The doctors in the House

Have begun the second season of House and I'm dreading for it to end. Characters are growing and developing, but even better, the discernable formula - which most people didn't mind really - is now in the throes of reinvention. So much less structured now than it was in the first season. And still those lovely ironies. People ask how I can stand such a meanie, such a carmudgeon - and in truth, if Greg House existed in real life, yes, I would hate him. But as a fictional anti-hero, he suits my cynical tendencies to the bone. The brilliant diagnostician who hates patients. The healer who is himself a drug addict. The people's life saver who can't seem to get his own life together. House reminds me of, do I dare say it, so many people. And some of them are me.

And the writing? the creativity? The slick graphics and the irresistible characterizations of Cuddy, Foreman, Wilson, Chase, Cameron and Stacey - I don't ever want it to end. As second seasons go, this one takes the rich, rum, spicy fruit cake of the season, making Grey's Anatomy seem like feeble key lime pie - sweet, fluffy and not quite all there.


Let's give a hand for the House!

Let nothing ye dismay...

Despite being twenty minutes early to the 6pm Children's mass at St. Iggy's, there was no room on the pews. So there we are, the kiddie Christmas pageant is about to begin, and I have two dressed up sulky kids upset that they can't "see" the show. So I send them to stand behind the choir where perhaps they will get a better view and likely won't be sent away because, well, it's a children's mass and they're kids. The plan worked. The kids got to see the "show" which wasn't half bad, actually. Then T and I wriggled and squirmed our way near them, except when the show ended, the we lost track of where they were. K found our way to us...but C was nowhere to be found, and the service proper was in full progress. All at once I see a man leading a bawling C to the pew way on the other side of the church. Thank goodness, he wasn't yelling, just sniffling. As quickly as I could, I made my way back there and escorted him back. All's well that ended well.

Fr. Chris Soh gave a lovely sermon - the best I've ever heard here, actually. A reflection on the irony of the Christ child as a hero, so unlike Superman and Spiderman and yet so much more heroic in that he saves us with the truth. It was perfectly appropriate, considering this was the children's mass. And the youth choir did a great job...and the congregation left the church humming those great old tunes. Then it was back home to a homecooked family dinner of roast lamb, brussel sprouts, mashed potatoes, fruit salad and the gingerbread we baked.

The best thing? Waking up to a dry, breezy Christmas day. Hurrah. Hurrah.

Joy to the world. Good will to men and peace on earth.
Noel!
Noelle

Traditions

Getting out the Christmas card with the Christmas picture. Sending home the presents to the dear folks in Manila. Buying outfits for Christmas mass - because we should all wear something new for Jesus' birthday. Having fruit salad and sweet treats like poppycock and ginger covered in dark chocolate. Baking the a batch or two of Tita Esther Esteban's gingerbread cookies as well as Mom's fruit salad with the secret zip. Making sure there is queso de bola, majestic ham and Spanish sardines for a noche buena for two. Doing a lot of Christmas reading from the books from Chapter 1 of Little Women to Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus and not to forget Luke 2:1-17. Doing last minute shopping on Orchard Road. Attending the children's mass at St. Ignatius, which is at the very earthly and civilised hour of 6pm on the 24th, thank you very much. Having a family Christmas dinner of either roast lamb or turkey and getting the kids off to bed early so that all the wrapping can finally be "wrapped up" - staying up or not staying up with hot chocolate. Getting awakened by the kids. Opening the gifts and then going off for Christmas day brunch...and then following it with something outdoorsy like the zoo or a traipse in the park or if it's raining (and Christmas day can well be a rainy one in Singapore) a walk in the museum or a browse at the bookstore. And on boxing day, we go through toys, clothes and books that can be brought over to Tita Belen's communities in the Philippine provinces.

Best of all, this Christmas - no work till the New Year!

"But isn't it funny, we never see him...and all the gifts come from Toys R Us!"

Feeling like a journalist

Last night, I dreamt I had an exclusive interview with John Travolta. It was a two-hour session at his hotel suite and I asked him incisive, penetrating questions in the way a shrewd, been-there-done-that and wasn't-born-yesterday journalist would. And while he squirmed his way through it, finally breaking down and giving in, I felt an incredible surge of power.

Been feeling like a journalist lately. This is surprising because as a writer in editor in women's magazines, I have never really and truly felt like a journalist. All of a sudden, now that I've left the automatic, easy and yes, comfortable world of female fash mags and am making my way through the strange and unexplored seemingly lunatic world that is the men's news magazine, I feel full to the brim with...what is it? Ambition? Journalistic drive? I don't know. Something. Of course, it occurs to me that aTravolta exclusive, even if it is a dream, isn't exactly the stuff
of hardcore journalism, is it? I guess my magazine sense is still very much esconsced in celebrity gloss and goss.

Shut up about your job already, T says, it's Christmas. OK, I will.

Get that spirit!

Counting Down

Still oh so many things to do and I'm not even going home for Christmas! Fortunately, a break looms in the horizon from the 26th all the way to the 2nd. What to do, what to do...

Rain reigns

You would think after seven years here, I wouldn't be so startled by it. But sultry, sunny days all year make you forget that when December comes, it's quite possible to have incessant rain for days on end, with precious little regard for the festive season. C complained in the car all the way to Sports Camp, and the truth was, inside I was whining right along with him.

We've learnt the hard way too many times. At least now, we know not to book a beach trip in nearby Bintan - it all goes to waste in with the rain. But it's hard to keep that Christmas cheer when it's dark and gloomy outside. T says - in terms of the absence of light, it would be no different from the US or Europe, so we should all quit complaining. He is, as he is on many occasions, quite right.

I hope to get a glimpse of the sun on Christmas morning. If not, with any luck, we'll be able to make a little sunshine from inside out.

Birthday bliss

I'm that proverbial kid on Christmas day. First from T: a lovely item from Mulberry, bagged early due to convenient credit card sale. Saphire earrings from Mom and Dad. And from the girls: the 2nd season of Grey's Anatomy DVD set, Alain de Botton's The Architecture of Happiness, (the whopping how could I forget to mention) The Illustrated History of Vogue, 501 Books You Must Read, The Paris Review's Anthology of People With Problems, the hardbound edition of Ruth Reichl's Garlic and Sapphires the secret life of a food critic in disguise, four very pretty necklaces including one designed by an old school chum, a pair of earrings, a votive candle to keep serene for the season. And my dearest sisters in Manila tell me I've got new sleepwear and a new pair of yoga pants with my name on it! PLUS texts and emails from New York City, Chicago and Alabama and Manila and a phone call from Washington DC. Happy happy birthday to me, indeed.

Something odd: Turning 39 has made me feel for the first time in some three or four years, very much really and truly not 40.

The December Snowball

It happens every year, doesn't it? You hit the the third week of November and all of a sudden, days start to zipping by with the speed of light so it feels like you don't even have time to take a breath, much less get all the things you need to do done. This year is no different. Come to think of it, 2006 seems to have gone by exceedingly quickly and it's all rushing to a crescendo right now.

K and C are still amazingly keeping Santa Claus alive. Work is so very mentally absorbing that for the first time, I am finding it hard to blog about it. Friends and family are in and out of town and the flurry of festive socials has begun with a vengeance - what with brunches and dinners and cocktails. In the meantime, personal and professional deadlines loom for writing projects, so every bit of time from here till the dawn of 2007 will be crammed full to the brim. But but but...will also find the time to go biking at Bishan park, take the kiddies to see Deck the Halls, set our annual Christmas cookie baking session and organise our year-end donations to children's charities, not to mention the holiday card. But first, the birthday lunch...

Let it snow, let is snow, let it snow...

Take a vinyasa!

  

We should all simply

  
Bono has it so very right.

Yoo Hoo! You Too?

It's not the best time in the world to up and leave for a couple of days, but hey...when is it ever? Going down under to see Bono and hang with friends. Hopefully the weather holds up...

One Halloween

After almost seven years in Singapore, I took a ride on the Halloween Bus.

What's that? It's basically the official form of transport on Halloween Saturday for those in Singapore who enjoy getting dressed up in the scary costume of their choice and hopping from bar to bar in pursuit of inebriation. Or at least till their eyes are so frighteningly bloodshot, their faces no longer need paint for additional terrifying effects. The happenstance of why I came to be on that bus was a hen night for the fiancee of a friend. I can think of no other circumstances that would have induced me to go on such a spree, otherwise.

So there I was, completely wide-eyed and sober, sitting in the first empty seat I could find: a lone leopard with giraffe ears separated from my fellow leopards and zebras. Next to me was a guy who's costume I simply didn't get. (He was in a navy pin striped suit and wore a hat. When I asked what he was supposed to be, he looked all haughty and offended. "I'm in the mafia," he muttered disdainfully. The thing is, I felt he was more pimp than godfather. Of course, I refrained from telling him that.

Anyway, the sureal high point was when someone in the front of the bus started coming down the aisle toward me. He was frightening. He wore an under shirt, was barefoot, had scary black circles around his eyes and walked a little like a hunchback, with a shuffling gait. I looked at him and thought: Oh my gosh, it's Gollum from LOTR.

"Noelle? Noelle?" Gollum called out as he approached...coming nearer and nearer to me. I froze. I had no idea who he was.

Only when his face was just inches from mine did I recognise him. An out of context young colleague from my new office.

"What are you doing on the bus?" he asked me with palpable incredulity.

And boy, that's when I felt it. I don't know for sure how he meant it. But I was sure of what I felt. The unmistakable sense that I did not belong. I was officially old. And that spooked me. I felt like an imposter whose mask was pulled off. By Gollum. Tricksy, tricksy, tricksy...

The next day, I discovered, my colleague wasn't even Gollum. He was actually (so he explained) a character from some Japanese horror flick - a boy that had drowned and came back to haunt his home. I told him it didn't matter. He had scared me half to death all the same.

Romance on the River Seine

 

Travel is about the moments you witness and remember. If you're lucky, you have a photo... 

Just like... sex

Do you remember how you learned to ride a bicycle? Because I don't. One moment, I did not know how. The next moment, I did. And the exhileration of that sensation, of suddenly knowing with "exclamatory awareness" - I can do it. This is great. Wow. It is magic.

Witnessing that moment is magic as well. Yesterday, while K went off to her all-girl's bday party, we took C to to East Coast Park and we taught him to ride a bicycle. We decided, let's not even fuss with the training wheels. Let's just throw him into it.
He was apprehensive at first, but it took him, literally, minutes. More than five, and very much less than ten. T gave him two rules: Kick off with just one foot on the pedal. Slow down when you turn. Before we knew it, we were doing that scene in Kramer vs. Kramer, running and jumping and celebrating the joy of it.

And they say sex is just like riding a bicycle...

Raising Beatles fans

C's all-time favourite is Lady Madonna. Especially the part that goes, "See how they run." K was drawn immediately to the poignant and heartbreaking Eleanor Rigby, but she is also very fond of the winsome Penny Lane and the playful Hello Goodbye.

It wasn't planned. Just a haphazard cd changer choice and voila: we have brand new Beatles fans in our midst.

It's all good. Let it be.

Working with men

New job. New life.

I'm realising that throughout my working life, I've been surrounded by women, working with and for women. My first ever job I was a copywriter surrounded by female copywriters, and I wrote catsup copy and banking brochures. My boss was a woman, and although my secondary boss was a man, he was really more womanly than anything. I taught school for a bit, and there were more women there. The majority of my account managers were women. In the early nineties, forced to maximise my salary potential, I became an executive admin assistant in Manhattan. Then I worked for men but only from a very formal distance; my peers - a group of lovely secretaries - were all women. And of course, in the magazine business, it's all about women. Only 2 out of 10 staff in a magazine are men. That's not a real statistic, but it sounds about right.

These days, I work both with and for men - and ultimately, the readers I want to connect to are men. Maybe it's because I have no brothers but yes, it is new for me.
There's a lot to absorb. Things happen faster it seems. Communication channels seem to get crossed a whole lot more frequently. Attention spans are short - what, who where - and they're gone. Words are few and far apart. Ego seems a natural ingredient in testosterone. And assumptions are like puddles of dirty rain water - they just get stepped in - oops.

As someone blighted with the habit of being nice, I know I have to protect myself. I will not make coffee. I will not wash coffee cups. OK. Yesterday I found myself saying I would get someone a plastic bag for their waste bin. But hey, I was going downstairs anyway. I will not apologise. I will not flutter and dither. I will smile less. I will say what I think and leave it at that.

At the very least, I will try.

Playing Happy Family

Broke in the game I bought at Musee du Orsay - a game of Happy Families featuring seven great Impressionists - Van Gogh, Manet, Monet, Gaugin, Cezanne, Renoir, and Degas. K and C had a blast and learned about art, too. Lots of rambunctious laughter and information retention.

Gotta pat myself on the back for that purchase.

Happy Birthday Rofel!

 

The interior of St. Vitus Cathedral, within the Castle in Prague.