Scales of beauty

SJP and company used to have some sort of logarithmic scale for girls' looks. Something like a girl who scores 1 is 10 times uglier than one who scores 2. And negative scores are beyond the threshold of beholding.

A researcher in my group who typically spends his weekends with the NMR on the first floor told us of this scale of beauty his friends from college days made up. Helen of Troy is set to be the standard unit of beauty. The Greeks sent a thousand ships to get her back. That thousand ships is made equivalent to one Helen. Then girls' degrees of beauty are subquently measured in miliHelens (mH). 1 mH = 1 ship. So all my female comrades, how many miliHelens do you deserve?

Disclaimer: I'm neither feminist nor willing slave of masculine domination and judgement. Just trying to be funny from an intellectual perspective.

Another funny story from the NMR expert:
He used to work in Liverpool, UK. There is a pilot plant lab in his institute. One of the units is a batch extraction unit for products from natural substances. So once, folks back then would like to extract an alkaloid from plants. Correct name for the process could have been called "leaching", but that is not the focus of the story. Huge quantities of flowers and leaves were collected and pounded to a pulp, and the plan was to dissolve the mish-mash in chloroform and extract the alkaloid into the aqueous layer with acid, in a gigantic separation funnel. For this operation they employed an Australian chemist, who travelled to Liverpool by ship. The journey took him 18 months (in what epoque could that have been?). So he got there and started the operation. But then disaster struck. He threw away the aqueous layer and kept the chloroform instead, by virtue of his habits from training as a chemist, to whom the organic layer often contains the product, and the aqueous layers are just "washings". It got down to the fact that not a drop of the desired alkaloid is left. And the poor guy was sent back to Australia on the next ship available.

Korean grocery store

After my erhu exam on Sunday I wandered awhile along Bencoolen Street due to disorientation. Then saw the Korean grocery store I had seen a year ago after taking GRE. Back then it was an emotional moment, for I was a bit touchy about anything Korean (I remember I stared at a Hyundai for 5 min in the carpark next to the underpass to BV station). Now, it's strange that I didn't give it a second thought. Didn't ever occur to me to look for kimchee in Singapore. Didn't even go in for shower towel.

Yesterday, on HH's advice, bought dessert snacks for mum. Snacks was totally denounced by mum to be sweet and oily. But to my immense surprise and delight, mum later professed that she was in a foul mood for recent gastronomical problems and didn't like the thought of anything sweet. And asked for my understanding! Wow! It shows the power of silence (on my part). It is possible that mum sees reason if I hold my tongue for awhile. Or is it too much to hope for?

I'm done with preparing slides for the monthly meeting with KC tomorrow. Good enough reason to slack off for a while.

Updates:

1. Took grade 7 exam for erhu yesterday at NAFA (Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts) situated along Bencoolen Street (I like the sound of that name). Went there 2 hr earlier by the advice of instructor, to warm up properly before taking the exam. Got there and found to be once again deceived by trust and good faith in authority. Instructor made me believe that there were going to be individual practice rooms there for exam-takers, but there was just a big, common waiting room. There was the most terrific jig going on in there, with everyone tuning and playing on his instrument (mostly pipas; 2 guzhengs). And everyone looked no more than half as old as me. Erhu players before me hadn't arrived. So the examiner relentlessly sent this messenger little girl to ask me if I'd like to take the exam early. I replied "no" for 4-5 times. Managed to hold out against her for around 40 min. Sort of warmed up and went ahead into a classroom. There was only one examiner who didn't like to smile. He mumbled "begin" which I mistook for a grunt. So I played some scales. And he repeated his will. Started playing and realised that palm was getting incredibly sweaty. Got through the half-scale practise piece without too much fuss. But in the middle of chun1 shi1 I was really counting bars towards the end of the piece. My palm was wet and the sliding couldn't go on smoothly and sounded funny. I missed pitches too. A while more and I would have sunken into a state of disregard and would instantly relax and play as if I couldn't care less. Like how I sang "Breathe Your Name" in that Cornell Singaporeans' event which dragged on and on. So was finally done. The examiner pointed out something wrong in the scores I used, which made me instantly suspicious that the examiners in NAFA aren't on extremely good terms with the private music instructors from SCO. That apart he said I've got good ears and definitely could do better if I continue playing. So did I pass?

2. One of mum's stadium buddies gave her a whole bag of muffins. According to mum, they came from the auntie's son who works for SMU and got them for free. Now for what occasion does SMU give out large quantities of muffins (for it's large. The auntie gave a big plastic bagful to each of her stadium acquantances) for free I have no clue. But I couldn't say they were good muffins. Dense and floury and cold (mum stored them in fridge), and have an intense vanilla taste that stayed in my mouth for the entire afternoon. That, of course, is not what I should mention to mum, who regarded the muffins as delicacies, one of the pleasantest surprises of the month. Poor mum who never gets herself anything other than groceries. So she wasn't hesitant in exuding praises for that lady Santa Claus, making the most blatant generalizations just as what she does when she criticizes. The fact that the muffins were probably to be thrown away if nobody wanted them, and that the lady would then be just using something worthless to herself to gain favour from people - an act much less hospitable, were happily overlooked by mum. Also I bet if she gets some personal remarks from that lady again, she's not likely to recall that the other did her this good turn of muffins. That's mum's major problem: the tendency to charge forward in life with her subjective viewframe of life; when that doesn't fit life, she gets hurt, withdraws, forgets about it, then charges unthinkingly again. It is a test of the Confucian capability of self-cultivation to witness my mum's reasonabilities. I think my dad's on his way to become a saint.

I really shouldn't sound so entirely "done" with mum. That I have nothing else to do with her but to judge, strategise and tolerate. I'm able to keep her pacified and happy now, yes. Strategising really worked well. Still how to feel some genuine warmth towards her? Perhaps it's too much to ask for. Perhaps most people don't do that to their mums anyway. How heartless! But that's all that I can do so far. Mum's dramatizing her own vulnerabilities turn those who are concerned about her cruel. And mum's about the only to whom I exercise cruelty (in thought, not in action). That's kinda pathetic too (of me, not of mum).

3. Can't recall.

The Outsider

Retreat mentor had a nice conclusive advice for us: to be a mensch (human) no matter who we turn out to be. I wish he hadn't, by this, reminded me of how anti-mensch Singapore is. It's playing a game of survival. What does that mean?

game of survival -> need for efficiency -> culture/idolization of efficiency -> less than prevalent appreciation of non-practical matters

That's how Singaporeans are on the surface. In a high energy state and need to keep the cool, professional, hip facade. That's why when Singaporeans get affectionate and emotional about themselves, it's true drama and it gets quite embarrassing. The cultural industry of Singapore is hyper. Exaggerated authentic accent or exaggerated local accent. I wish that, if there were something more quiet, more natural, more refined about the Singaporeans, it should get expressed in a quiet, natural, refined way. There is no need to culturally follow others (Sitcoms, variety shows) in such an ostensible and non-thinking manner even if economic models had to be borrowed everywhere. Neither is there a need to get defensive, to curse, to put the role model of a heartlander Ah Beng on a pedestal, and to take pride in a broken language. It's not that I look down on broken languages. They are exotic from an outsider's point of view. The fact that I don't find it exotic anymore at least shows that I find myself partly involved. Singlish's development as a creole of British English is impressive since it has been preserved and used worldwide without a problem at the same time. But I just feel that there is a need for reflection and expression in a more precise language. A language that is neither utility or efficiency-driven (which is the original motive of the introduction of English anyway) nor embarrassingly propagandaic and therefore naively devoid of meaning.

In many cases though, I don't feel justified to judge because I'm not even coming from a scholastic outsider's point of view. I didn't study the cultural content and background of early Singapore, didn't read works of Singapore and Malaysian authors, and I don't watch enough TV. So here I'm kinda going back on myself again, as I always do. Well Singapore's a growing nation (everybody says so), so things that are more quiet, more natural and more refined about Singapore will develop, or get expressed over time (well, a long time). And meanwhile, I guess there's nothing wrong if people want to have a little fun.

And I think it's inevitable that a thinking person will need to criticise his country sooner or later in his life. The fact that I'm criticising Singapore shows that somehow it became "my country". It's very strange because I'm as un-Singaporean like as can be. Then again am I Chinese-like? (definitely not Shanghainese-like) Or American-like? I've been an outsider for too long. Was physically kept out of Singapore by family; "disowned" China for some comfort of self-righteousness because I lost touch with it (again because of family); and USA, of course I'm an outsider to it - everyone is in that country. And you can remain carefree while being one - that's the characteristic good thing about USA.

The thing about being an outsider for too long is that you have to learn to judge to protect yourself. It's only possible to remain placid and objective at the beginning. Afterwards judgement becomes warped if you still refuse to integrate (thinking about dear mum), or you move on to be the outsider of a different place. The sentimental consequence is much travelling and being always on the go. This sentiment is very nicely expressed in Chinese poetry. Autumn, boat cabins, rainy nights by the window, moonlight, chimes from a monastry. As long as you are travelling and things become quiet around you, you can trust a Chinese poet to construct something heart-breaking.

Purpose of this blog

1. For dump of emotions

Of which I'm having less and less need. Epoque of morbid and obssessive introversion is coming to an end.

2. For commentaries of general social phenomena, aka gossip

Which I try to engage in from a "pure" sort of point of view. But I've never felt comfortable with judging. And I don't watch enough TV anyway.

3. For fiction (?)

Believe it or not this is the most probable way in which I can still bear to write in this blog. But there's a huge issue of stamina.

Conclusion? Perhaps no more blogging of JY.

Dad's stay in HK is extended to a month after Christmas. Sometimes, when I think about how he leaves me alone with mum for more than half of the time I'm back to Singapore for this year, I can't help but find him cruel. 15 years ago he came to Singapore leaving me alone with mum and her increasing bitterness for 3 years without coming back once. Thinking about these makes me experience pangs of resentment against my parents and I just want to walk out of the house. Its proximity to the AYE brings continuous noise pollution from the traffic. That makes everybody raise voice in the house when talking, especially mum who never speaks without involving emotion or drama and who is especially in love with surprises. If she received a phone call looking for me, she'd tell me by starting with something ominous, "JY, something happened this afternoon." When she doesn't speak neither do I and the house is only filled with tide-like traffic noises. Either raised voices or silence. And filled with old, faded furniture. Loose pieces of wooden and glass boards were used to cover furniture from dust. Kitchen is bright but fridge doesn't have cause for opening - no snacks or drinks. It is not a surprise that I left the house for 3 years and didn't think of it even once. I couldn't even remember how it looked like (mum rearranges the furniture often of course - another cause for the disorientation).

But I should tell myself that this is just the result of a dismal indoor Sunday alone with mum. I can wait patiently for two more months before dad's back.

Revolted

One of the last-minute Top 10 Delivery Tips given to us, in fact the first of the 10, is "to be passionate about your topic and let that enthusiasm come out". That is exactly what I can't achieve for our presentation topic tomorrow. Several layers of reasons:

1. The grammar is wrong. Either "a new message for the public about xxx" or "messaging the public about a new xxx". Actually even the latter sounds odd. It's the public, or the students, or the industries, or whichever third party, that we send a message to, not xxx. It's like everytime I think back about the title, a mental block comes on and totally obstructs understanding for all that we are doing. That's not good.

2. Oh yes we are young and revolutionary, and tomorrow let's all speak of ideas that make the bosses shift in their seats. But I guess we aren't revolutionary enough not to comply with the event at all. The whole thing had been an amusing idea born out of the big one's converstaion with another big one, then the littler ones took it as an order and go all abustle arranging the event sequentially. At every step they take out a little spontaneity and add in a little corporate formality. (Oh gosh how sick and tired I am already at the sight of men in long-sleeved shirts. Allowance must be given to women who have more choices in the variety of their attire) It's really an all-day seminar; but of course they put a pretty name to it, call it a "retreat".

3. Talking about students and education is fine. I've always been more comfortable with people younger (or older for that matter) than me than with peers anyway. But really Singapore's education system is all set. The ones up there know what they are doing and know all the "buzz-words" by heart. Flexibility. Creativity. They think it's essential to make JC students independent and critical and matured by diluting their focus and emphasizing all sorts of peripheral activities. Fine. Go ahead and do that. Produce the students of their ideal. Students who pursue the same "passions" and develop in the same manner of excellence in our closely-monitored education system. But they are still bespectacled, uniformed, having identical goals. It really isn't all that exciting to go "enthuse" (what a word) such kids. Even if our "messaging" works, I wouldn't be proud of it. So I can't "deliver with passion".

It's just the monotony of Singapore which totally gets to me once in a while. How much diversity can Singapore really offer? or afford? It's a high energy state situation we have here, with plans made for scaringly long terms and any changes and disturbances are magnified. The bosses do have to think, think and rethink to make sure Singapore stays at the high energy state. If I keep that in mind I'll forgive.

Chpt 4

And so the day of work went past. 5 pm. Turtle had had a long day starting from her early-morning exploration. When Toad gathered her bag and urged her on, she felt that curiosity couldn't paramount lethargy. "Don't feel like going." was what she said to an amused Toad. He knew how it was like when a home-going routine was disrupted after the first wave of excitement had passed, and so wasn't annoyed with Turtle's somewhat less than steadfast attitude. "Come on. It's just a walk. Think about the story you could bring home." There and then he gave a resonating pat on Turtle's shell and went on. Her bag being around Toad's neck, Turtle had no choice but to follow.

When they got to the dewormification unit Beaver had finished dewormifying the batch of that day quite a while ago. To their surprise the beavers never leave IME. A slice of the quadrant of their department was compartmented to be their living quarters. This little space, contrary to their work place, is brightly lit and gay in atmosphere. Toad and Turtle couldn't conceive that these were the same beavers who tear at worms in gloomy darkness during the day. There were about eighty bunks, each five storeys high. Leaning comfortably against his bedpost on the fourth storey of Bunk Number R36D0.8, our Beaver was behind a book called "The Human Beings: Do They Really Exist?" He made himself visible by putting it down and called out, "Hey, over here."

"I can never get up there," Turtle took one look at the vertical challenge presented by Beaver's location and said.

"Didn't ask you to. I need to keep it tidy up here you know." With one swish of his big tail Beaver slid down promptly. The lowest bed was conveniently empty, and he bid the two to make themselves comfortable.

"So I see you don't need to keep others' beds tidy?" Turtle's sarcasm came out as a grumble. Beaver explained patiently, "No occupants on this bed." Toad looked at both and hastily asked, "Ok, so where do we begin?"

And so Beaver told his story.

"I come from the Kingdom of Mondo Nero. It is the land of darkness underneath your ice and snow and underground caves. The ancient Pangolines of our Mondo, who are grey scaled ant-eaters, built the tracks of your Ice-Glider trains. Their mastery of stone crafts and sculpture was unrivalled and had been passed down through generations of dwellers for millions of years. Our land was once abustle with activities just like yours does. We dug close enough to the heart of earth that we could hear it beat. We illuminate our homes like crystal palaces without the need for any trace of natural Light. And you can never imagine the intricacy of the connections, the extraordinary pathways that led from one city to another. They are incredibly ingenuous works of architecture."

Turtle thought, at this point, "Who'd want to be shut in an underground maze like that? I could probably never tell which way I'm going." But asked instead, "Er.. so where do you.. when you go to work, do you take the Gl.. something? Or just walk those intricate pathways? Must take quite a while, no?"

"We don't travel all that much except those who need to. Most of what we need are built near around us. The Hedgehogs dust and clean with their bristles. They sometimes do landscape design. We beavers have exceptional eyesight and are able to find things very quickly in the dark. Most of us help local masons sort rocky materials by their quality, colour, hardness; or keep records of historical events. For we read a lot.

"Wow. I guess it must take some getting used to to read in bright light then," Toad looked around the room and remarked.

Beaver explained, "We do illuminate our places. It's easier to do when there's no external light interfering, like drawing on blank paper." And then his countenance turned dark and dismal.

"A year ago. It all happened at that time - all of those creations and designs were wiped out. An unknown disease started spreading from some households and quickly went out of control. Corpses soon increased beyond the capacity for proper burial. Yes, even though we are already underground we do have burials. Corpses were pushed into our beautiful Wistaria Lake. Bereaved family members had to turn out the half-decayed bodies of their dying loved ones for fear of infection, but they fell sick themselves and died anyway. A putrid smell was in the air the whole time. Many pathways were blocked totally with corpses. Cities were stranded on their own with death, and one by one fell to silence."

T&T in IME - Chapter 3

Coffee break came. As the belt in front of Turtle ground to a halt she threw off the biscuit and darted off in the direction of the back of the factory. With a hop Toad caught up and called out, "Are you going now? Coffee break's kinda brief."

Turtle stopped briefly and, as though wanting to prove independence, said, "Yeah why not? Oh you don't have to follow me if you have something else on."

"But..." Toad said thoughtfully, "where's my coffee?"

"Oh bother! Is that all you care about?" Turtle was fast approaching the white door. Now that the Igloo was operating and flooded with light, she saw that they were standing in a little round space with four identical white doors. They just came through one of them, on which was hung a tag saying "Production and Quality-Sampling". There were tags on each of the three other doors, of course, and they said "Dewormification and Sifting", "Purification and Imprinting" and "Packaging and Distribution".

"I bet this is the one!" proceeding quickly to the door marked "Dewormification and Sifting", Toad suddenly forgot about coffee and grew all excited.

"Wow! So they use a quarter of the Igloo just like we do.." Turtle felt that she was learning so much in one day that this place, where she had always worked since she graduated from the Cordinella College of Mondo Blanco, seemed entirely strange all of a sudden. "Do you suppose the workers in those three other quadrants come from different lands, all of them?"

"Mmm I know Ladybug from Packaging and Distribution. She takes the Glider from the Northern Horizon like I do." Toad suggested.

"Who's Ladybug? You've never said anything about her," Turtle raised an eyebrow.

"Just someone who works here. Want to go find out?" Toad half-smiled and shrugged, and turned as if to open the door marked "Packaging and Distribution". "So who are you really here looking for insteading of making my coffee?"

"Okok let's drop the subject." With Beaver's warning of "no more snooping around" long thrown out of the nineth layer of heaven, Turtle resolutely entered the Department of Dewormification and Sifting.

The work place was empty except a few Brobdingnagian Ants milling around. Their rewards are scattered grains of sand which they carry back for their own nest-building or feeding purposes. Something dawned on Turtle about what Beaver said, for she realised that the place was still as dark as though early in the morning when there had been no daylight. Beavers were leaving their work places - all but the Beaver, who didn't look at all pleasant when he saw the reappearance of Turtle. And with an accompanying intruder as well.

"What do you want?" the opening was far from amiable.

"We'd like to find out more about where you come from," said Turtle brightly.

"She'd like to. I'm just hanging out," Toad corrected and Turtle glared at him.

Beaver was supicious but amused despite himself. He moved a corner of his mouth as if to smile, but soon recovered dark countenance. He shrugged and thrust out his front paws in a what-can-I-do-with-these-nosey-parkers fashion. Motioning to a pantry built in a laterally inverted location but otherwise identical with that of Toad and Turtle's department, he said, "Go have a cup of coffee if you care to. It's easier to make coffee in this department cuz we get some heat from next door - the Purification Department. There is an immense fire in there everyday. The Red Crudellos work on the pulling. But coffee here is bad. I mean, real bad. From where I come from we make extremely good coffee. Dark black coffee."

"Oh wow," remarked Toad. "It's good to hear about someone who appreciates coffee. Though black is not the kind I like. What a pity. So, um, what is this place that makes good dark coffee all about?"

"I see you are not one who stands on ceremony. Well... I came from the Kingdom of Mondo Nero. It's been a years now. I came working here, being used to only darkness and all that. I don't really like talking to you folks from other departments." He waved his paws once. "I.. We don't want to get reminded of the presence of other communities."

"But how did you get here? And where did you come from?" Turtle realised that coffee break was going to end soon. And she wasn't sure if Beaver would be as willing to talk on any more occasions.

"Oh yes, even the most reticent have desires to talk about themselves. Even the saddest of the past need to be dug up again," Toad said wisely.

"You are a bit of a philosopher aren't you?" Beaver half-smiled again. He had taken a liking to this light-hearted youngster, much to Turtle's annoyance. "You may come here after 5 if you like." After that he simply walked away without caring if they would go too.

T&T in IME - Chapter 2

Turtle was in a wide-eyed daze, as was what she would get into when struck with unforeseen adverse circumstances.

"Who are you? I have never seen anyone coming in here before," the beaver frowned.

"Err.. who are you? Well I'm around because I work here," Turtle tried to sound nonchalant. She would have anticipated a more polite greeting from a stranger.

"No you don't. I work here." With that said, the beaver turned around and busily ruffled the pile of sand that was slowly moving past in front of him. All of a sudden, he pulled out a tiny pink worm in between his teeth and discarded it into a bucket of ice beside him. "See these? They are nano-worms."

"Ok... Err. I guess it's still early. It's really dark here! Can you actually see all of those worms?"

"I don't need to thee. I get them." Beaver didn't turn around and replied between clenched teeth. "And what'th the big deal about darkneth? You haven't been to where I come from."

Turtle kind of waited for him to continue but Beaver went on working. She was a little put off by his stand-offish attitude and was afraid to pose questions; but still did. "The worms... what's that got to do with anything?"

Beaver turned around, spit out a nano-worm, and frowned even more severely before replying, "Have you never heard that a wafer is made of sand? How do you suppose you'll eat those biscuits when there are worms in the sand?"

Turtle was finding Beaver's company unpleasant indeed. But she was still glad that she learnt something. The truck must have delivered fresh sand for the day of production. Always glad of enlightening experiences, Turtle had no difficulty in remaining civil. "I had better go to work now."

"You are at work," Beaver said. And added after a pause, "Don't come snooping whenever you like next time."

"Well my Glider was early, and I heard the truck leave," Turtle couldn't help but retort.

"What's a Glider?"

"Oh.. you haven't... it's a tube that carry us around to different places. Sometimes it goes a little faster, sometimes not as fast." Turtle explained. As soon as she had done that, she wished she had said something like "Have you never heard of the Glider?" And she was sure that would be a more natural rhetoric than the dark little Beaver's senseless condescension.

Beaver looked thoughtful for a while before shrugging slightly and returning to his job.

"Have a good day," Turtle said and left immediately after. She didn't hear Beaver's reply.

Once out of the immense white doors, Turtle realised that working hours had started fifteen minutes ago and nobody had been there to monitor the patterns on the wafers. Hurriedly she changed into overalls and got into the assembly line. Toad glanced at her and said, "Checked. Everything's alright."

"Thanks."

"Late again?"

"No! What do you mean by 'again'? And where's my half?"

"Well, since you aren't here yet, I haven't kept one yet. Where's my coffee?"

"Later. You know what? I came across this strangest guy this morning." And so she told Toad all about Beaver and his job. "Do you suppose he had come from a different land? He hasn't heard of the Glider!"

"That's no big deal. I'm sure not all lands are white like ours."

"Now you are talking like him."

"Am I? Am I not supposed to? Okok." Toad laughed. He had round, dog-like eyes lined with a dark ring, making him look forever youthful and in good humour. Presently he noticed that Turtle had sunken into a reverie, and said, "What are you thinking about this time?"

"Have you wondered about what life would be like beyond this land? Now I really want to take a look."

"Me? I know they exists, those other lands." Toad sighed. "But it's not easy to go out of here. But then again, those guys working at the nano-worms have come here. So there must be a way."

"Let's go find him again." concluded Turtle.

~*~*~* to be continued ~*~*~*

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Present stress factors:
1. Crystallization is not working.
2. Doing nothing for the retreat. While team members are doing lots.
3. And not motivated to work in any way except writing story.
4. Sinking-heart, listless, despairing feeling after too much activities and new encounters (during US trip)
5. Mum. Toujours mum.

Stress moderating factors:
1. Writing story.
2. Dad's coming back for the weekend.
3. Movie on Sunday.

T&T in IME - Chapter 1

Once upon a time, there are two inhabitants of the Igloo of Mammoth and Elephant, a house that makes wafer biscuits in the Kingdom of Mondo Blanco. They are two toy cats called Little Yellow and Little Blue. Everyday, they perch on an icicle amongst files and folders, and watch over the activities of the workers of the Igloo of Mammoth and Elephant.

Toad and Turtle work in the wafer-house. Turtle's job is to check the patterns imprinted on the wafers are pretty enough to go with toppings such as treacle, buttercream and cranberry jam. Toad's job is to deliver the toppings in different proportions and designs. He habitually steals away one biscuit most generously and elaborately topped with all goodies conceivable, and shares that with turtle. Every morning, Toad sends a message to Turtle to see if the latter's on her way to the Igloo. Turtle then laments her luck, for that means that Toad's already at work, and she'll need to find hot water to make coffee for him. This is not an easy engineering task, considering the only source of energy comes from her turning over and rubbing her beautiful glossy shell against rock hard ice that has never melted for a million years.

Toad and Turtle live in the Northern and Eastern Horizon of the Mondo Blanco respectively. To go to the Igloo, they need to traverse the glaciers in this only form of public transport available called the Ice-Glider. It is an enormous transparent tube that travels through underground caves. The path it follows and the speed it travels at depend entirely on its mood on that day. It can bring you to your destination in two somersaults or go on and on exploring different parts of the caves. However, even though they operate at their own temperaments, the Ice-Gliders are only early, never late. Thus no commuters have ever complaint about being actually late for work. Tracks for the tube have been carved out on icy underground slopes long ago, the legacy of unknown ancestors. The gliding journey is truly an incredible experience of defiance of gravity, so Turtle retracts all her limbs such that she could enjoy the bumpy ride without getting hurt. Other creatures of Mondo Blanco cope in their respective ways. Many dig or vacuum-press onto the wall of the Ice-Glider with various parts of their bodies. As a result, the Glider has an impressive array of paw marks and tusk marks chiseled into its glassy walls.

Toad and Turtle alight at the stop of the Slope Libera. It follows naturally that they have to scale the slope in question. This is an immense expanse of one-foot-deep snow leading to the top of the Hill of Cordill, where the Igloo of Mammoth and Elephant sits roundly like a gigantic wafer cake. Every morning the slope will be sparsely dotted with Igloo workers, leaving behind little trails and trenches of footprints. At night a fresh storm will smoothen it out again.

One morning, the Ice-Glider from the Eastern Horizon decided to go at an amazing speed and Turtle was early at work. There was only a whole bunch of white mice cleaners cleaning up spare wafer crumbs on the factory floor by nibbling them up. Toad was nowhere in sight yet. For once she didn't have to make coffee the minute she was done climbing the slope. All of a sudden, the roaring start of an engine made her jump. A huge mack truck was moving out, first slowly with grunts, then accelerated to a clatter as it drove down the slope. Turtle had never seen the activities of the Igloo at that hour. She wanted to ask but the mice cleaners were apparently deaf. With unsuppressable curiosity she went to the back of the factory from which the truck made its exit. You would have thought that by the time she reached there, Toad would have arrived, normal operations would have started long time ago. But our Turtle of Mondo Blanco is no ordinary turtle, or she would have never gotten past the Slope Libera.

So Turtle made her way beyond a tall white door, to a part of the factory that she had never seen before. There was a hazy, powdery whiteness in the air and huge sacks were piled high on the ground. Brobdingnagian Ants moving in neat files carried the sacks one by one to a moving belt. At the head of the belt was a row of beavers. As the Ants bit through the string and untied the sacks, white sand showered onto the belt like an icefall. Now being at the downstream of the processing line, Turtle hadn't seen a wafer in its original state, and was truly amazed.

"Just wait till Toad sees this. He'll... atchhooo!" At last the fine suspension in the air was irritating Turtle.

The beaver at the head of the line, one with long legs and particularly dark and sleek hair spotted, turned around. His quick little eyes soon spotted Turtle who was trying to retreat to behind the piled sacks.

~*~*~* to be continued ~*~*~*

"Silence Is Golden" by Garbage

If I am silent then I am not real
But if I speak up then no one will hear
If I wear a mask there’s somewhere to hide

Silence is golden
I have been broken
Safe in my own skin
So nobody wins

If I raise my voice will someone get hurt
And if I can’t feel then I won’t get touched
If no truths are spoken then no lies can hide

Silence is golden
Nobody gets in
Safe in my own skin
So nobody wins

Did you hear me speak
Do you understand
Did you hear my voice
Will you hold my hand
Do you understand me

Won’t someone listen
Nobody gets in
My body’s a temple
But nothing is simple

Silence is golden
I have been broken
Something was stolen
Safe in my own skin

Cough medicine vs jet lag

The result is that I sleep through the day and wake up at 4am.

I really didn't suffer a whole lot of anxiety from all that ball-catching theory. Does this show my sense of humour needs some serious revision? To appease my friends who think I did, I'm going to talk about something I heard from officer #2 (actually officer #10 through the trip): once when an AO fell sick during the trip and couldn't turn up for a dinner meeting, the boss returned from the meeting with medicine bought for him. Oh wow. I guess you can't complete the charisma and authority without some genuine kindness. The favourite type of leader in traditional Chinese novels are those who build emotional bonds. Subordinates would lay their life down for him and cry at the slightest kind words from him because he's... "authentic"? Ok. No more authentic leadership. No more business trips. Can't be bothered to think about those anymore.

http://www2.tianyablog.com/blogger/post_show.asp?idWriter=0&Key=0&BlogID=122562&PostID=2430124

" 《西游记》西天取经的小团队中，除沙僧的性格特点不够突出之外，猪八戒是这个组合中的“本我”，孙悟空是“自我”，唐僧是“超我”，猪八戒对取回真经、济 世救民的宏大目标不感兴趣，只受本能中的享乐原则支配，而孙悟空不排斥本能原则，但又自愿（或不自愿）地遵守行为准则，唐僧则有着圣人式的信仰追求和超现 实的道德范式。

离开取经的终极意义，孙悟空也有“超我”的一面，唐僧被女妖精骚扰或被美女国王钟情，每每此时，孙悟空总是在一旁嬉笑，除了有他一贯的幽默 感外，“性”对孙悟空几乎完全没有吸引力，王怡说可能是几百年在五指山下把孙悟空这方面的欲念和功能都压坏了。"

Hilarious! I've always found it regrettable that poor 沙僧 didn't get his proper share of show. Didn't know that the writer wanted a match with the Freudian "id"s. But even before 孙悟空's confinement under the mountain he already didn't fancy any female monkeys. In fact he doesn't have emotional needs. He doesn't need to make friends. Towards the weak he's a saviour only of physical miseries. Towards authority he's mischeivous and disrespectful. The only emotional bond he has is with 唐僧, who saved him, but ironically abuses him emotionally. It's like a love-hate relationship between a parent and a kid. The kid is stuck with the parent just like how 孙悟空's stuck with the journey to the west. At the beginning it's quite obvious that it's not his will to go along and get nagged by a pedantic monk. But with the wearing of the shrinkable ring he's forced to. So if you see how he went through the whole thing with that kind of non-voluntary motivation, and maybe actually got to enjoy it in a sadomasochistic way, the whole story's most definitely not a celebration of human will and that kind of stuff. (The classic mainland's version of the book showed some actual bond-building process. In one occasion 唐僧 made a skirt for 孙悟空 from the skin of a tiger he killed. The latter was touched.)

In fact, all four Chinese classics are tragedies. “宋江吸收先进生产力，招引卢俊义等人上山的右翼机会主义路线原本是对的，只是时不我待，梁山内部的意识形态斗争尚未完成，没料想财政危机比修正主义来得 还快，最终只能走上接受招安、远征采食的悲途.”

我没想到过宋江接受招安是为了财政危机。他作为领导人，了解山上的财务情况，他说不能一 辈子靠打家劫舍过日子，原来有这种在封子萌孙、光宗耀祖的理想以外 物质上的理由。为了要做好汉，好人自然不能抢；贪官污吏固然多，也不能老是劳命伤财地远征每座城池。偏偏梁山兄弟们的胃口都特别好，讲究每餐大鱼大肉的生 活素质。所以财政危机的到来是理所当然的。这证明一个乌托邦社会的短暂性，这样的社会在现实生活的包围下只好瓦解。又是一个悲剧。

There are way too much explanations, speculations and symbol-matching that the Chinese classics are able to afford. They are not masterpieces of realism. The stories exist in a vacuum. The author as an individual, his experiences and consciousness are opaque to the readers. (Somewhat different for 红楼梦) 李敖 condemns classic Chinese literature because of the lack of ontological reflections due to cultural repression. But I thought being able to guess and fit meanings into what is behind each little detail is also a form of pleasure.

Some other random stuff: 近年来，以文化政策为手段促进国力最戏剧化的例子，当然是韩国。受到1997年的经济冲击，韩国从1998年起提出“文化立国”的施政战略，把文化产业列 为发展国家经济的龙头产业。1997年制定了《创新企业培育特别法》，针对数字内容产业予以激励。接下来出炉了《文化产业发展五年计划》、《文化产业前景 二十一》、《文化产业发展推进计划》、《文化产业促进法》等等；又成立了文化产业振兴院、文化产业局、文化产业基金……在短短几年内，韩国已经成为世界第 五大文化产业大国。

The pattern repeats itself again. Another "miracle" following independence, economic reform and political reform. Korea does everything with speed, vigour and determination. It's so amazing that the personality of a nation and ethnicity can be as distinct as such.

In San Francisco, CA

“This facility may contain chemicals known to the Californian State government that might cause cancer, birth defects or other forms of reproductive harm. A brochure about specific chemical exposures can be found at the front desk.”

I found this sign outside Chevron. Fine. Perfectly normal for a chemical plant. Then later in the afternoon I got to walk along the lake in front of the regional office. The little iron back gate of Hotel Sofitel, where the boss always stays when he comes visiting, is right by the lake. Behind the gate there is a standard pool and lawn chairs overlooking the beautiful expanse of clear water creased by the wind, with diving ducks and geese that glide inches above the surface of the water.

The hilarious thing is the little notice I saw in front of the gate.

“This facility may contain chemicals known to the Californian State government that might cause cancer, birth defects or other forms of reproductive harm. A brochure about specific chemical exposures can be found at the front desk.”

Ok…

Can anyone tell me what’s up with the Californian State government?

I seriously wonder about what the boss might think when he finds out that he could have been exposed all along to reproductive harm-causing chemicals in a hotel. Oh well I guess he must know that already. We all are responsible for our own health. Just like accompanying officers who fall sick during overseas trips should be labeled as a drag (as in 拖累, not a “drag queen” drag) and bundled off on the first flight home. “You can’t take MC. The trip must go on wat. So what for drag everybody down and be miserable yourself?” Sure. Never better stated. So why am I still here then?

One of the officers quoted the boss, that there are three types of people:
1.Those who are focused and do the right thing.
2.Those who get the ball and look at it.
3. Those who catch no ball.

Note (for people like me before I heard TK use that expression): ball = message/hint of something that the boss’d like to get done.

Tendency of being comfortably out of touch with the external world has been entrenched by Cornell education following a TV-less upbringing. Defiance and passivity for non-self-initiated activities makes me take tremendous amount of efforts to read up even when materials have been provided. So not likely to be resourceful. In short I’m laidback, so I can’t be the 1^st kind unless I spend a couple of more years conditioning my stress tolerance level first.

I have a natural respect for authority, so I can’t conceive pure acts of indolence.

Trained by mum I’m good at figuring out underlying meanings. Though I panic at the lack of resources, I don’t think that’s equivalent to not catching the ball.

But unneeded sensitivity and alertness do hinder understanding. So I asked, “what about people who catch the wrong kind of ball not out of stupidity?” Apparently the question was not very well understood and set up some pondering within the officer’s mind.

So that concludes that I’m not of the business world. Meeting new people and charming them is all very well for a while. But I’d prefer taking walks anytime. I mean there are all sorts of people out there who don’t catch the ball for a variety of reasons. If they don’t appreciate those people more than customer satisfaction then they are different from me. I guess the real challenge comes when career path has been set and I have to figure out whether I can hold onto a belief in the purpose in life with the pressure of competition. No, erase that. The real challenge is figuring out what the hell is the real purpose in life. Maybe the purpose in life is to find that purpose.

Shoot I really don't know what time it is anymore. It's been 12 hrs behind Singapore. Then 13 hrs behind because of daylight saving. And when we flew to Minneapolis it was 14 hrs behind. Then we get back to Chicago it's 12. No 13. Ok. And now we get to San Francisco... shit.

In Willow Grove PA

Opening of a business meeting:

B: "Do you know M? She used to work at our place. Postdoc from Stanford. A very bright young lady... Recruited by your company and left for US."
G: "Err... we have a few hundred employees around.. at the top of my mind I can't.. (turning to meeting coordinator) Can we check up on that?"
B: "Err.. it's ok."

And coincidentally I have heard of M, from the Shanghainese daddy who lives in Punggol. She was described to be a true researcher, not a corporate one. Was that why she left? Hmm...

=============================

We took a train from Albany to Yonkers (just above Bronx). The train ride was along Seneca Lake. And the scenery looked just like a postcard of Montreal or Quebec in deep autumn, with shimmering body of water in front and hills of rolling red, orange and yellow.