verdict:

Caedmon's Call: For years, they were my favorite band--incredible lyrics, honesty, and a wonderful folk-rock sound (sometimes a little too bluegrass for my tastes, I'll admit)--but with the loss of singer/songwriter/guitarist Derek Webb something is definitely missing, which is strange to me because I've never been a huge fan of his voice to begin with. Caedmon added another singer to augment their 3-4 part vocals (before it had been Derek, Danielle, and Cliff with an occasional Josh) that sounds almost exactly like their missing member, but what I really miss is Derek's songwriting. The band not only avoided the question about Derek's whereabouts (he left the band, though it's not official news yet--and I must say, I'm not surprised at all with his solo career in the works) but they didn't play any of his songs. I also noticed that Danielle doesn't move much at all onstage--the last time I saw them I thought it might have been a fluke since just standing without movement is unusual for singers in bands--but apparently it's just how she is. It's a little out of place with the rest of the band, especially Cliff when he starts dancing around. As for the music, some of the more fun numbers were heavily percussion-driven songs; the contemplative numbers lacked an undefineable pizzaz, again strange because usually their slow songs are the best. But Caedmon's Call still has the integrity that they'd held onto for the last ten years. Unfortunately, they don't capture my attention the way they once did.

Jars of Clay: Now this was the surprise of the night: I love Jars's first album--one of the best ever, in my humble opinion--and like the newest studio release, The Eleventh Hour, but I went to Grand Rapids to see Caedmon's Call. However, Jars of Clay played an acoustic set--think piano, string bass, acoustic guitars, guys sitting on wooden stools--and blew my expectations out of the water. This was the band that wrote "Worlds Apart" and the other goodies off the self-titled album; had they been in hiding? The songs shone. I realized at the show that Jars gives off a deliberate "artsy" or New York vibe while Caedmon's Call is more grassroots and down-to-earth (neither style is inherently superior--it's just something I noticed). Highlights of the night included a rendition of "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" (yes, you read that right), which was a spontaneous cover amid shouts of "Play 'Flood!' Play 'Flood!'", which they eventually did play. I don't know if they heard "Play a cover!" way down in the front, but they thought for a minute and busted out with a "serious" version of the Cyndi Lauper trademark. And yes, it was a little scary. But amusing nonetheless. They hadn't prepared much of a set list, so the majority of songs were chosen literally out of a hat by kids in the front row. "Worlds Apart" was much longer than the studio version, but began to the tune of laughter because singer Dan Hasetline couldn't remember the words. Good thing the audience did. I learned something about human behavior at the concert--if you say a joke once and get a laugh, if you keep saying it and people stop laughing don't stop; keep telling the joke because eventually people will laugh again. "We're pulling out all of our bad jokes tonight." Overall, incredible. My faith in Jars of Clay has been restored.

The concert was supposed to start at 9:15pm, and Grand Rapids is a two-hour drive from Ann Arbor. I got home at 4:00am, but ithe show was so worth missing the sleep. And here's an amusing thought: my brother recorded the entire show with the voice recorder on his Palm Pilot.

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Friday, February 14, 2003

There's truth to the saying that people look like their dogs.

Announcing the winners:

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Thursday, February 13, 2003

More from the archives... I'd forgotten about this one. Wouldn't it be fun to sit around and write crazy emails?

From April 20, 2002
Aliens?

Excerpts from one of the wierdest emails I've ever gotten:

"I would like to draw your attention to the fact, that on January 20, 1954, at Base Muroc AFB (now Edwards AFB) in the USA, these Powers of Light put into life the first offer to introduce a new order to President Eisenhower, in concrete terms by extraterrestrial beings, stationed on five spaceships, coming from the planet EISA at the star Betegueze in Orion. The offer was turned down. These loving people, who do not resemble the propaganda images of aliens our media has projected (they appear as we do but with a higher consciousness), have since communicated with people of the Earth, advising them on our True nature of Spirit and explained why we are here. Their message is simple.... You, dear people, who do not understand, do not wonder why the mass media and publishing companies refuse to contextualize without misrepresentation this veritable information. It happens because our planet Earth is and has been influenced by Powers of darkness for over 300 000 years. Thanks to the beginning of the Aquarius Era (the planet Earth together with the Solar System will immerse into galactic photon zone), our atmosphere is deluged with abundance of fine-vibratory energy fromthe Central sun in the centre of our galaxy. Our Sun along with Corona has been immersing into a photon zone since the beginning of 1998, continuing until 2001. And in this atmosphere we have an unique chance to free ourselves from the impact of the Powers of darkness (from their virtual impulses, which are low-vibratory)."

Who writes this stuff?

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Monday, February 10, 2003

Beyond DNA

Most of us have probably heard philosopher Robert Nozick’s “experience machine” question before, perhaps in simplified form. In his own words:

Suppose there were an experience machine that would give you any experience you desired. Superduper neuropsychologists could stimulate your brain so that you would think and feel you were writing a great novel, or making a friend, or reading an interesting book. All the time you would be floating in a tank, with electrodes attached to your brain. Should you plug into this machine for life, preprogramming your life's desires?... Of course, while in the tank you won't know that you're there; you'll think it's all actually happening. Others can also plug in to have the experiences they want, so there's no need to stay unplugged to serve them. (Ignore problems such as who will service the machines if everyone plugs in.) Would you plug in? What else can matter to us, other than how our lives feel from the inside?

Most people, given the option, would choose to forgo the machine and live life with all of its trials and joys; the majority of us want to live through reality, not just a pleasant simulation. Nozick argues that we not only want the experience of certain things but the reality of actually doing them, that we value becoming a certain kind of person rather than just imagining. We do not want to be deceived. But why? Why do we have the desire for reality? It’s the harder road, but most of us would take it with little hesitation.

At the base of this preference for reality is a yearning for truth. But where does this come from? A Christian, believing that we are all made imago Dei, in the image of God, would say that we have this longing because God is Truth. If that view were to be discounted, I could not formulate a reasonable explanation for the human hunger for truth, not to say that one does not exist but rather that this craving seems to point to something more, something that cannot be explained merely in terms of molecules and DNA.

And even that DNA is fearfully, wonderfully made. My dad is undergoing surgery today; he's getting a kidney transplant. For the last few weeks he's been on dialysis. It takes a large machine, 12 doctors, various drugs, and a carefully monitored diet (in other words, most foods are off-limits) to restore just 3% of his kidney function. Three percent. It's a miracle of medical science, the result of decades of thoughtful work. And we have the arrogance to presume that millions of years of random mutations--the equivalent of experiments performed by multitudes of uncoordinated people--could produce a coherent, complicated program (the DNA code that tells your cells what to do) and similar product (the kidney itself) that can do what researchers have spent years working toward and still cannot begin to rival? Not to mention that the kidney is only a tiny part of a larger, unfathomably complicated organism that medical science still cannot understand, for example the reaction of a patient to various drugs, which is more like educated guesswork than a certainty, or how the brain really functions, which we've barely grasped. We recognize the machine immediately as man's creation. We consider the body the result of years of mutation. As my father would say, it's logically inconsistent.

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Sunday, February 09, 2003

In honor of Randomness's upcoming one-year birthday (can you believe I've been blogging for a year?) on February 28, I'll be sporatically resurrecting some old posts throughout the next couple of weeks.

From March 24, 2002
Something Deeper
We hide behind so many walls... I was reading Jessica's blog, Jalzee's World, which I've mentioned before, and wondered, How is she able to get so deep when there's a potential for so many people to be reading? When people know you--the real you, the one that hides underneath the things you say, the one that is when no one else is near--they can hurt you more easily, more deeply. We desperately want to be loved, to share our innermost selves with others, but the potential for being hurt is so great. Someone once said that the one thing humanity wants most is to fully know and be known. But how can we do that? I've seen this longing manifest itself in my life, in the lives of my friends--the desire for a significant other, the search for something spiritual, the determination to join a fraternity or sorority... the list goes on and on. You know what? We were created for community. We were created to be loved and to pour out our love in return. Only God can fully know us--but that doesn't mean that everything gets happy and easy from there. Life is still hard. But it's comforting to know that underneath it all, "We're all just the same/We're all just as good, just as bad, and just as distracted/ By the corners of our eyes as our fathers were and theirs before" (Caedmon's Call, from "The Truth"). So I guess if we're willing to be honest with each other we'll find out we're not so different after all.

The Need for Community
Somehow one of my friends got offended at what I wrote yesterday--I'm not sure what to say. I didn't mean to upset anyone, and I honestly don't know how anyone could be offended at the entry (there's a random guy who has it out to get me too--I had to delete his comments because they were utterly inappropriate). I was trying to be honest about some of the things I see, both in myself in and others. We really are looking for community; some find this in clubs/organizations, some in church, some in frats and sororities (the statement that originally caused such a fuss), some in ways not described here. I'm not implying right now that one is better than the other--though I truly believe that at its best the church, not as an institution but as a group of people trying their best to build each other up, love all, and live as Jesus would, fulfills the need for community in a way that nothing else can--nor am I implying that any community is fake. Even a superficial community (and again, no negative implications toward any group--I swear!) can meet part of the need for fellowship, for each other. It's a part of who we are as human beings. Maybe we don't always realize that we're searching for this love, but if we analyze ourselves, if we are honest, we'll see that we are. That's why we can feel so rejected, so alone. (In our darkest moments we're more honest with ourselves, I think.) However, there really is such a thing as unconditional love, a love that never leaves. I'd love to talk to you about it sometime. :-)

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Saturday, February 08, 2003

A bit of something creative, written about two years ago.

Needed Most Uncertain

The time I needed most to be alone
The time I needed most you
My heart hurting, knowledge knowing
It’s not your fault in five directions
Absolutely torn, ripping apart
Family, friends, school, work, me
But I’m not that important; uncertain future
If desire would keep us together
But cannot yet commit to will
This may pass, this may last
Hold me, needing comfort, needing you
The time I needed most to be alone
The time I needed most you

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Wednesday, February 05, 2003

Romanticism and Suffering

From discussions in my theatre history class: the Romantics had the idea that the more original, the more creative, the more artistic you are, the more you will suffer in life. They also thought that in order to be a great artist, you had to suffer (and continue in that state, something of a permanent depression), accepting the use of drugs and alcohol in order to find their Muse and to escape from pain. (Interestingly, Coleridge never wrote unless he was high on opium, something I learned in high school. Impressionable young minds. Heh.) Although in terms of history we tend to say Romanticism faded in the nineteenth century, a surprising number of its tenets have permiated our society; the stereotype of the suffering artist for example. They loved Van Gogh and we--in a general sense, because I myself remain unimpressed--love James Dean, a larger-than-life character who lived as destructively as the characters he portrayed. However, I believe that great art comes less from the suffering itself than overcoming it; if you're depressed all the time you lose your creative spark--you cease to care. But without the suffering there is nothing to write about, nothing to sing about. Creating is a way of dealing with pain, a method of overcoming suffering itself. At least that's what most of us in class hope and believe; we'd rather not be self-destructive, depressed people, but we don't want to be mediocre artists either. The next couple of decades will tell who is right.

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(Mostly) Literary Musings

Regarding yesterday... to be fair, the lady at the Hopwood Room is really nice and felt bad about turning us away ("I hate this part")--she thought she'd left the door open a minute or so longer than she should have anyway--but the whole situation still sucks. Especially since I'd been gearing up for it for the last month and a half. Stupid U-M computers.

On a more interesting note, Chasing Hats has a great three -part series on Christianity, art, and intellectualism. An excerpt: The Evangelical response to criticism about its "art" is often to excuse the mediocrity rather than to face up to it. The rationale for the cookie-cutter, low-level of craftsmanship in contemporary Christian music is that since it is being performed in the name of Jesus, it is fine if the quality is poor. And so, instead of Christians leading the way in quality of the craftsmanship in music, writing, film and painting, we settle for the mistaken consolation, which is really no consolation at all. We claim that it's fine to be mediocre or even downright bad because we are Christians and God will approve anyway. Truly artistic people know the fallacy of this attitude.... One danger of Evangelical Correctness is that artistic Christians get victimized. Artists by nature see reality a bit differently and think in typically non-formulaic ways. The modernist construct of the 7 Habits of the Highly Effective Church, and the 5 Steps to a Perfect Marriage, and the 3 Keys to Happy Kids, and so on, deny the complexity of reality. Life is much more complicated and mysterious and uncertain than Modernism acknowledges.... We put our stock in well-known Bible teachers or influential leaders, rather than doing the harder work of cultivating our own minds. Truly, it is a sin we have all committed.... Art is powerful communication. It cuts across barriers, it exposes us to each other and ourselves and... it says things that are often too deep for words.

Speaking of art, get this: I'm in the middle of (or planning) three recording projects right now. One is my ever-present attempt to finish my EP, First Verse, the second is recording a couple of songs with a friend majoring in Performing Arts Technology for his studio project (Ryan and I have tentative plans to make one of those into a simple music video for the upcoming website and press kit), and the last is an acoustic worship music CD that Godwin is working on--I'll be contributing to a few tracks and playing an original. Kind of cool, eh?

And last but not least are plans I'll be developing with a small team to produce a multimedia (online, at least in the beginning) magazine; think film, music, visual arts, and writing brought together in one place. Right now it's just an idea, but if everything works out you'll be hearing more about it soon now that I'm done obsessing with the Hopwood Contest.

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Tuesday, February 04, 2003

ARGH

I could weep. I got up early this morning and spent a half hour arguing with the printers at Angell Hall, trying to make them print my Hopwood entry. Of course, the computers kept crashing. It was inevitable. I finally got the entry printed and made it to the Hopwood Room to turn it in... a minute after I got there, as I was assembling everything together on the floor, she closed the door. The deadline was noon and her clock was two minutes fast. So myself and two other girls tried to argue the point. Didn't work. Guess who won't be winning a Hopwood this term (or ever, since I'm graduating and not planning to do a masters degree here)? And I think I actually had a shot for once....

^ Top | 11:14 AM | | |

It's late, but I'm excited.

I just finished editing/writing my entry for the Hopwood Contest (for those who don't know, it's a writing contest at the University of Michigan with prizes usually ranging from $1000 to $6000, not to mention prestige--yeah, exactly). Now I just have to wake up tomorrow morning in time to buy binders and assemble the entire thing. My creative writing prof was talking about how it's good to show breadth in your submission, so I decided to write a one paragraph/page experimental piece that I'll probably post on here in a bit; for its style, think ee cummings meets Rick Moody written by a Chinese girl. (Have I piqued your interest yet?) The stories: "No, Not One," "A Dance with Pluto," "Unrequited Chinese," and "Night's Tears." It comes out to 22 pages, I think--a good use of the 5-50 page limit. Wish me luck (or better yet, pray that I win--the money would really help toward getting a car that actually works...)!

^ Top | 3:21 AM | | |

Sunday, February 02, 2003

On Diversity at Universities

From the New York Times: Asian Students: Not All of Them Are Pre-Med Violinists. No kidding. According to the article, at Brown University it's easier to get in as a white student than as an Asian. We're the only minority that doesn't get any slack....

An excerpt from The New Calculus of Diversity on Campus:
When, for example, it [the University of Michigan Law School] assembled its class for the fall of 1999, the law school accepted only one of the 61 Asian-Americans, or 2 percent, who were ranked in the middle range of the applicant pool, as defined by their grades and test scores.... The admission rate for whites with similar grades and scores was 3 percent. But among black applicants with similar transcripts, 22 out of 27, or 81 percent, were offered admission.... Though supportive of affirmative action for black and Hispanic applicants in particular, Evelyn Hu-DeHart, a professor of history and ethnic studies at Brown, said she took offense at the perception that there might be a threshold for how many Asians on a campus was too many. "I'll tell you what is discriminatory in the case of Texas," said Ms. Hu-DeHart.... "They don't say whites are overrepresented. They're pitting Asian-Americans against blacks and Latinos by saying Asian-Americans are taking your place."

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Saturday, February 01, 2003

Year of the Ram

It is now 4700. Happy New Year!

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