I can't stop dancing around the room to that song that goes I ne-ver will be good e-nough for her. Just returned from snooty Lexus Club-organized The Terminal premiere. I felt and am an economic unit - The Manchurian Candidate trailer interrupted by two Lexus commercials and luxury-good labelling.
STARS OF THE CENTURY are Diego Luna, with mustache and red jumper and all, but you can't hide those beautiful eyes. Patrick Fugit Patrick Fugit Patrick Fugit and Saved.
The Terminal was okay. Some parts awful ("You have an appointment?"), some parts funny ("You no like fish." Slam.) and some parts, Spielberg all over, but you gotta love Tom Hanks. Like Nasty Big Officer of Important American Airport (demonized with relish) trying another tactic to make Victor "someone else's problem" by having him admit a legitimate fear of returning to his country. The guy just won't say it. "My home," he insists. "Not afraid of home." Lovely in contrast with drop-dead serious descriptions of violation of human rights and bombs that make a country living hell, man.
Although I still don't get the joke about Chinese tourists in Mickey Mouse sweatshirts.

As part of Think, part two, I'm happy for you, too. Always.

This time she starts to cry
And everyone stares at the ground
Nobody says a word
"You get one chance each life," she sighs.
"And mine is just passing me by."
He walks out the door and
she stares up at the ceiling
"My turn this time," they cry.
And everyone walks in a line
Around and around in a circle until they die
"My turn this time," they scream.
And diamonds and babies and cars...
Don't add up to anything, at all
"My turn this time," he says.
And he turns the radio on
And he turns the radio off
"My turn this time," she says.
And she laughs at herself
And she laughs at herself
And the sun goes down
And the sun comes up-
- The Himalayans, Diamonds and Babies and Cars

Hey! My brother was in the newspaper yesterday! TNP fans, check out page 42. (He's the skinny one.) And not for a bloody scholarship award, neither.
Yesterday I sat on the edge of my parents' bed, crossing all my fingers, watching Li Jiawei at it. Ironically this is the one thing that will bring Singaporeans together, unquestioningly. It was touching, really, seeing the mixed crowd in the audience - Chinese waving clappers, this group of Indian men rising and dancing merrily every time a point was scored in our favour.

Knee is still very stiff; wonder if this means arthritis at the age of seventy. Would you believe it if I said that I've been too busy to blog until today? I don't even believe myself when I say that.
Burlington Square is a weird place. It's a mishmash of offices-slash-residential areas with security guards-slash food courts with enough space for store owners to sit at tables staring into space while middle-age couples date albeit unromantic venue. After taking my TOEFL I was accosted by a complete stranger in the middle of my walk to the bus-stop. Fear that Sim Lim is an apparant seedy 'hood mixed with the possibility of his genuine concern that I was playing truant.
Realized I didn't say anything about The Caretaker. The Substation knackily transforms cramped to cool. Was frightened to look up in the middle of one bucket-drip scene and see hands through the grilled ceiling. So that's where the drip-pauses came from, what a fun job. Just noticed, too, that Musu Fazal (Aston) read at APM 2003. Did I hear him? No. Minioning outside, wonderful.
Had an unpatriotic weekend, too, unless you count reading the Straits Times Goh Chok Tong special and watching Singapore Idol. Everyone's been raving about fireworks; where does it all come in?
Had to describe the quirky American-high-school tradition of arriving at school in pyjamas the day after Prom Night.
Quarantine is coming soon.

"As they climbed, she could see the glitter of the moon on the sea far off to the left, and its silver-sepia light seemed to envelop her in a cool, skeptical wonder. The wonder was in her, and the skepticism was in the world, and the coolness was in both."
- Philip Pullman, The Amber Spyglass