i'll get the flowers myself
(march 10, 2003)

listening: you had time ani difranco


Have just triumphantly, almost by accident but not really, rediscovered my tattered copy of Mrs. Dalloway, the one I bought for about RM6 when I was still in college and despite my honorable, keen efforts to at least finish reading one book that has the word 'classics' printed on its cover, written by a suicidal feminist and all that, never resurfaced to see the light of day again after I think page 40 or so.

(Come to think of it, I wonder if there's anything on my bookshelf that's not written by a suicidal feminist.)

I saw The Hours a few weeks ago, on VCD, because it was taking too freaking long to get to the cinemas, and because I was buying some Hong Kong movie that has Shu Qi in it (craving racial diversity and ridiculous, humanly impossible fighting scenes) and I was asking if I could get it for RM5 instead of RM6 and the VCD lady said take two for RM10. Thank goodness for unscrupulous pirated VCD dealers! The movie was quite nice, I like the script and wish I could've thought of some of those lines myself (though now I can't remember what exactly I wish I've thought of. Hurrah for my memory!), I won't say I understood all of it, some of the scenes are pretty heavy stuff and after having gone through repetitively torturous sessions of analyzing the semantics and nuances of movie language during college where everyone was made to watch at least two Robin Williams movies at least 500 times, my level of comprehension when it comes to movies has been stuck at a level that is parallel with Meg Ryan sniffling over a bunch of daisies while whining to Tom Hanks. And comfortably so. Movies are for da people!

Watched About Schmidt (we actually wanted to watch Bend It Like Beckham but GSC cancelled our session for some reason) the other time. I'm sure it deserves the Oscar nominations and Jack Nicholson probably did give the best performance of his entire career like all the movie reviewers were saying, but, man, the movie was so real, it was excruciatingly dull. My friend almost walked out. I don't think movies should be too real, it reminds us too much of our own vacuous uninteresting lives, which is exactly why we need movies to counterbalance all this uninterestingness. Give me Shu Qi doing impossible killer backflips any day.

So yeah, the literary elitist that I am, after watching this Hollywood version of Mrs. Dalloway and Nicole Kidman with that nose, I thought maybe I should give Virginia Woolf another go. IshouldIshouldIshould.

I think I'd much prefer Woolf's A Room of One's Own, though. Which I do not have a copy of. I like to think there's a more intelligent reasoning behind wanting to read another book than the one you already have other than because you don't have it.


Have just finished writing this other piece I'm sending to that Silverfish New Writing 3 competition. This one has been taking me weeks. I wasn't sure where I was going with it, it felt too long, I almost abandoned it. The thing is, when I start writing, especially with pieces that take a while to finish, marked with long breaks in between due the usual bouts of laziness (writer's block) and procrastination (also another form of writer's block), most of the time even I'm not sure where it's going to take me.

This one kind of took a sudden unexpected turn. The signs were all there from the beginning, but I didn't think that I'd actually end it like that.

Man, even I think this is a bit dark.


This song just breaks my heart each time I listen to it. Which is a lot for the last few days. Sigh. Need to get out of this bog.

You Had Time Ani Difranco

how can I go on
with nothing to say
I know you're going to look at me that way

I say what did you do out there
what did you decide
you said you needed time
you had time

you are a china shop
and I am a bull
you are really good food
and I am full

I guess everything is timing
I guess everything's been said
so I am coming home with an empty head

you say did they love you or what
I say they love what I do
the only one who really loves me is you

you say girl, you kick some butt
no I say I don't really remember
but my fingers are sore
my voice is too

you say it's really good to see you
you say I miss you horribly
you say let me carry your bags
and you will take the heavy stuff
and you will drive the car
I will look out the window
and make jokes
about the way things are

how can I go on with nothing to say
I know you're going to look at me that way

I say what did you do out there
what did you decide
you said you needed time
you had time


Job interview tomorrow! Boss said not to worry, it's just formality. As far as he's concerned I've got the job (not his exact words but by deductions from my highly-honed skill of drawing inferences). Which is hugely comforting. After almost five months of doing nothing constructive, in the academic, economic and career sense, I don't think I'm well-equipped to handle the pressure of having to perform at anything at all.

In the academic, economic and career sense, that is.


previous entry: shadowboxer (march 5, 2002)