Dawn Xiana Moon: Intelligent folk pop with influences from jazz and traditional Chinese music. From Chicago.

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Sunday, March 28, 2004

Des incertitudes

God knows what he's doing. Sometimes I forget that, but I was reminded of his constant work when I was talking to Christine just now and eating my dinner (or whatever you'd call a meal eaten at midnight). The whole set of circumstances that led to us sharing an apartment is a rather bizarre one, for me especially; I signed one lease, got out of it, moved back to my parents', couldn't live there anymore, looked for a sublet, and then received a phone call out of the blue from Christine, who also needed a place to stay for the next semester. But I'm thankful that she is my roommate. I didn't know it before, but we're similar personalities and at similar points in our lives.

Right now we're both struggling to figure out what is the best for us to do for the spring/summer and the next year come September; she's deciding which grad school to go to and whether or not she should go to China, while I'm deciding whether I should stay in Ann Arbor for another year and work with my church (right now the larger possibility) or go to Paris for a year (the more exciting opportunity, but not necessarily the better) and what to do once May hits (hopefully get myself to France on an internship for a couple of months). We've also had interesting discussions on other future-related areas since we're both in serious dating relationships. It's comforting to know that others also have large uncertainties in their lives. Even though I don't have everything figured out, God does, and he's placed me in an apartment with someone who knows exactly what I'm going through. So, I think, we can encourage each other.

^ Top | 11:56 PM | | |

Friday, March 19, 2004

Rant on editors.

May I just rant for a minute? [rant] Why do editors have to edit mistakes into a piece? Both articles I've written for the Michigan Daily have been edited into junk. Argh.

Exhibit A: A preview of Ornette Coleman's UMS appearance. Where did this sentence fragment come from? It definitely wasn't worded this way in the original. "Coleman’s unusual ensemble, which includes two double basses — played by bassists Greg Cohen and Tony Falanga — and drummer Denardo Coleman, who was first heard on his father’s recordings at the age of 10. " If you're going to edit me, please at least let me sound like I have a proper understanding of English grammar when you're through.

Exhibit B: A preview of MUSKET's production of Cabaret. First of all, it's a PREview, not REview, as the article heading states. Second, there aren't "four major adaptations"--there are four major versions, because the first version was the original, thus leaving three adaptations, if want to call them that (which would still be a poor choice of wording). Third, there was no "1987 remake"--there was a 1987 revival. A remake is a film. A revival is a staging of a play. And can I thank editors for making me sound choppy?

And these made it through at least the Fine Arts subeditor and a copy editor--and perhaps the Arts Editor as well. Good grief, why even bother writing for a student newspaper? How on earth does it get respect anywhere? [/rant]

^ Top | 11:59 PM | | |

A rather rough sketch. And yes, it's fiction. Why do people always ask that?

This Changes Everything

This changes everything. At least it feels like it should. And does. They were driving back from the theatre, a white blur on dark roads through suburbia, on expanses of highways unlit. Mentally she'd been preparing herself for the last year, little by little, to marry him, teaching herself to love unconditionally, a love that did not come naturally for her, self-centered and concerned with fairness as she was. All the effort spent on learning to appreciate the little things, seeing but accepting his flaws, weaknesses, difference from the Ideal--what did it matter in the end? The oncoming headlights were too harsh, blinding, the redness of taillights maddening. Frustrating. How could he say that he loved her--yet she knew unequivocally he did--when separation was for him a real possibility? A concrete one, based on willingness, or lack thereof, to have children? It wouldn't be love if it was conditional. So he'd said, so she'd believed. And still did. But how could he invest so much time, energy, emotion into something that might not last? But she thought it would. They talked as though it would, as though the future was already written with a happy ending. One filled with trials, yes, but one happy in the end, written with much care. Why allow herself to be vulnerable, to be that vulnerable to someone who might not be there? Or would they become closer, advance to the point of marriage but drift in the agony of limbo while he waited for her to say that she'd changed, she wanted children after all? This changes everything. She didn't feel as secure as she had an hour ago. The silhouettes of houses were foreboding, and the charm of picket fences couldn't save the overwhelming generality of design. Yet for all that, he still said he wouldn't love her any more or less for her opinions on the subject, for her desire or lack of. Sometimes it seemed he had an inexhaustible capacity to love. But she did not.

The future isn't written. But they were hedging their bets.

She cried. She refused to allow anyone to see her tears. She was invincible. Hated seeming a stereotypical girl, despised the weakness of women who sobbed during Hallmark commercials. So she hid the tears in the cover of night as they sped from freeway to freeway, barely daring to speak. When she needed to, she forced herself to make her voice steady. It must not crack. It must sound normal. She was an actress after all. But she couldn't remove herself enough to sound cheerful; she was too involved. Stare at the window. Generic office buildings are so interesting. She supposed she'd succeeded--he didn't seem to notice anything unusual except that she seemed withdrawn. Meanwhile the rest of her strength was summoned into battle against the salt tickling the corners of her eyes. Drip. Another. Stop. Stop! Rub the eyes as though tired. The mask is upheld.

Later in her living room he held her and the easy familiarity of the embrace threatened a return of the downpour. She felt as though a giant were squeezing her heart, stronger, stronger, and like the fairy tale water began to flow. Two stains on his sweater. But he didn't notice? He said nothing, seemed to drift into sleep. She turned her head away and fought the giant. She couldn't win, but won enough space to prevent more water from leaving the stone. Rub the eyes again. Just tired. Time to go to sleep. You should probably go home. He nodded. Just a couple of minutes. Rigid control. He sees nothing. But she'd been hinting, allowing cracks in the mask the entire night. Did he see? She felt so obvious. Yet obvious to her was blindness to others. And he? Was he just like everyone else? Grace. Perhaps he was just tired. Or didn't want to say anything. Why not? He's getting up. Can I have a hug? She returns his embrace. Sleep. Sleep. Let it all fall away. But could it? This changes everything.

^ Top | 1:11 AM | | |

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

Les Lapins

Today's blog entry has been brought to you by Betty Chu's English Angora, Home of Grand Champions. Thanks to Emily for the link that originally inspired me.

First off, some scary-looking rabbits. The phrase "ball of fur" just took on a whole new meaning. And then there's the section called Bunnies! Bunnies! Bunnies!. Quotes:

On Motherhood: "Sweetie Pie, my first french lop, had her babies on the wire at 10 o'clock on a rainy night. I picked up the babies and put them in her nest box and left Sweetie Pie and the babies alone. The next morning, to my horror, half of the babies were dead and the remaining few were cold and dying. I called Sweetie Pie's breeder, Cathy, asking for help. She came and put the cold babies in the warm oven. Unfortunately, all still died except one. Sweetie Pie did not know what to do with this one survivor; neither did I."

More on Motherhood: "Some does give me no worry. They have the babies in the box, cover them well and nurse the babies right away. Some may need help."

On Expressing Affection: "Reach out and touch somebunny."

On Mating: "After selecting the right combination, I check the buck's and doe's genital area to make sure that they are all clean. I take the doe to the buck's cage early in the morning. If it is a successful mating, the buck should fall over and stomp his feet repeatedly. I'll take the doe out and hold her in my arm for 3-5 minutes so that she does not urinate to flush out his sperm immediately after mating. I'll put her back in her cage and repeat the process again 7 hours after the morning mating" [emphasis added].

On Eating: "The ones [bunnies] that got enough milk have a firm and fat tummy. The ones that did not get enough are soft."

On Bodily Functions: "At times a baby may have problem in urinating. I use my finger or a wet cotton swab gentlely rub the baby's little tummy and genital area. Baby usually will respond quite quickly."

On Time Management: "In addition, I am sure we have all seen babies chasing their mama for milk. It certainly can be very stressful for the doe if she does not feel like nursing at that time. I feel that keeping doe and babies apart except at nursing time is a solution for both parties. And I am sure that they enjoy their quality time together much more" [emphasis in original].

On Corpses: "After the doe has kindled, I take the nestbox out of her cage. Take out dead babies if there are any."

^ Top | 12:31 AM | | |

Friday, March 12, 2004

(Not) Coming to a Store Near You

From an idea spawned late one night last weekend--introducing the new spring Barbie lineup:

1. Retirement Barbie, Mattel's rebuttal to claims that Barbie's looks and proportions foster unrealistic ideas of beauty and thus contribute to eating disorders. Accessories include doll-sized 1000 piece puzzle, pair of dentures, and bedpan. Comes dressed in floral-print muumuu. Gray hair.

2. US Marine Barbie, Mattel's rebuttal to claims that Barbie fosters the antiquated ideal of the woman solely as nurturer, caregiver, wife, and mother. Accessories include (blunt) knives, dog tags, and (non-functional) grenade. Comes dressed in camouflage. Buzz haircut.

3. Webmaster Barbie, Mattel's rebuttal to claims that Barbie lacks intelligence and attempt to appeal to the growing internet economy. Accessories include wide-rimmed glasses and notebook computer. Comes dressed in loose-fitting T-shirt featuring the Linux penguin and jeans. Hair styled to look "messy" or "just-rolled-out-of-bed."

And to think I used to have Barbies who were princesses and ice skaters or just had cool clothes.

^ Top | 1:00 AM | | |

Tuesday, March 09, 2004

La cuisine de Singapore

"There is no food like food back home! While Asian food is getting very popular nowadays in the West, authentic Singapore and Malaysian food is still largely unavailable and a mystery to most. "
--Makan Time

I've had this incredible longing for Singaporean food all day. Local cuisine is the pride of Singaporeans, who, in any given place in the country, can tell you which restaurant or food stall is famous and for what; unfortunately, as far as I can tell, many of the ingredients are difficult find outside of Southeast Asia. My brother and I always joke that while in other countries people starve to death, Singaporeans die from overeating... and that their main two hobbies are shopping and eating. Which is more accurate than anyone who's never visited could realize.

As I write this I'm munching on warm French bread and canned chicken curry "imported" by relatives who visited in October; the combination is wonderful, although I'm reminded how pathetic my spice tolerance is for an Asian. My tongue is burning--I've only had a few bites and my glass of water is already half empty. And then there's my craving for durian, the best fruit ever--when else can you eat custard straight from a fruit? Hmm. It's Gabe's fault for talking about this. On Sunday I found out he'd spent some time in Thailand and we had a discussion on local foods. So perhaps that's why earlier today I tried to make something resembling Hor Fun--not entirely accurate, but it was close enough considering I lacked a number of ingredients and had never tried to make it before--and fed it to Tait, who said it was delicious but hardly touched the noodles (his normal serving size is rather small though, so it was hard to tell if he was just being nice or just wasn't that hungry). It's days like this that tell me that I am Asian, as American as I often seem.

Being a singaporean student studying overseas is really hard.... especially when u really crave for some home cooked meal .... but dun have the recipe .. i cannot tell u how much your hokkien mee recipe saved my hunger pangs .. i was all ready to drop everything ... give up everything for a plate of hokkien mee .. but your recipe saved me .. .... THANKS A GREAT DEAL ... will be introducing all my home sick frens to your page .. literally made me drool .... congrads on a job well done.
--Sharon, Australia (from Makan Time)

^ Top | 12:30 AM | | |

Tuesday, March 02, 2004

A follow-up post on stats before we move on to more exciting topics.

I find the lack of statistics on blogging rather disappointing; after searching the net for around an hour the best estimates I could find were that there are anywhere from 2.4 (Blogcount Estimate in June 2003) to 4.12 million (Perseus in October 2003) blogs on the net, a discrepancy that begs the questions of error margin and speed of creation in the world of the internet. But there were some interesting numbers from the Perseus count (note: for their purposes, abandoned meant not updated in two months):

* 26% of blogs are abandoned upon creation
* 40% of blogs are abandoned after an average of 126 days
* the average blog updates every 14 days
* after abandonment, the likelihood of resuming is 1 in 200
* the number of hosted blogs will exceed 10 million by the end of 2004

Another interesting bit from December 2003:

The annual churn rate in 2002 for hosted blogs (excluding one-day wonders) was 47%. That is to say that 47% of the blogs that were at some point active in 2002 had their final post in 2002 (when checked in late September, 2003). Blogs are being abandoned at a faster rate than e-mail addresses, and where the average user has 3.1 e-mail addresses there is no indication that most users are replacing abandoned blogs with new ones.

However, as with most things technological, it's too soon to say that the blog phenomenon is about to die--especially if the estimate of over 10 million blogs created by the end of the year holds true. But I guess this means I can safely say I've outlasted a bare minimum of 50% of blogs, probably far more. The only one I personally know who has been blogging longer than me is Tait. (Yeah, yeah. Shut up.)

^ Top | 12:15 PM | | |