Since my ‘celebration’ of Halloween / Samhain will consist of a double feature at the Cameo (The Last Exorcism and The Wicker Man), which is not exactly hip and happenin’, I thought I would add to my dorky image by declaring that of all the films I’ve ever seen, the scariest one ever, the one that kept me up nights shaking with a psychological terror that preyed on my mind for months, was Amadeus.
All the horror films I’ve seen (not that many, but not so few either) can’t compare — although The Fog definitely gave F. Murray Abraham’s portrayal of Salieri a run for his money.
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Wow, don’t hold back, mate: I don’t think a country should have controlling interest in another nation’s stock exchange, but I like how one of the commenters decided that it would only be acceptable if the Aussies were going to dominate, not the other way round (it would really boggle the mind if SGX was forking out cash for ASX shares so the latter could run the former) — methinks they’ve got the concept of share ownership arse backwards and shouldn’t be allowed to breed.
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Foreign talent, lah — it doesn’t matter that he’s got a bad reputation. (Note I didn’t say he’s bad at his job.)
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Aww, that’s a lemming? But they could be heartless baby (lemming) killers…
My sister has said that she finds it strange, my identifying with introversion. I was quite loud and assertive as a child — in relatively benign ways — but as I’ve got older, I’ve become more and more introverted. I picked up a copy of Psychology Today in the airport somewhere in Canada because of the cover story: Revenge of the Introverts.
If I had long hair, I would do that, but I don’t do long hairIt was like looking into a mirror, if a mirror is paper with words printed on it. I was nodding and mm-hmming as I read about identifiable traits and how modern Western culture embraces the extravert, making introverts feel stupid and slow off the mark; it turns out that my needing time to think things over carefully and not saying much during meetings is perfectly normal.
It’s often possible to spot introverts by their conversational style. They’re the ones doing the listening. Extraverts are more likely to pepper people with questions. Introverts like to think before responding—many prefer to think out what they want to say in advance—and seek facts before expressing opinions. Extraverts are comfortable thinking as they speak. Introverts prefer slow-paced interactions that allow room for thought. Brainstorming does not work for them. Email does.
I do prefer to spend a huge amount of time alone or in the company of very few people, and there’s nothing I like more than being lost in my own thoughts — or processing what I see if I’m in a crowd. If I’m somewhere really crowded, I need to tune everything out and just focus on what I need to do. The psychology course I took last year was also helpful, explaining why I become much more talkative once I’ve had a few drinks.
Neil’s got more extraverted traits, so we’ve come to a very amenable (and unspoken) arrangement. When he really wants to go out and I really can’t be arsed, he goes out. When we’re out and he wants to talk to people while I sit back and watch people interact, there’s no guilt in leaving me alone — I’ve already pitched a tent at my inner campsite* and started toasting marshmallows, perfectly content.
* Seriously, though, I’ve never been camping.
So the Schiller Jacket is a little (ha!) beyond what I’d be willing to pay for a leather jacket. It sure is nice to look at, though.
Oh, the asymmetry! Oh, the minimalism!
The website shows different ways of wearing the jacket (the zipper bestows convertibility), but frankly, this almost-Oriental look is my favourite.
I once owned a pleather Fool ‘biker’ jacket that eventually crumbled (pleather does not keep well in Singapore). Neil is still talking about getting a bike licence, so I must be prepared for that eventuality, mustn’t I?
Via notcouture.
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Wow, China Mieville’s open letter pulls no punches. Now, if only the bleeding heart liberals with cushy jobs were willing to take some real pain in order to help those much worse off… what’s the point in demanding more spending when there’s no money?
Yes, I am slightly obsessed.
With Mad Men, not Sesame Street (although I do love Sesame Street).
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I was horrified to discover that even free range chickens can have their beaks ‘trimmed’ (a horrible thing I learned that happens to battery hens in Richard Holloway’s Between The Monster and the Saint) — thanks, Food: What Goes in Your Basket! So the only way to go is organic, which tastes better anyway (if the farmers’ market is any guide), and there will also be the option of gassed chooks. That’s ripe (*groan*) for black humour, isn’t it?
Here are a couple of snaps from our trip to Canada:
Group shot!
Mum: (On seeing me emerge from the bedroom, all dressed) Oh, that’s such a nice dress, you look so feminine!
Me: I’m wearing Docs. Nothing’s really changed.
Heh. For the record, I bought the dress from Bussorah Street in Singapore and its first outing was to the Taylor’s wedding in 2007. It came with a silky sash — which is so boring — so I wore my Lip Service cincher instead.
A few more photos are on Flickr. Neil takes most of the photos these days — the Lumix is amazing but somehow I don’t feel as warmly about it as I did my old Cybershot.
I’ve just noticed how fair I am compared to everyone else in that photo. Wow, living in Scotland has made me the envy of every whitening product-buying girl out there.
For someone who wasn’t into short stories a few years ago, I sure am unrecognisable. These days I will happily pick up, on my own steam, a collection of short stories by authors from anywhere (as long as it’s written in or translated into English).
Since I’ll also read anything by Richard Yates, Eleven Kinds of Loneliness was a book I was extremely eager to read. It pretty much does what it says on the tin. Like his novels, the stories are about Americans in the mid-20th century. They experience disappointments and heartbreak. There’s something beautifully melancholic about Yates’ characters and his storytelling that simply cannot be matched by any true-to-life misery memoir or contemporary mis-lit.
Given my slight obsession with the lifestyles of the before-I-was-born — Pleasantville continues to be one of my favourite films and how addicted am I to Mad Men? Completely — Yates strikes a perfect chord with me. A definite literary crush.
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My favourite line from a movie is…. ‘Spandex. It’s a privilege, not a right.’ (Hackers, 1995) What else could it be?!
Matt Goss* was on BBC Breakfast this morning… so I was a bit later getting to work, I simply couldn’t miss seeing him on the couch. His brother is still the *squee*able one for me, but it was a little like being 12 again — back when bottle tops on Red or Dead shoes were cool (I still like them but I’ve never bought a pair) and you didn’t buy your jeans pre-ripped. I ripped and patched my 504s on my own (by that I mean my mother and sister probably did most of the work), thank you very much.
(At least I think they were my 504s. It’s been twenty years and many pairs of jeans under the bum).
But the point is to say that ZOMG, Matt Goss has a non-falsetto voice, and it’s quite good!
* Not sure about that soft focus on the homepage photo. He looks decent but has maybe fallen prey to the cosmetic surgery monster.
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We were on holiday in Canada last week. Before I get round to posting Neil’s photos, here are some from my sister.
I was wandering around feeling depressed after Neil left for the airport, so I decided to look for that elusive brown belt I’ve been trying to buy, but I was unsuccessful*. Instead, I chanced upon this ribbed bomber cardigan from the Gap.
Replacing my grey G2000 dark grey thin wool (great service, it’s just been mended a few too many times — I must have a fat right armpit) and purple Primark acrylic (snug and warm, but beginning to look sloppy), it’s great for layering and is one of my favourite colours (is grey much of a colour?).
* I finally got one at Levi’s. Overpriced but nice, it had better last longer than the studded belt I bought from that shop on North Bridge.
While the latest season of True Blood is giving me a little trouble (it seems a bit lame ass), this spoof from Sesame Street is pretty good — clearly to entertain any parents or babysitters who have to otherwise sit through whatever it is kids watch these days. Phineas and Ferb? Ben 10?
