A girl after my own heart

" For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors and laugh at them in our turn?"
-Jane Austen

Monday meetings

I ran off to have a quality Japanese food and much needed quality time with M today. That was meeting one. Then in the afternoon meeting 2 with Dapper Y. I call him Yoda in my mind - He took me aside to make sure I was back on track.

He is Yoda for his wisdom and for the great force that he emanates. To my mind, he is the best of the Dappers. What's more, we have affinity, which is a good thing I think, and should serve me well in the long run.

In the meantime, closing goes on. Will there be a CNY break? Could be. Who knows.

Something's coming. I don't know what it is but it is gonna be great...
Or that could be wishful thinking. No workout today. But tomorrow, I hit the track again - literally.

Excesses

It's my own fault. Nobody asked me to stay out till 3am. Nobody insisted that I sing ABBA or Joan Jett or Billy Joel or Madonna or The Corrs. I did it to myself. So if today seemed like a longer day than it actually was, I have no one to blame but myself. I have to say though, it was great fun while it lasted.

But today was fun, too. We had perfect weather to manage 8 eight year olds rambling through an old historic park on a green hill with wide expanses of grass and gigantic trees. There was a scavenger hunt and a game of tag and lots and lots of water gun fights. Our menu of vampire blood muffins (pizza pan de sal), mud sludge pies (chocolate cup cakes) and lady witch fingers (cheese sticks) went over well, along with the goober alien flow (apple and grape juice packs).

The wind blew and the little boys played, dragging the adults in. Even K who was on duty as assistant game master was seen madly tearing after a boy who had open fired on her. She caught him, too. At one point, I was being chased by two litte twer-- er little boys...as they shot me with what can only be described as a water bazooka. Finally, I changed my tack and chased them, grabbed their weapons from their hands and blasted them full on on the face till they yelled in surrender. The birthday boy was properly pleased, and his sister got her reward for doing such good work - developing a pop quiz as one of the major games.

Now, as I contemplate the crafting of a relationship piece when all I really want to do is crawl into bed, I think, this day went pretty well, actually. If only work happens to suffer, that should be a small and unimportant thing in the long run that is life.

What are eight year old boys made of

Sunday picnics and water guns and eight other eight year old boys in the park, whooping and zipping around and being there own paradoxical selves. We've got the cup cakes, the mini pizzas, the cheese sticks and the juice packs. Not to mention ten well-packed goodie bags. Please don't let it rain.

Apocalypto

Last Friday Babel, this Friday Apocalypto.

Which is not to say that these films are not well-done nor well worth watching. They are. But I wouldn't say they were feel-good movies or even movies that are pleasurably gripping. In fact, they are quite definitely unpleasurably gripping.

For me, the best sub-plot in Babel was the Tokyo sub-plot. It was, at least, the most interesting and the most unexpected, in contrast to the others where you could see the anguish coming a mile away. The couple's Moroccan vacation nightmare was saved from sentimentality by Cate Blanchette who is just a brilliant creator. She doesn't have much to do, but she's so invested. Even when acting opposite Brad who is at his most wooden, it seems, and very diametrically uninvested. In the Mexican sub-plot, you can't take your eyes off Gael Garcia Bernal. But then, really, why would you want to? And weren't those children impossibly blonde - as in ghostly blonde?

In Apocalypo, the most joyful moment is "Almost's" transformation into the Jaguar's Paw - and that phenomenal leap into the falls. That and the water birth. If you're going to deliver a child sans doctor, hospital and epidural...it is best to push him out while submerged in a caveful of rain water.

All this action, all this cinematic tension.

And yet all I seem to be in the mood for are small domestic dramas. I would love to watch Little Children. T will say to me, "What, another infidelity movie?" Maybe I'll book tickets for Valentine's Day. Happy Valentine's Day to me.

The Greatest Salesman In The World

I should read that book. It may help on the job.

What's a garden without Weeds?

Just finished the second season. It's dark, depraved, deadly funny and completely addictive. But not for everyone, though. The show is by turns heinous yet oddly heartbreaking due to Mary Louise Parker and Elizabeth Perkins. Quite definitely not for everyone. Just those who are tickled by what's sometimes seen as downright perverted; these people will take a fancy to it. Granted, only a few people's names come to mind from my life, but they exist. Oh boy, do they exist.

And you just gotta love the theme song. Listen to it here
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXLWa1UZIS

If you can't, here are the lyrics - lovely, lovely satire.

Little boxes on the hillside, Little boxes made of ticky-tacky, Little boxes on the hillside, Little boxes, all the same. There's a green one and a pink one And a blue one and a yellow one And they're all made out of ticky-tacky And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses All went to the university, Where they were put in boxes, And they came out all the same. And there's doctors and there's lawyers And business executives, And they're all made out of ticky-tacky And they all look just the same.

And they all play on the golf-course, And drink their Martinis dry, And they all have pretty children, And the children go to school. And the children go to summer camp And then to the university, Where they are put in boxes And they come out all the same.

And the boys go into business, And marry, and raise a family, In boxes made of ticky-tacky, And they all look just the same. There's a green one and a pink one And a blue one and a yellow one And they're all made out of ticky-tacky And they all look just the same.

Why...why...it almost sounds like...dare I say it?

Nah.

Accu-amazing

Pardon my going on about accupuncture. But it really is amazing. My accupuncturist, a Chinese physician, holds clinic on the second floor of an HDB commercial complex in Chinatown and refuses to give appointments. "Come when you come," she shrugs.

She is a card, a real character - and I warmed to her in the same way I find myself inclining toward quirky women. She takes cash only. She and her receptionist have a very giggly schoolgirlish relationship. And although her English is on the elemental, primordial side - she has that winning instinct of making herself very easily understood.

Yesterday, perhaps as a result of a difficult week, I was inspired to make time to escape to her for an hour. I got there at 11:30, blissful that the clinic was empty and she could see me right away. I went through the restorative cupping along my entire spine and the exhilerating needling and she gave me unlabelled pills to take - so that I could get "an - bocked".

She also showed me (with the help of a rubber and plastic model) that the human ear is
exactly like a human fetus. How great is that? Last night, once again, I slept like a baby and rose this morning with verve and energy - completely ready for doctor's appointments, a hundred errands, writing homework and choir practice.

Am so going again next week.

Who are the Van der Luydens

Edith Wharton's Age of Innocence is a novel about New York society as most of her novels were. To put it bluntly, who is in, who is out, who are the right people and who are the wrong people. And "right" seems to have no other discernable meaning beyond that of shared family and or socio-economic background - not necessarily shared interests, world views or humour.

The explores what happens when someone wants to leave the "right" people, deciding that he will no longer adhere to the usual conventions of who is right and who is wrong, but simply be with the person he wants to be with - in fact be himself, the person he wants to be. Of course, he is thwarted in the end. The book strikes a real chord with me every time I read it, because of its parallels with Pinoy society - and perhaps most especially, Pinoy society outside of the Philippines.

And while the whole Ellen Olenska-Newland Archer-May Wheeland triangle is the central plot, certain details and sub-plots have taken permanent residence in the way I understand social patterns today. The Van der Luydens, in Wharton's world, are an older couple whose approbation and estimation is valued, whose opinion is sought even though they studiously make their presence quite scarce as Ellen Olenska intimates, in part perhaps to ensure
that value.

It can be a tremendously amusing past time to characterise real people according to the roles of characters in a Wharton novel. Who is the Ellen Olenska who finally and irrevocably turns her back on the conventional norms, preferring instead to live life according to her own choosing despite the loss of a love affair? Who is the Newland Archer who struggles to with his desires for a different kind of life but is too trapped in the rules and norms of the society he himself has helped create. Who is the May Wheeland who has no other thought nor interest beyond what she has been taught to value and find worthy of attention. And who, who are the Van der Luydens?

One of the many wonderful things about great literature is the truth that it lends to what would otherwise be mundane, fairly ordinary life.

My career counsellor

From the mouths of babes

It is a wonderful thing to be able to talk to your children and listen to their opinions. After a difficult day at work that had me figuratively clutching my emotional tether with all fours, I came home last night beleaguered and bewildered, close to tears. I asked my son C for a hug, and he genially gave me one and I let myself whimper in his chubby arms.

With great presence of mind, the seven-year-old asked, "What's wrong?"
"Bad day at work," I replied.
"Tell me," he said.
"A lot of things not going to plan. Am having to face things I didn't think I would have to face."
"So what do you feel like doing about it?" he asks in utter seriousness.
"I don't know. What do you think?"

"I think you should wait and see. You don't know how it's going to be yet. Wait and see how it goes. Then see how you feel," he said, with all of Solomon's wisdom.

Today, when I reached home, he greeted me with, "How was it today? Did you follow my advice?"

I hugged him him and thanked him and told him I did.

Binge

Bad day. Tomorrow has to be different.

Theory

Consistently good sex is rooted in a relationship that contains a measure of conflict and contradiction, something with crests and troughs as opposed to one that is placid and smooth-sailing and always genial. It is to be found between two people who drive each other crazy, and not always in a good way. It thrives when two people have differences of opinion as well as just plain differences. And one of life's greatest ironies is that a relationship that is 100% pure mutual admiration, respect and caring seems to make for sex that's kind of boring.

Of course, that's just a theory.

What's happening to me?

Started the 3rd season of Grey's Anatomy and I'm finding myself irritated at the characters - practically all of them. The only character I find myself liking at the moment is Miranda Bailey. She and Addison Montgomery - the philandering wife of McDreamy who tries her best to work at her marriage. Everyone else just pissed me off, and none more so than Meredith Grey.

Is this a sign of ageing that I no longer have the patience for simpering twenty-somethings and their whiny little problems? What's that about.

Have decided to finish this series before going on to Weeds, then to Studio 60. House I will save for last. Resolutions for tomorrow: the 4k run, the healthy lunch and a complete concept for the story I promised to M and J.

Not a manic monday

Thanks to diligent weekend work, I managed to deliver on all my work commitments today. As such, I felt perfectly within my rights to go off for a lunchtime yoga session - another power hour class. Afterwards, I had a lovely salad with grilled chicken from Doc Greens. Nice fresh greens, yummy dressing and garnish of walnuts and cranberries. Nice place that - the kind of place which makes you feel like you can eat there everyday. Got home early and was even able to fit in a 40 minute ralk to the track. Were every day like today...

The Power Of Yoga

Flashback to Friday
Finally made it back to the yoga studio after two months. Wanted to do a Hot Class...but work circumstances conspired to place me into the Power 1 class that took place 45 minutes later.
And it was exactly what the doctor ordered. Pure power. Pure exhileration.

New friends

Here's what is wonderful about life. Even at a time when you think you are past a certain kind of experience, you get taken completely by surprise. And you discover something. Or something lets you know in no uncertain terms that you are wrong. There are things that can still happen to you. Whether it's making a mistake or picking a fight or outgrowing a friend.

Or making a new one. So to A who I met at a work event and shared a taxi with and coincidentally to A at church - thank you for showing me, I still know how to make friends. And choose good ones.

So much to watch, so much to do, so little time

I've got Weeds 1 and 2. I've got Studio 60. I've got House 3 or part of it, anyway. And I've also got Grey's Anatomy 3 or at least some of it.

BUT

I've got a book review and a column to write both due on Monday. Not to mention all the rest of the family stuff that happens on the weekend....

So how

It's scary when it happens. When finally, finally, the story that you thought through in your head has finally been captured, trapped on the page...and it though it looks good especially in stretches, there's something missing but you can't quite put your finger in it. And there's no point in doing anything else except move on. Write another one.

Accupuncture Adventure

After hearing so many positive stories from friends and family about the wonders of accupuncture, I decided that the first chance I got, I would try it out. So went to Tanjong Pagar Plaza in Chinatown, a little mall-ette attached to an HDB complex. On the second floor, just above the bank, I met Dr. Theresa - a Chinese physician and accupuncturist. In a quick conversation during which she felt my pulse, she basically made some guesses about my body and my eating habits. She told me how often I would get hungry, the poor quality of my sleep, and how I was frequently thirsty. All of it true - just from feeling my pulse? It was hard to fathom, though of course, she eyeballed me quite a bit as well. The bottomline: I have plenty of heat and wind in my body - so the toxins including fat just hang out...like a lot of murk in still waters. Then she had me lie down on my tummy while she massaged me rather vigorously in the neck and in the back.

"Ow ow ow." I said.

"Does this hurt? Does this hurt?" she asked squeezing harder.

"Yes, it hurts!" I retorted my face down in a paper towel.

"Ah ah..." she said knowingly.

She then proceeded to skin me with cups and then placed them all over my back. Then she pierced me with needles at various points. Call me a masochist...I rather enjoyed the experience and the localised sites of pain. She then left me for a bit and I fell into the deepest nap I'd ever experienced. I only awoke when I realised she was giving me instructions about various herbs and tablets I should take. I didn't pay much attention. So much better to just think it's all magic and hocus-pocus...so much more pleasurable to have the entire process shrouded in mystery.

I yelped each time she unpopped the cups - it was a new and not disagreeable. She then had me turn on my back so she could needle me at certain points in my tummy. The sensations at each needle-prick were rather strange - like little balloons of fluid being burst. I asked her about it, but only got the answer, "Aah, ah." Like this was all the way it was supposed to be. Why even bother asking, I thought to myself.

At the end of it, she gives me various pills to drink and a bottle of a horrific brown concoction - I no longer bothered to ask what it was. And that was it. That night, when K came in for her nightly wee, I did not even hear her. Last night, I slept straight through like a nine month old baby - a powerful, heavy sleep. I see her again next week...