The not-so-private review of Pippa Lee

My friend and I watched The Private Lives of Pippa Lee today, not by choice but out of compulsion to watch something. It is quite astounding, when you think about it, to believe that the choices on display were so criminally bad. I hate the post-blockbuster season lull because even when one wills herself to dress up, take the train and go to the cinema they are presented with ridiculously limited choices.



Anyway, The Private Lives of Pippa Lee (based on a screenplay by the same name), referred to only as Pippa Lee from henceforth, was an interesting experience. First of all, the seats justified the $10 a piece tickets we bought. The film; not so satisfying but there were some interesting bits that managed to hold onto my attention for the duration.

The film revolves around the lead female cast, named, pointedly obvious, Pippa Lee (Robin Wright Penn). Through a series of flashbacks, the audience is privy to Pippa’s past, from the time of her birth to the moment she met Herb Lee (Alan Arkin), her current husband and a successful publisher; who happens to be 30 years senior.

The couple have two kids; an adventurous daughter who is a photo journalist, chronicling events unfolding in Baghdad. The son is studying to be a lawyer at the time he is introduced to the audience. After Herb suffers two consecutive heart attacks, the family is forced to move from their upscale Manhattan lifestyle into the quaint droll of a retired life in Connecticut.

The film opens with writer Sam Shapiro (Mike Binder) toasting to Herb’s success and reminiscing their professional relationship over the years. Herb appears less than enthusiastic about being reminded of his ailing health and forced retirement. Sandra Dulles (Winona Ryder) is then introduced as Sam’s partner. The opening scene is very nicely (and deceivingly) set up to the main content of the story, like a tasty but not filling appetizer served before entrée.

Pippa’s adjustment into the retired community is less than satisfactory – being the youngest housewife there, she develops a sleeping disorder. She sleepwalks and upon finding out about her condition by recording her night-time activities, she appears devastated. Whereas Herb finds re-adjustment equally hard, but in his own reserved and charismatic way.

It starts with his desire to want an office from where he can delegate his company, whose young workforce he refers to at one point of time as “babies”. We find out that Pippa’s relationship with her daughter Grace (Zoe Kazan) is less than satisfactory with Grace bluntly ignoring her presence at a family dining night in a posh restaurant.

The focus again shifts back into Pippa’s past; zooming in on the disintegration of her mother who suffered from bipolar disorder. Her condition was exacerbated by the constant use of amphetamines. The prolonged absence of Pippa’s father on the screen helps audiences understand Pippa’s reactions and responses better. Frustrated at her inability to help her mother, she seeks refuge at her paternal aunt Trish’s place in NYC. There she finds out her aunt is a lesbian and is introduced to her roommate Kit (Julianne Moore).

There is a touching confrontation/conflation between Pippa’s mother Suky (Maria Bello) and Pippa at Trish’s apartment but Pippa insists on staying at NYC. Kit’s influence on Pippa leads to a downward spiral in her lifestyle. Trish catches Pippa participating in one of Kit’s BDSM themed photoshoots and their relation ends. Pippa ends up on the street, and she carapaces her vulnerability with a anti social lifestyle by taking up smoking, alcohol, drug abuse and promiscuous sex.

Back into the present, Chris (Keanu Reeves) is introduced as the emotionally troubled son of their neighbour’s, who has left his wife and has been sleeping in his car for weeks. The on screen chemistry between Pippa and Chris is instantaneous. And when we are certain that there will be more than subtle looks and awkward stares, perpetuated by Pippa’s sleepwalking (where she ends up at the store Chris works at), we are once again catapulted back to the past where Pippa met Herb.

There is a stunning scene delivered by Monica Bellucci who played Gigi Lee, Herb's wife, also prominently younger than him. To keep it brief, Herb became a shining light in Pippa's incredibly dark world. Their love is unusual, defying stereotypical barriers but in a subtle way it is also very cathartic. And it stands true to the notion that love doesn't distinguish between the old and the young, the rich and the poor and every other love-related clichés ever uttered.

Just when the skeptical souls wondered if there'd ever be a conflict in the film, we along with Pippa discover what Herb's been doing in his office. Shacking it up with Sandra, who is even younger than Pippa. Jumping from a trophy wife to a trophy mistress, but somehow our sympathies remain with Herb when he admits he doesn't want to grow old and indulging in frivolity conceals this inconvenient truth from his mind.

When Pippa decides to leave Herb, he gets another heart attack and becomes brain dead. Grace and Pippa reconcile. Chris and Pippa have sex in Chris's car. The Lee family pulls the plug on Herb and Pippa takes off with Chris on a spontaneous roadtrip, leaving it upto Grace and Ben (her kids) to arrange their father's funeral.

My gripe with the film is that the ending felt a bit rushed up - it could've ended better, more dramatically but it sort of whimpered off the screen. However I like the issue of fidelity, and the constant human need to be reassured, to be loved, the overwhelming fear of growing old, of dying, of being alone are addressed well in this film. The moral quandary, when cheating on your spouse, or cheating with the spouse of your good friend, wasn't developed well. I mean, come on, if you are going to sleep with your best friend's husband or wife, you are bound to have some kind of second thoughts. Maybe guilt trips? Though I admit Sandra's guilt was fantastically portrayed by Winona in the last hospital scene - it was the highlight of the film for me at least.

My problem with Herb is his cavalier attitude towards women - he treats them like trophies. And there is a scene in the film where an animated 2-D form of Pippa ran the length of a race track and handed a baton to a cartoon form of Sandra who continued to run ahead. This is a nice dig at this prevailing attitude in many men in society who see women as prizes; attractive when shiny, dull and boring when the polish wears off.

Edit: Oh and I forgot to add, THEY ARE ALL NEUROTIC. ALL OF THEM. LIKE A DAMAGED AND NEUROTIC CLUSTERFUCK.

Overall, I wouldn't watch it twice. Some parts were just painful to sit through. And the end felt a bit unsatisfactory. However, if you have a few bucks to spare and plenty of time on hand, do watch it. It'll be an interesting experience.

Long entry is long.

Owning the internets,

one acronym at a time.

Was looking for the meaning of a specific acronym when I stumbled upon this.

Acronyms dictionary: God's gift to the lackadaisical masses

Hence this short, germane post which acts as a placeholder for posterity and another excuse to seemingly appear to be ‘active’ on the internets. (As if Farmville and Twitter doesn’t give that away… * snorts * )

First post using Windows Writer

Packing almost done. I have to gather the things I want to put in my backpack, my toothbrush, the book I intend to read on the plane and of course my camera + lenses + flash.

When I’m there, I want to take an afternoon off fro fulfilling family obligations and spend the time roaming around the streets taking pictures. Of course, as Mad-eye Moody said before, “Constant vigilance!”

Years spent in total security in this country has lessened my alertness on the streets – for example, when I was visiting Cairo, my carelessness almost cost me $200 worth of papyrus painting. (They found it after we had left Cairo and had it shipped over for us. Bless them!)

Anyway, now I’m going to count down the hours before I get to board the plane. Assuming the plane is on time because my dear father’s plane was supposed to depart yesterday 14 Dec 2009 at 2.30 p.m. but it eventually left Changi Airport at 2.30 a.m. on 15 Dec 2009. That’s right. A full 12 hours delay which just re-defines ridiculousness on a whole new level.

To end this post, I’m going to leave you with this picture (the video on YouTube has sadly been removed thanks to a copyright claim by NBC):

 
I LOVE THIS TAYLOR LAUTNER KID.

LOLWHUT

Italian PM Silvio Berlusconi spent a settled night in hospital after being hit in the face by an attacker, Italy's Ansa news agency said

How much do you want to bet the attack is a Nerazzuri fan?

Going back home in two days. Mightily excited to get myself (re) acquainted with the sights and sounds that makes home what it is. The terrible traffic, the dust pollution, hearing cab drivers engage themselves in a war of words in the middle of traffic jams, the street foods, the bargaining with shopkeepers in the market, the authentic continental food in restaurants, the familiar languages reverberating in the air, the smell of burnt wood, the sights, the sounds...and a catalogue of things that invokes memories, thoughts, left untouched for over a decade now. I miss home and the kind of life I would've had there, if I didn't come here...

I won't say I regret it entirely because the opportunities given to me to succeed in this country are in abundance. Not sure if I'd have gotten similar chances if I stayed home. However, there is certainly an element of home that I miss. The slangs, the inside jokes, the familiarity which takes me a while to get used to every time I go back marks my displacement from home. Sometimes I feel like I'm neither here, nor there. I cannot call this place a home away from home, simply because I do not feel the emotional attachment I feel with Calcutta. At the same time, when I am there, sometimes I feel like an accidental tourist. Like a person without a purpose, just wandering, not sure what he or she is hoping to find.

Lots of packing to do. * groans *

Just remember Misty, no matter what, youre still a December boy.

Trailer:


Went to a friend's house and we watched this. Impulsive, but it was absolutely worth it.

There's something inexplicably attractive about Dan Radcliffe - outside the scope and influence of Harry Potter. Though I suppose it'd be hard to take him out of that context for a long time to come. Especially for people like us, who are roughly about his age, give or take a few days older - we practically grew up watching him on the big screen, from the wee, round eyed Harry in The Philosopher's Stone to the lanky, emotional Harry in The Half Blood Prince. The transformation is quite amazing and I suppose in some subtle ways it reflects our own road to growing up. A quiet realization that like Harry, like Dan, we, too are no longer twelve and carefree. We are almost adults - we have responsibilities and things have become different.

Digression aside, I loved his acting in December Boys. For me, this is the first non-Harry Potter film of his I've watched. (Regrettably missing the opportunity to watch Equus.) He plays James in the film, or better addressed as Maps because he has a map of Tanzania shaped on his chest.

December Boys tells the story about four orphans, bounded by their birth month and a strong sense of family bonding who are cast out into the open, under the cerulean skies and breath taking beaches in Australia, where their camaraderie is tried and tested and eventually prevails. Even when one of them gets the opportunity to be adopted, after spending days trying to impress the couple, he leaves the opportunity for a normal home to be with his "brothers". It was a very touching film. Thoroughly enjoyed; might have wept a little if I had been seeing it in private.

One thing I did not enjoy was the religious overtone in the film. I'm not a fan of religious insinuations in films unless they serve, in some ways, to complement the central conflict. In the December Boys, that wasn't the case and at times it felt like a desperate scene filler.

un nuit à paris

I am in the middle of creating a photo CD for my father. The content, all pictures that he took, is about 480+ MB and I do not have a super fast computer. So to kill time, I decided to delve through my father's flashdrive - in which he keeps most of his photoshopped pictures - and I found some of our Paris picture which he had been working on in his spare time. ZOMG. When we took them (yes, he lets me play around with his EOS 50D, and by that deduction he is greater than your father) in June, they were quite good as they were, in their raw format. Of course with a $3000 camera and some powerful lenses you wouldn't expect otherwise, but the edited works look even better!

I'll include one of them. This one's a typical Parisian building on Champ Elysees. It's the long stretch of road that converges in front of the Arc di Triomphe - not the side that leads straight down to Place de la Concorde, but the direct opposite one; the Avenue de la Grande Armée side.

This makes me miss Paris. I am not particularly fond of the French pomposity and obnoxiousness over their language and culture, but Paris is a fucking beautiful especially, especially when you see it from le troisième étage de la tour Eiffel.

golden tree

Source

Sometimes a picture is enough to compose an entire blog post. This picture reflects, at this point in time, my mood, my feelings, the state of my mind. In other words, I'm clinging onto the fading wisps of Autumn, and not wanting to confront the biting cold of winter. Not that I get much of it here anyway; I suppose it's part of the psychological make up of a child who has been brought up previously in a country with regular four seasons throughout the year.

links dump (placeholder)

10 Proposals for Fixing the E-Mail Glut - it's an interesting piece and some of the proposals I see myself agreeing with. But others...lolwhut? For example, implementation of twitter-like 140 characters cut off limit. No, a big no, and I'm sure the verbose strata of the email-using population will (violently) object to its imposition. But check it out nonetheless.

Iron Man Versus the Imperialists Nice parallel between Iron Man and American Imperialism. Will properly finish reading after I'm done devouring sushi.

Wikipedia's Known Unknowns and Ontology overrated will come next. (Too much sushi, too little time)

Last night out of boredom, I watched New Moon and today I indulged myself in Zombieland. My derision/loathing/radical antipathy towards Twilight is well known in my friend's circle; so chances are if you and I have moved beyond the customary "Hello, how are you doing?" you'd have been treated to, at least one, my diatribe over Stephenie Meyers and Edward Cullen. I'll spare that here except to say LOLOLOLOL Edward actually sparkles in the film. LOLWHUT.

Zombieland on the other hand is a bucket of fun once you get by the blood dripping, flesh eating zombies - here's a bonus: Bill Murray? Zombie!fail. Stick to Ghostbusters Billy.

Now off to eat those sushis. The reading...well we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

Reviving Those Strangers at a Train Station - Nytimes's review of Brief Encounter by Noël Coward, adapted and directed by Emma Rice invokes a strong desire in me to be audience to this performance. Of course that'd require a $1000+ plane ticket to travel halfway across the world to witness this aesthetically pleasing beauty.

My first interaction with Brief Encounter, which is originally a film made in 1945, came after watching The History Boys where Scripps and Posner acted out a scene from it, earning a semi-impressed, semi-bored, "God knows why you learned Brief Encounter" reaction from Irwin. Everything other exposure to this play comes from Wikipedia and the internet at large. Now this review adds to the appeal of the play, carefully (and selectively) constructed in my head.

A need to share this picture - there's something striking about it, something that captures the mind and opens doorways to the world of imagination. Stories told from behind the lens, capturing every range of emotion put on display, each telling its own tale; of joy, sorrow, heartbreak, misery, comedy, hubris, catharsis and the likes...

One day I'd really like to own a camera of my own, focus on the center point of my lief and tell my own story from behind the lens.

One day...

U-Go-Slavia

To quote my friend, "I feel smart for existing."

You mean Jesus was gay? REALLY?

Copenhagen climate summit in disarray after 'Danish text' leak

No number of flabbergasted WTFs can be seen as an adequate response to this.

For the sake of this world (and my sanity) I'm going to hope that this is a hoax to stir up tension before the bulk of the talks is underway.

Really now. I understand this is a talk shop where diplomats will hug, shake hands and eat expensive caviar but at least conduct it with some dignity.

Edit: The actual leaked text which I am too tired/annoyed/resigned to read through. I'm just going to rely on The Guardian's summarizing skills and send my best regards to the vitriol and backlash it is going to receive on the internet.

The climate change saga

My father says Copenhagen "is just a talk shop" and that nothing substantial is going to come out of it. He can be cynical at times, but I don't think his cynicism has anything to do with his judgment of the Copenhagen talks. I think it is another talk shop too, and while the optimist desires some kind of positive outcome from this, the pessimist yawns in boredom.

To start off, Climategate and its consequences is going to soak up the atmosphere in conference rooms and the most important question anyone without insider information is going to ask is: Is Global Warming really as bad as it is made out to be?

John Tierney has a well summarized account of Climategate: E-Mail Fracas Shows Peril of Trying to Spin Science. It sums up the controversy surrounding the hacked emails that suggest scientists, in order to pursue definitive actions over rising temperatures, have manipulated the data to exacerbate the situation. That, I believe, is a very inconvenient truth. (Are you listening Mr. Gore?)

Placeholder: More links on Climategate controversy here, here and here. (note: The last one shows the actual emails exchanged - with date and timestamps!)

Alright, Climategate aside, the Cop15 official site is a good place to track the conference, get related news and other projects/initiatives that are underway to tackle the potentially-catastrophic consequences of climate change.

In an ideal world, the Copenhagen talks will achieve something substantial; something more than a promise. A definite action(s) into tackling global warming. Assuming we are in that ideal world here are the few ways, I feel we can tackle climate change.

1) Egotism: We need to stop trying to pinpoint who is historically responsible for global warming and who should be made to pay for the clean up. It should be a joint effort instead of a series of compromises made by countries based on what their competitors do. US wants to cut their emissions by 17% below 2005 levels by 2020, according to the Bill introduced to the Senate by Senators Barbara Boxers and John Kerry. That's fine. China wants to reduce theirs by 40-45% by 2020. It's a start but the consensus is that if US and China (accounting for 40% of pollution in the world) do not live up to their words, the others are reluctant to lower emission. I think by now there are no strong deniers of global warming - everyone's accepted the phenomenon and hopefully are aware of the consequences that await the generations to come. So why the wait? Why did we even need to go as far as the Copenhagen talks to reach a consensus?

2) Aid: Financial or otherwise. One of the reasons why countries are unwilling to cut emissions is because they are worried about their economic growth. If countries, especially developing ones, make a conscious effort to reduce emission then, they should be helped out for their efforts. China and India's primary concern these days is sustaining high levels of growth to pull their people out of poverty. If the world expects them to reduce pollution/emissions, then there should be ways set up whereby they can reduce without sacrificing the livelihood of their citizens. That's where aid can be an useful incentive to build up the momentum of reducing emissions.

3) Free flow of technology: It goes without saying, the more efficient your methods of production are, the better your chances of saving on your scarce resources. The flow of technology from the west to the east needs to be sped up. More developing countries should have the latest techonological know-how in order to ensure their methods of production are least destructive to the environment. Less IPs and patents might help. Multi-nation funding for Research and Development to find better ways of producing a good, and then distributing that knowledge worldwide can help too - basically the trade off here is your personal ambition vs. the environment's well being.

4) Social responsibility: Pretty much similar to the first one. Countries cannot say, "If X is allowed to pollute more than me, why must I reduce my emission?" Look, in the end, if this continues, we are all screwed. Global catastrophe is not going to pick and choose which of the countries it wants to hit. Everyone dies, so it doesn't matter who is allowed to pollute more and who isn't. Which is why carbon trading in some way does not answer the problem; it doesn't substantially reduce the aggregate amount of pollution present in the air. It shifts the burden from one country to another. Which is why, I think conscious efforts to sacrifice economic prosperity for better, cleaner environment would be better. But here I am, indulging in wishful thinking.

Of course in stating my four points I made several assumptions including the complete insignificance (and disregard) of political agenda, ideological difference, competition (between states), the on-going wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, HIV/AIDS, the stubborn presence of poverty, current financial crisis...yeah the list just goes on. However, I did set out an yardstick where the operative word is ideal.

We see that in every Hollywood blockbuster (or not) dealing with the end of the World - like War of the Worlds, Independence Day, The Day After Tomorrow and more recently 2012 - nations come together, as one, after the first wave of damage has been done. It is important to realize, the consequences of rising sea levels will in the future, maybe in 2012 or perhaps even maybe in 2070, have an impact. We can't be certain when it's going to hit us. And unlike in Hollywood movies, mass deaths and destruction will not be performed by cool CGI or stuntmen. It is going to have a definite impact, and people will suffer. All because of our inability to put aside our egoes and work together. (yes I'm very much aware of how I'm sounding like a doomsday prophet, but it is true. It will happen one day. Today, tomorrow or in the next millennium.)

Lastly, this guy tries to manifest a climate-change-oriented version of The Devil's Dictionary. Makes me laugh; and not always in the funny bone tickling way.

god is my favourite dj

Listening to Leona Lewis early in the morning, on a Sunday, still in bed, with a mug of lukewarm coffee and two lightly toasted bread is my idea of perfection. At least for the time being.

This is my favourite song so far by her:



I think she has an immensely powerful voice - the beauty lies in how soothing it sounds. Loud and soothing; euphonious, something which a lot of singers with higher pitched voices cannot acheive.

Another song I'm obsessed with at the moment is I Dreamed A Dream, sang by Elaine Paige from the Les Miserables stage play. First heard it on YouTube, Susan Boyle's rendition of it on Britain's Got Talent.

I'm also in the middle of reading this:



This was part of my Reading World Text course; however I skipped this book entirely due to 1) Lack of time, and 2) The overwhelming aspect of the other five books I had to read. I am beginning to regret the decision after every page of this book I'm finishing. There's a remarkable veracity in Lamming's writing; it's pure in ways that are inexplicable. It's beautiful and every word, every sentence inspires me to think. To close my eyes, take a deep breath and just think. What is more remarkable is the fact that Lamming was only 23 when he wrote this. I am 20 and my writing is like unpolished turd compared to this. Thanks Mr. Lamming, I feel
inadequate now.

My goal now is to finish reading In The Castle Of My Skin before the 16th. That's when I am going to India. I'm bringing my brand new copy of A Suitable Boy which, I'm determined to finish before the Winter break is over.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Hebbel said “Nothing great in the world has ever been accomplished without passion.”

I had passion; the desire to move forward, the urge to succeed, to be the best, at the top of my game and I used to work hard for it. I had aspiration, goals, dreams - a strong passion to try and want to achieve them. I succeeded to a certain degree; then, I grew up.

I became a realist.

I started to settle for less, and less, and less until today I no longer recognize myself. I am unmotivated, I feel lethargic and I no longer have opinion on anything. A stark contrast to the person I was at 18 - where I did things not because they needed to be done, but I wanted to do them. I used to follow the strict philosophy of so much to do, so little time. I tried to compact a lot of things on my to-do list - even with limited time.

Now I feel so distant, alienated from everything. I don't want to go to MIT anymore, I don't want to be a Straight A student anymore, reading's become a chore, my fingers ache out of instinct everytime I hold my guitar, my hand shakes when I sketch, and the constant mental diatribes at the quality of writing is too much. I can't handle them. I keep telling myself I'll get a fresh start. Make drastic changes to the quality of my life; but everything falls back to square one. Once I am back in that square, the inertia to want to change just disappears.

But because it's Thanksgiving today, and on Thanksgiving you be thankful, here's what I am thankful for.

I am thankful for having a family, having a mother, and a father I can turn to when I need help. I am thankful for having enough money to buy the next issue of Rolling Stone magazine without feeling the budget constraint in my pockets. I am thankful for having the luxury of choice on my meals, my choice of clothes, books that I buy, the general lifestyle I lead. I am thankful for having my parents' trust, the freedom to do what I want, when I want, however I want because my parents believe in me - to not screw up. These things seem intangible, incomparable to a good degree, good job, a big house, an expensive car, but they mean more to me than materialistic possession. Hell I am more thankful for the next breath I inhale, than I am of attending a good, reputable university and doing the course I have always wanted to do.

In life, I look for the small things. The intangibles that escapes everyone's radar, but when they are gone, their absence hits you hard. Things like the six o'clock knock on my door, by my father to wake me up, the ready-made coffee (and breakfast) that waits for me on the table. That assuring voice on the other end of the phoneline, telling me to calm down, convincing me that a dissatisfactory grade isn't the end of the world; that I can get back up, and fight...they mean more to me than anything materialism has to offer.

Briefly: Happy Thanksgiving. Be thankful for what you have, not what you desire. Sometimes you'll see you can make do with it just fine. Someone once said, You live only once, so live a good life (whose measure and worth should not exclusively be described by your bank statement)

religion is men/women indulging in their inner lust to kill/loot/hurt with a clear conscience.

Turkish honor killing - this is exactly why I, sometimes, loathe religion and people who commit plain-sight murder in the name of religion.

the future of technology

This is what technology is going to look like in the next few years.

People like him make me feel immensely proud to be an Indian.

Back to my history readings - so many of them, I could just lose myself in it.

Billy's Law

A few post's back I mentioned about Paul Krugman's desire to add onto Godwin's Law.

Now I'd like to propose a similar extension or a brand new introduction of a variance of Godwin's Law in the football fandom at large. I'd like it to be named Billy's Law; Billy being an esoteric conception between the Sanctimonious Fanatical Pickle and an accomplice who goes by many names, most prominently George.

Billy's Law should read like this:

It states that whenever someone uses Reductio ad Failerum™ to justify their arguments, they have effectively lost it.

Examples include, but are not limited to:

1. "Excuse me...I first stood on the ___________ [enter Club stadium name] in the _____ [enter date, prior to 2000], so don't preach to me about what it means to support a club like ___________ [enter Club name]." (Source)

2. You don't live in Europe therefore you don't know what it's like to support a football club.

3. Shut up, my club has it harder than your club!

4. You are a football Nazi.

Make it happen, powers that be. I am offering first borns here.

health care? what's that?

Senate's 2000+ pages of Health Care bill.

Perfect time to apply the tl;dr symbol.

So there.

tl;dr

I feel accomplished.

Obamafication.

Mike Tomasky assesses the recent spur of Obama-hate quite accurately in his piece titled, "Hate Obama? You may not be a racist. But you will be white.".

I am personally not a fan of Obama's public health care. My reason is simple - I do not believe that it is sustainable in the long run. Of course the incumbent health care isn't sustainable either, but the alternative, in my view is just as bad. Especially after the government budget deficit is projected to remain over 1 trillion dollars for the next decade. This is going back to the Regan and Bush sr. era, except now there is an ongoing recession; even if the worst bits of the recession is over, as analysts say, the left over effects are still being felt by the main street.

I digress.

I intend to talk about Obama. When Obama won, the headlines from then can be summarized as A NEW DAWN AFTER AN ETERNITY SPENT IN DARKNESS - darkness here being the Bush Administration. I feel we made a cult figure out of Obama even before the man resumed office. We took his campaign rhetorics and went along with it, expressing our awe at the man's (potential) capacity to right the wrongs made by Bush.

So far Obama's delivery in his promises is going less than impeccably. Guantanamo Bay is still operating (EDIT: Guantanamo won't close by January 2010 - Obama) - even though the trail for the perpetrators of 9/11 has been ordered. US troops are still in Iraq; okay granted the crucial bill was passed, and a ray of hope has emerged, it still doesn't guarantee anything. Afghanistan is still a mess. Pakistan is deteriorating.

Politics aside, US unemployment rate broke into double digits last month, jobs are still being lost, companies are still not hiring, and China continues to peg its exchange rate against the dollars. In a nutshell, eleven months after Obama assumed office, the United States is still being screwed.

Because of the impossible ideals we built around Obama, making him nothing short of a miracle worker, the current state of the world and primarily the US economy is breeding discontent with the Obama administration. We are beginning to doubt his capability - which, I am not questioning, but simply reiterating that thanks to our sky high expectations, whatever Obama does henceforth is not going to be enough. Unless one day we wake to find that unemployment rate has gone down to its natural level, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan has miraculously ended, China is allowing the Yuan to float against the US $ etc. Basically, Obama has to deliver us Utopia to silence the critics.

Of course the racial factor will ALWAYS be there. I'd like to give USofA the benefit of the doubt and assume that the race factor is a small proportion of people - mostly prevalent in the white conservative camps. Someone mentioned a very valid point last night on BBC's World Have Your Say. Because Obama is African-American, and because race has been such a highly debated, and controversial issue in the USA, a lot of people voted for Obama simply because he was black. Similarly, a lot of them voted for McCain just because he is white. The speaker actually went on to explain, if instead of Obama it were Hilary Clinton running for presidency, a lot of the feminist advocates would vote for Hilary just because she is a woman. And the alternative is true too.

What I am trying to highlight here is that the post-Obama euphoria is subsiding. And people are beginning to realize that Obama is not a miracle worker. That Iraq and Afghanistan will take time to be mitigated; that the financial crisis will also take time to level out and for the US economy to start growing sustainably again.

Obama needs time.

Whether he gets it or not will most certainly influence the future of world politics.

More edits: Veto of Iraq's Election Law Could Force Delay in Vote, and China Holds Firm on Major Issues in Obama's Visit. More backlash in the horizon? It'd be a shame if Obama is ousted from office even before his first term as President reaches its half way mark. Give the guy some time, world at large. Please?

An ode to Economics

by, The Sanctimonious Fanatical Pickle

economics is,
a lover's quarrel
at best;
a painful divorce
otherwise.

cost and benefit
our star crossed micro-lovers
their fates sealed
by the evil clutches
of economic profits.

their love is ephemeral;
when for one short period, cost
equals benefits
and the world temporarily settles
for normal equilibrium profits.

but mostly the greedy
functionalities
of supernormal profits
dominate - powerful forces,
we like to call externalities.

economics can also be,
an artist's master piece
at best;
a child's textbook doodle
otherwise.

how else can we explain?
the pixel perfect picture
of an open market
full employment, low inflation
like a happy family portrait

then,
cleverly justify,
the rising prices of goods,
the rising cost of unemployment
the continuing economic conundrum.

keynes, milton, fisher and modigliani
and many before, many after,
have tried and tested;
to explain the unpredictability of
behavioral economics.

at the end of the day,
we learn it because
we have to; but after graduation,
we forget all about it
because we need to

this is not a tribute,
not a testament,
not an eulogy
but an ode,
to the science of society.

You are a nazi because I say so!

Paul Krugman on extending Godwin's Law (and rightfully so).

My desire?

To include anyone who thinks that just because they have read university level economics modules, political science modules, and public policy modules (and believe in extreme government intervention- basically the concept of a 'nanny state'), they are well educated, knowledgeable liberals. Though by Mr. Krugman's definition, the parenthesis has already been covered in his point no. 1 and 2.

Edith Piaf's L'Accordéoniste, as sung by Samuel Barnett from the History Boys:



Lyrics:
La fille de joie est belle
Au coin de la rue Labas
Elle a une clientèle
Qui lui remplit son bas
Quand son boulot s'achève
Elle s'en va à son tour
Chercher un peu de rêve
Dans un bal du faubourg
Son homme est un artiste
C'est un drôle de petit gars
Un accordéoniste
Qui sait jouer la java

Elle écoute la java
Mais elle ne la danse pas
Elle ne regarde même pas la piste
Et ses yeux amoureux
Suivent le jeu nerveux
Et les doigts secs et longs de l'artiste
Ça lui rentre dans la peau
Par le bas, par le haut
Elle a envie de chanter
C'est physique
Tout son être est tendu
Son souffle est suspendu
C'est une vraie tordue de la musique

La fille de joie est triste
Au coin de la rue Labas
Son accordéoniste
Il est parti soldat
Quand y reviendra de la guerre
Ils prendront une maison
Elle sera la caissière
Et lui, sera le patron
Que la vie sera belle
Ils seront de vrais pachas
Et tous les soirs pour elle
Il jouera la java

Elle écoute la java
Qu'elle fredonne tout bas
Elle revoit son accordéoniste
Et ses yeux amoureux
Suivent le jeu nerveux
Et les doigts secs et longs de l'artiste
Ça lui rentre dans la peau
Par le bas, par le haut
Elle a envie de chanter
C'est physique
Tout son être est tendu
Son souffle est suspendu
C'est une vraie tordue de la musique

La fille de joie est seule
Au coin de la rue Labas
Les filles qui font la gueule
Les hommes n'en veulent pas
Et tant pis si elle crève
Son homme ne reviendra plus
Adieux tous les beaux rêves
Sa vie, elle est foutue
Pourtant ses jambes tristes
L'emmènent au boui-boui
Où y a un autre artiste
Qui joue toute la nuit

Elle écoute la java...
... elle entend la java
... elle a fermé les yeux
... et les doigts secs et nerveux ...
Ça lui rentre dans la peau
Par le bas, par le haut
Elle a envie de gueuler
C'est physique
Alors pour oublier
Elle s'est mise à danser, à tourner
Au son de la musique...

You can also see Edith Piaf's original rendition here

Wish me luck, as you wave me goodbye. Cheerio, here I go,on my way...

Obama Says U.S. Seeks to Build Stronger Ties to China. You know what they say; If you can't beat them, join them. Does this mean the world at large will gradually accept China's pegged exchange rate? (Point of note/amusement): Some kook confidently said to me before that China has a floating exchange rate because...well his uncle thinks so.

Though I object heavily to the article's sweeping generalization that ASEAN is just an economic group. It is more than than that - it was formed to regionalize South East Asia with the aim of promoting regional security and strengthening cultural ties. Economics has hardly been the driving factor behind a significant portion of ASEAN's four decades worth of history.

If it were, the Asian Financial Crisis would not have dented Singapore's economy as badly as it did; when the Baht fell, the Rupiah fell, the Ringgit fell, it was a "Beggar thy neighbour" attitude that prospered in the region. Anyway, I am not nitpicking here - as someone who is studying ASEAN as part of her university coursework, I oppose to blunt generalization of its function as just an economic group. Oh and for posterity's sake - ASEAN is not the Asian version of the EU.

A caveat (of some interest): ASEAN members never interfere with the internal politics of their member countries; which is why it's credibility has been repeatedly questioned over its stance on the crackdown that happened in Myanmar two years ago.

I'm curious to see what they achieve out of APEC Summit this weekend. The securities have locked down major roads leading up to the central business district here in the name of housing so many important leaders, including the man touted to be the most powerful in the world. Despite my cynicism towards the USofA, I am a fan of Obama. I believe he has a strong character that was seriously lacking in Bush. Though I must say, so far, after resuming office for nearly a year he hasn't made as much progress as he had been projecting during the presidential campaign. However, Iraq's recent passing of the election bill and the recent decision to try Khalid Shaikh Mohammed - the mastermind behind 9/11 in court (in the process of shutting down Guantanamo Bay) injects some optimism among those beginning to question the validity of Obama's campaign promises. The healthcare bill - I am not certain how durable it is going to be in the long run; from the little I have learned in Economics, government sponsored bills are not sustainable in the long run. Granted I have not actually seen the bill properly - though if you scurry around the NYtimes website, you'll find a copy up for download somewhere. I came across it the other day, but my misfortune that I forgot to at least save a link for it.

I am going to put the following point as a place holder:

Due to my inability to sleep without listening to the radio, I have developed a long standing habit of listening to BBC radio on 88.9 FM. Thanks to the time difference, at exactly about 2 a.m. local time they air the BBC World Have Your Say. I am a huge fan of the debates that go back and forth for the hour - some of the arguments are enviably well thought-out and effortlessly executed. Others are just plain stupid. Every time I formulate my own argument and post it on their blog, the show ends. IT IS NOT A MERRY COINCIDENCE. Yesterday they were discussing about Depression and should sufferers be more forthcoming with their conditions. I had a lot to say on this issue - I do suffer from it, and while my case isn't serious enough to seek intense medical help, I have had to drastically adjust my life, my schedules to cope with it. I do just fine - I don't need pills or therapy anymore. Granted the episodic outbursts cannot be helped (it's like epilepsy; the medicine helps to keep it under control, not fully cure it), I have done just fine for five years now.

I don't like advertising my condition to people - I don't want them to treat me differently. I certainly oppose the idea of conveying a very weak and fragile state of my mind. I am neither; I am tough as a diamond and to be denied opportunities or given leeway because people pity me is not acceptable to my conscience. It can even be annoying at times, when, unintentionally, I divulge into people that I do suffer from depressive episodes from time to time. The first response, quite naturally, I get is, "You are depressed? Why we had no idea!" Of course you don't. Most sufferers of depression you see appear perfectly normal in plainsight. There is a clear distinction between emo/gothic/punk and those who actually have clinical depression.

Anyway, back to my comment about World Have your Say, WHO DO I HAVE TO SHAG/MURDER/DEFENESTRATE (not necessarily in that order) TO GET MY COMMENT READ OUT ON AIR? I'll try tonight. Wish me luck, as you wave me goodbye. Cheerio, here I go,on my way...

Hala Madrid!

Spanish Inquisition: The Curse Of The Bernabeu - How Fans Make Real Madrid's Bad Situation Worse
Goal.com's Sulmaan Ahmad takes a look at why Los Blancos rarely feel at home in their super stadium and why their own fans make their lives more difficult.

There is a perfectly good explanation why a large percentage of the football community enjoy referring goal.com as LOL.com. Personally I cannot decide what's worse - the third class journalism that includes made up news, glaring grammatical errors, bad syntax and above all, erroneous spelling, or their attempted analysis of football related events beyond their capacity or scope.

It should go without saying that Real Madrid and greatness go hand in hand, like the long list of synonyms your middle school grammar teacher forces you to learn. With its history spanning over a century, 31 League titles, 9 Champions league, a host of other trophies, legends, Alfredo di Stéfano, Ferenc Puskás, Emilio Butragueño, Hugo Sanchez, Raúl González et al, a person can be forgiven for feeling slightly overwhelmed.

At the turn of the century, after that majestic night in Glasgow (2000), everything went downhill. The club, sitting atop the football hierarchy, came down crashing, and were made to bite the dust in what is touted as the worst defeat in Real Madrid's 107 years of history. The first leg game against third division club Alcorcón was embarrassing, to be brutally honest.

The club did not even have the excuse of fielding a poor side.

You can make excuses for your club's lacklustre performance as long as you don't cross over the line between reasonable and ridiculous. Watching your club lose to the weakest Milan team fielded in the last few years already had a lot of people questioning about the future of Galacticos 2.0. When you splurge 200 million euros on players whose salaries can equal or surpass the entire club budget of the lower division clubs, yes you are expected to deliver. Yes you are expected to deliver in every game, because 1) You will always have to justify your moeny's worth and 2) You play for Real Madrid.

To expound on 1), consider your workplace. You do not have the luxury of meeting your work performance targets one year and then not falling short the next. Chances are two quarters of inadequate performance, you are going to be put on probation and then subsequently fired. Footballers earn 10X the amount you do - I'm assuming you hail from an upper middle class background. If you are made to prove your money's worth, why is it criminal to expect the same from our overpaid, underperforming Galacticos?

As with playing for Real Madrid, dude this is Real Madrid. We used to be the Roman Empire of the ancient world; then we brought in Perez, who did assuage club debts after taking over as president but guided the club into an era of humiliation that includes a 3-0 loss to Real Union, a 4-0 loss to Alcorcón (both third division clubs, both in Copa del Rey ties) and the hardest defeat to swallow for anyone who puts up with Madrid's ridiculousness - a 6-2 defeat in El Clasico. In the Benrbaéu. High scorelines aren't new. Madrid have lost to Barcelona 5-0 before, then in the following year beaten them 5-0 thanks to a certain "traitorous" Danish blond (Michael Laudrup I am looking at you). That goal different wasn't hard to swallow. The tough part was that it played out like a perfect Shakespearean tragedy (think Battle of Actium-like from Antony and Cleopatra) in front of 76,000 Madrid faithfuls. At the Bernabéu.

A lot of people like to call the Bernabéu a fortress; it is. In some aspect. But it is a fortress that contains 76,000 raging, passionate Madridistas, who expect nothing more than for their team to play. To play with the same passion, same enthusiasm as them; when they line up outside to enter the stadium, when they part with a portion of their income on club merchandize, match tickets, away game trips - watching the team you love and support lose so pathetically against Alcorcón (I've said it before, I'll say it again: They were fantastic. They did everything right and the standing ovation they got from the Bernabéu was thoroughly deserved) felt like a sharp stab in the guts. It felt like a mockery of the faith people have put in this team; this laughable team critics call "FIFA 2010" (in reference to the PSP game).

Everyone has a tipping point. Football clubs and football fans aren't excluded from its scope. By nature Spanish football is more highly charged, full of raging testosterone for 90 minutes, then elation or bone crushing sense of desolation afterwards. Spanish football is, for the lack of a better phrase, more aggressive than British football - on and off the pitch. Drawing comparison is silly, which, leads me back to my first disclaimer about Goal.com being constantly referred to as LOL.com.

The issue about Madridistas abandoning their club during games, or booing them unreasonably and blah blah blah has been tried and tested. Look back into the 2006/2007. The Bernabéu was behind the team during every home game; they cheered, they screamed words of encouragement until their throats ran out of steam and lungs collapsed in exhaustion. The Bernabéu used to be packed every time Madrid took to the fields. We won some games. We lost others. But we won the war. Team and fans together - as a club. I don't want to go into fanwars. I don't care how loudly your club supporters cheer/shout/encourage your team during a game. I believe Real Madrid fans are unique. It is perfectly understandable that they want to see good football, mesmerizing passes, brilliant one touch goals (read: Goal number 2, Serbia Montenegro vs. Argentina FIFA World Cup 2006). At the same time, they are not barbaric. They do not boo the players every time the opposition scores against the club.

But like I said before: There is always a tipping point.

When you cross it, and yes the club has moved well past it, they snap. So don't be a "conformist dumbass" (read the comments in the link, someone mentions it before and I think it sums up perfectly) and goes around pretending football's all about the happy stuff - like goals, cheers, chants etc. No. There is an ugly side to football, an uglier side to fan behaviour and when the club disrespects their fans like Real did against Alcorcón, booing is not a taboo.

This. This is why I love Real Madrid.

Why I support them.
Why I defend them.
Why I will never stop believing in them; yes even when they lose pathetically to third division sides.

Because they are Real Madrid. They are more than a club (maybe Real should change the club motto; but I expect that'd result in a huge lawsuit from some club in the northeast of Spain); they are an identity. And the next dumbass who tells me Pellegrini should be fired, is going to be either A) physically assaulted or B) verbally abused, depending on the proximity between us.

This is the dilemma I encounter frequently.

Oh and this boy using the computer on my left at the computer stations in the library is wearing too much cologne. My nose itches.

Now back to more Hypothesis testing and Solow Model of Growth until 4p.m.

I should probably make a daily rant about how much I loathe the long breaks I have in between classes - of course studious people would welcome such gaps and fully utilize them to study, revise, write out notes. Yours truly missed the cut off percentage point, to access the studious strata, by several decimal places.

This must be mentioned too - since it is Real Madrid, and I did predict teardrops at the Bernabeu. Is it masochistic of me to say I thoroughly enjoyed the large volume of boos and jeers the players got from the crowd? Yes I enjoyed it. They were awful. Perhaps not entirely true; they started off well, but without flair, without creativity and from then on it descended into an air of resignation hanging over the Estadio Santiago Bernabeu. If I'm honest it is upsetting - because we were playing a Third division team (without taking away any credit from Alcorcon, who were fantastic in every aspect on both legs of the tie) and we had a packed Bernabeu. The Real Madrid boys broke more than 76,000 hearts; they left a permanent stain on Real Madrid's history, which, leads me back to an assertion I have been making since June: THIS IS NOT FIFA2010 ON YOUR PSP; GALACTICOS 2.0 IS NOT GOING TO WORK IN THE LONG RUN.

I hope we keep Pellegrini though; that man can do wonders, if he has the right players. By right, I do not mean skillwise, because we have already paid 200 million euros to cover that. We need the right combination of motivated, hardworking footballers who go out to prove to the world at large that they are indeed worth every penny paid for by the club. Like LASSANA DIARRA and GONZALO HIGUAIN. Period.

Ladies and Gents, I give you...Nutpicking

Less than 48 hours after the voting commenced and concluded on the Health care reform bill, where Asian-American Republican representative Joseph Cao voted in favour of the bill, he has been subjected to a torrent of slurs which are...unsurprisingly hinged along the racial line.

Highlights (if you are a lazy arse who refuses to click the link) include referring him as Representative Mao because you know there's only a difference of ten consonants and their Asian origin.

Of course this isn't exclusive to Republicans, or Americans; this defeatist mentality is prevalent in many parts of the world, including but not limited to the continent I come from. Race politics is inevitable. But the reason I mentioned this, aside from the oblivious gut splitting LOL this brings, is the new word I have picked up for my admirably impressive (and modest) vocabulary. It is called, nutpicking:

"If you're forced to rely on random blog commenters to make a point about the prevalence of some form or another of disagreeable behavior, you've pretty much made exactly the opposite point." Eventually, the practice was even given a name: "Nutpicking."

Courtesy of Steve Benen's explanatory discourse on the term and usage of Nutpicking.

Obligatory mention: Examinations loom closer; faster than the predicted 2012 Armageddon. Hollywood should make films about examination - it should be personified into a bone chilling villain with a faux mustache, and should be played by Benicio Del Toro.

Real Madrid plays Alcórcon tonight. Turning around 4-0 deficit should not be a problem; considering 1) It's Alcórcon (yes I'm still persisting with the "writing off the Segunda B dwelling underdog". Bite me.) and 2) It's Real Madrid. Despite this, you, me and everyone in between know that this could also be a written recipe for disaster. For Alcórcon to consolidate that lead and leave the Bernabéu in shambles with a possible 6-2 on aggregate scoreline.

I am going to force myself to remain blissfully ignorant. It served me well in the first leg; I had a class test on that day which, thanks to my not knowing of Real Madrid's fiasco, I aced. I am going to do that again.

Now I shall attempt to finish my econometrics assignment and tutorial and hopefully get a headstart on Macroeconomic Analysis revision.

cooking experiment

You know you are an adult when on a Saturday evening after browsing through the McDonalds and KFC online delivery menu you settle for left overs in the kitchen.

I made a concoction which I am not certain what to name; it is soggy thanks to my inability to judge how much of water should be poured. But the comfort I take from this culinary adventure is that it tastes fucking awesome. Considering I made it using scrap.

I had some left over baked fish and chicken (curry) in the fridge. I took potatoes, boiled them, then mashed them with copious amount of cottage cheese. I fried some garlic and onion in the pan, mixed the chicken and fish scraps, and topped it off with the mashed cheese/potato. I used Dill and Parsley for garnish - despite the odd combination of recipe, I swear it tastes good. It would have tasted better if I did not have persistent ulcer in my mouth which refuses to leave; stubborn ulcers.

With three weeks left before the finals, I should really get down to revising my Macroeconomic Analysis and Econometrics! I will, as soon as I am done with my dinner (yep still not fond of the sogginess).

The Idea of Ancestry

I chanced upon this poem by Etheridge Knight today. This, in my belief, needs to be shared - it is too beautiful, too majestic to be left behind, or scrolled past.

by Etheridge Knight

1

Taped to the wall of my cell are 47 pictures: 47 black
faces: my father, mother, grandmothers (1 dead), grand-
fathers (both dead), brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts,
cousins (1st and 2nd), nieces, and nephews. They stare
across the space at me sprawling on my bunk. I know
their dark eyes, they know mine. I know their style,
they know mine. I am all of them, they are all of me;
they are farmers, I am a thief, I am me, they are thee.

I have at one time or another been in love with my mother,
1 grandmother, 2 sisters, 2 aunts (1 went to the asylum),
and 5 cousins. I am now in love with a 7-yr-old niece
(she sends me letters in large block print, and
her picture is the only one that smiles at me).

I have the same name as 1 grandfather, 3 cousins, 3 nephews,
and 1 uncle. The uncle disappeared when he was 15, just took
off and caught a freight (they say). He’s discussed each year
when the family has a reunion, he causes uneasiness in
the clan, he is an empty space. My father’s mother, who is 93
and who keeps the Family Bible with everbody’s birth dates
(and death dates) in it, always mentions him. There is no
place in her Bible for “whereabouts unknown.”


2

Each fall the graves of my grandfathers call me, the brown
hills and red gullies of mississippi send out their electric
messages, galvanizing my genes. Last yr/like a salmon quitting
the cold ocean-leaping and bucking up his birth stream/I
hitchhiked my way from LA with 16 caps in my pocket and a
monkey on my back. And I almost kicked it with the kinfolks.
I walked barefooted in my grandmother’s backyard/I smelled the old
land and the woods/I sipped cornwhiskey from fruit jars with the men/
I flirted with the women/I had a ball till the caps ran out
and my habit came down. That night I looked at my grandmother
and split/my guts were screaming for junk/but I was almost
contented/I had almost caught up with me.
(The next day in Memphis I cracked a croaker’s crib for a fix.)

This yr there is a gray stone wall damming my stream, and when
the falling leaves stir my genes, I pace my cell or flop on my bunk
and stare at 47 black faces across the space. I am all of them,
they are all of me, I am me, they are thee, and I have no children
to float in the space between.

(I have a proper update in the works, but tonight exhaustion overwhelms me with brutal force. I must collapse into my slumber or risk disintegrating into tiny atomic particles, left in the aftermath of a nuclear explosion. I have also contracted an ulcer on my tongue which makes speaking a challenge - painful one, if I may add)

It must take an extra ordinarily brave soul (which, I am not) to decide that snacking on wasabi coated dried peas helps to accelerate the process of understanding 200 pages worth of material talking about the economic history of the country. For me it was a bad, on a scale of 1 to 10 rated 15.5, decision. Right now I cannot concentrate on which particular bit of my upper body hurts most – my throat? My tongue? My nasal passages? My jaws? Everything aches. Terribly; alarmingly resembling someone prodding my delicate flesh with a molten hot iron rod straight out of your best gore fantasy.

That aside, I’m still trying to come to terms with how my meticulous schedule planning at the beginning of the semester left me with a six hours break in between classes on Monday. Either reality is cruel; or I’m excessively ignorant of potential pot holes laid out before me. (This might come in between my aspirations to learn how to drive. Lordy.)

a picture speaks a thousand words, six pictures speaks six thousand words

Pictorial vignettes from before and today. Click to enlarge them


(Behold the steady state of capital per worker in a Solow Model of Growth)


(The Investment Tax Credit which helps to provide the incentive to Invest)


(Hello nation building and nationalism. I see you.)


(My iPod Classic 80GB whom I like to call Raúl González Blanco)


(Neil Gaiman and the moderator who made me cringe with his poor pronounced, singlish infested, humourless questions. I wasn't sitting close enough; and this was taken with my phone camera which isn't exactly the best out there - my phone is specifically designed to play music, not take photos)


(The Supreme Court.)

wasting away the sunday evening in a mass of literary goodness

Don't you just love it when one minute people are telling you your team sucks and the next instant their own team loses rather pathetically? Football's a goldmine of bragging/taunting opportunities. Either way, Liverpool's on its way to crashing out of the title race; and it's not even Christmas.

Gerard Pique's scoring of own goals would have been invoked some sympathy for me if he played for any other club. I always find it gravely unfortunate when a defender scores an own goal; though, having said that I relish it when they happen to play for Team Clusterfuck and Team Wildrabiesfuck. (Most people refer to them as Barcelona FC and Liverpool FC).

As of now, Barcelona are only a point ahead, Madrid's recovering slowly from the Alcorcon fiasco, Higuain's AWESOME, Benzema's still a bitch - but he did set up the assist for one of the Higuain goals, I'll give him that - Raúl was priceless from the touchline after Albiol was sent off. He was looking to bite off someone's head, with his tiny little fox teeth; I'm sure he snarled. Like RAWWWR, or however foxes snarl. I hope in light of Higuain's performance, Pellegrini will give him the regular place in the starting line up that he deserves. It would be the biggest regret in Real Madrid's history of regrets to let Gonzalo Higuain go. He is the best thing to have happened in a while; dedicated, young, speedy, he is exactly the kind of #7 replacement Real Madrid needs. I hope after Raúl retires, Madrid award Higuain the coveted #7 jersey - I think he has it in him to live up to the legends who have donned it during their careers with Real Madrid. I see him as Raúl's ideal successor.

My insensitivity (towards fans of Liverpool and Barcelona) aside, football was good for me this weekend. The clubs I follow won (OMG DIMITAR BERBATOV - part time Bulgarian mobster and part time Manchester United striker - SCORED); the clubs I have a special compartment reserved for in my loathing bank failed to win, and generally were shitty. Karma's a bitch.

A caveat: There were eight red cards handed out, spanning over the English and the Spanish league this game day. I'm not sure if the exact figure is eight, but it is close enough.

That aside I WENT TO SEE NEIL GAIMAN TODAY. To be truthful, I have never met as charming as him; he was absolutely mind blowing, with his effervescent stage personality and adorable curls; shame the moderator was an ass with his stupid Singlish which put a heavy damper on the whole event. Otherwise the crowd (of about 900 people packing up the Victoria Concert Hall) were fantastic - they cheered, they clapped and they (most) asked intelligent questions when questioning was opened to the floor. Neil recounted his Bee growing experiment - I sympathize with his PA! He talked at lengths about Alan Moore - absolutely adore him; said that he is, I quote, "a big hairy writer". He talked about the anecdote, courtesy of Moore, of scary trousers and how he came to be given than title. Let's see....hmmm, he talked about his project in China, which was interesting to hear, but I wish he'd have talked more about himself as a writer, as an artist, as the author the 900 of us gathered there today have grown to love. He did expound on the Sandman, but absolutely no mentions of Mirrormask. I love Mirrormask. I should have asked him a question but they opened a limited number of questions to be permitted from the floor due to time constrain.

Overall, it was a fantastic experience. But it was too hot to queue up outside the Arts House for his book signing. Besides I didn't bring any of the copies I own with me. I'm going to dig through the national library and re-read American Gods.

FAIL OF THE DAY: Yesterday, as a Halloween treat, AMANDA PALMER (Neil Gaiman's girlfriend from the Dresden Dolls fame) PERFORMED A FREE CONCERT OUTSIDE THE ARTS HOUSE. A FREE CONCERT WHICH I SHOULD HAVE GONE FOR IF I HAD KNOW BECAUSE I ABSOLUTE LOVE HER AND HAVE HAD OBSESSIVE PHASES WITH HER ALBUM Who killed Amanda Palmer. I don't know what I'm more upset at; my ignorance, or the fact that the concert was you know free.

Saying Your Names

by Richard Siken

Chemical names, bird names, names of fire
and flight and snow, baby names, paint names,
delicate names like bones in the body,
Rumplestiltskin names that are always changing,
names that no one's ever able to figure out.
Names of spells and names of hexes, names
cursed quietly under the breath, or called out
loudly to fill the yard, calling you inside again,
calling you home. Nicknames and pet names
and baroque French monikers, written in
shorthand, written in longhand, scrawled
illegibly in brown ink on the backs of yellowing
photographs, or embossed on envelopes lined
with gold. Names called out across the water,
names I called you behind your back,
sour and delicious, secret and unrepeatable,
the names of flowers that open only once,
shouted from balconies, shouted from rooftops,
or muffled by pillows, or whispered in sleep,
or caught in the throat like a lump of meat.
I try, I do. I try and try. A happy ending?
Sure enough—Hello darling, welcome home.
I'll call you darling, hold you tight. We are
not traitors but the lights go out. It's dark.
Sweetheart, is that you? There are no tears,
no pictures of him squarely. A seaside framed
in glass, and boats, those little boats with
sails aflutter, shining lights upon the water,
lights that splinter when they hit the pier.
His voice on tape, his name on the envelope,
the soft sound of a body falling off a bridge
behind you, the body hardly even makes
a sound. The waters of the dead, a clear road,
every lover in the form of stars, the road
blocked. All night I stretched my arms across
him, rivers of blood, the dark woods, singing
with all my skin and bone Please keep him safe.
Let him lay his head on my chest and we will be
like sailors, swimming in the sound of it, dashed
to pieces. Makes a cathedral, him pressing against
me, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believe
his mouth his heaven, his kisses falling over me
like stars. Names of heat and names of light,
names of collision in the dark, on the side of the
bus, in the bark of the tree, in ballpoint pen
on jeans and hands and the backs of matchbooks
that then get lost. Names like pain cries, names
like tombstones, names forgotten and reinvented,
names forbidden or overused. Your name like
a song I sing to myself, your name like a box
where I keep my love, your name like a nest
in the tree of love, your name like a boat in the
sea of love—O now we're in the sea of love!
Your name like detergent in the washing machine.
Your name like two X's like punched-in eyes,
like a drunk cartoon passed out in the gutter,
your name with two X's to mark the spots,
to hold the place, to keep the treasure from
becoming ever lost. I'm saying your name
in the grocery store, I'm saying your name on
the bridge at dawn. Your name like an animal
covered with frost, your name like a music that's
been transposed, a suit of fur, a coat of mud,
a kick in the pants, a lungful of glass, the sails
in wind and the slap of waves on the hull
of a boat that's sinking to the sound of mermaids
singing songs of love, and the tug of a simple
profound sadness when it sounds so far away.
Here is a map with your name for a capital,
here is an arrow to prove a point: we laugh
and it pits the world against us, we laugh,
and we've got nothing left to lose, and our hearts
turn red, and the river rises like a barn on fire.
I came to tell you, we'll swim in the water, we'll
swim like something sparkling underneath
the waves. Our bodies shivering, and the sound
of our breathing, and the shore so far away.
I'll use my body like a ladder, climbing
to the thing behind it, saying farewell to flesh,
farewell to everything caught underfoot
and flattened. Names of poisons, names of
handguns, names of places we've been
together, names of people we'd be together.
Names of endurance, names of devotion,
street names and place names and all the names
of our dark heaven crackling in their pan.
It's a bed of straw, darling. It sure as shit is.
If there was one thing I could save from the fire,
he said, the broken arms of the sycamore,
the eucalyptus still trying to climb out of the yard—
your breath on my neck like a music that holds
my hands down, kisses as they burn their way
along my spine—or rain, our bodies wet,
clothes clinging arm to elbow, clothes clinging
nipple to groin—I'll be right here. I'm waiting.
Say hallelujah, say goodnight, say it over
the canned music and your feet won't stumble,
his face getting larger, the rest blurring
on every side. And angels, about twelve angels,
angels knocking on your head right now, hello,
hello, a flash in the sky, would you like to
meet him there, in Heaven? Imagine a room,
a sudden glow. Here is my hand, my heart,
my throat, my wrist. Here are the illuminated
cities at the center of me, and here is the center
of me, which is a lake, which is a well that we
can drink from, but I can't go through with it.
I just don't want to die anymore.

--

There's something electrifying about this poem. I shiver. I shudder. My bones turn cold - but I still feel the warmth of hot coco on a cold winter night or the slow teasing flames of a dying fire on bare skin. I love this poem; and I will read it over and over and over again; till I canvas every letter, every syllable, every word onto my memory.

people make me angry.

With finals less than a month away (or approximately a month away), I should not be contemplating on things that do not include the Solow Model of Growth, the six different Consumption theories, the Investment theory, AD-AS/IS-LM curves, Ricardian Equivalence, Government expenditures, Hypothesis Testing, AVANOVA, Confidence Interval Estimates, Normal Distribution, Economic development of Singapore, Education Policies and Housing Policies in Singapore and...well you get the picture.

But right now I am beyond furious with the section of Real Madrid fans who are repeatedly calling for Manuel Pellegrini's sack. GIVE ME A BREAK. You bring in a coach for less than four months, three lackluster performances and a crushing defeat (read: worst defeat in the club's century old history) to a low third division club and you want to replace him. With who? Oh yeah, one of them who has been in charge of a former-great-but-now-average club for five years and only won the Champions League once (FA and League cups don't count), and someone else who did not even last seven months at Spartak Moscow. These are the people you want to see at the helm as opposed to someone who has had CONSIDERABLE success with a mediocre Villarreal club; let's not forget that based on that precise factor we brought him to head the coaching division of the club.

At this point even Florentino Perez makes more sense - he called for patience. He might be a shady businessman who concerns himself more with the Real Madrid brand name rather than the football, but he has the common sense which many of you lack.

If you have seen Real's history for the last seven years, exactly HOW MANY coaches were allowed to stay on for more than two years? For God's sake we sacked Capello after he delivered us our 30th league title. Who in their right minds would do that?

Sir Alex Ferguson or Johan Cruyff, after taking over Manchester United and Barcelona respectively, did not immediately turn their fortunes around. They needed time. It took Ferguson 7 years to win the league; including the 1990/91 season where United finished SIXTH. SIXTH and Real has, despite the constant changes in coaches, always finished within the top four. Let's not even consider England. Let's look at Barcelona. It took Cruyff three years to win the first league title with Barcelona. Pellegrni has not been coach of Real Madrid for MORE THAN FOUR MONTHS.

Get a grip.

Having said that, I hope win or lose against Getafe, I hope he keeps his job. He is not a miracle worker, but he is pretty much the guy I trust right now to manage a locker room full of overpaid unmotivated egos. (Yes I still loathe the Galacticos 2.0 policy and would've heartily preferred the promotion of more Cantera players)

As for those who are taking immense glee at the Alcorcon fiasco, fuck off. I'll remember to be a rambunctious bitch next time your team loses. Just wait and watch.

Pictures that somehow brightened my day

(Juanes doesn't need any introduction)


(Neither does hotshot coach of Valencia Unai Emery with his 439823128754320984324289 feet tall Serbian striker Nikola Zigic)

mi madre

Speaking to my mum makes everything better. I'm feel lethargic to go into details but I can summarize it by saying: she gives me the constant assurance I always seek in my life. Even if we do not always get along, even if our temperaments differ, our tastes are nothing alike either; but at the end of the day, she's there for me, as much as I am there for her.

crying over spilt milk

A confession.

When Madness Is in the Wings

There is something striking and alarming in the glaring resemblance (of what the author projects about her own experience) this has to my life. I've spent years living under intense paranoia; of being judged, being made the laughing stock, the unwitting victim on whom the world can wash its stains upon to quote Toni Morrison (The Bluest Eyes). I felt like Pecola, I felt inferior, I felt everything I did, said, was beyond reprieve. That I did not deserve the benediction I expected the world to spare me in presence of my imperfection.

Then I went to University. I felt the burden of loneliness crashing down on me; I lived away from my family and sometimes I would lock myself up in my room, surviving on cup noodles and cry myself to sleep at 5 a.m. in the morning. Everything else was relegated to the periphery. All that mattered were my imperfections, and all I did was to try and perfect them. I began to imitate people who've walked across the bridge between the rest of the world and the faint existence of my life. I perceived them to be perfect; I felt envious, I drowned in a pot of self pity and I could feel the end near, simmering by the edges. [eta: "Almost all absurdity of conduct arises from the imitation of those whom we cannot resemble." - Samuel Johnson; always remember this.] Waiting to erupt, until one day I'd realize I am not good enough for the world, and I'd want to, or at least try to end things. As Daniel Webster put it, "There is no refuge from confession but suicide; and suicide is confession." I wanted to confess that my life wasn't perfect; that perfection was the only source of happiness in my life; without it, life didn't matter.

Last year wasn't the proudest moment of my life. I have made decisions that I regret, and would do anything to take back, and start over. Relationships were broken, friends were let go, and all I did was withdraw from the face of the world because I felt like no one understood me. Every raised intonation drove my inferiority complex to the overdrive, every disappointed stare crushed the valves around my heart like you'd do to a stress ball and nothing, absolutely nothing took shape of optimism in my life. I'm not making excuses; I am confessing.

Today I feel brave enough, happy enough, and grateful enough to confess how derailed I was last year. I used to think if you don't drink excessively, smoke or do drugs, you are okay. You are a good kid, you can do no wrong. It took me a while to realize there are other ways that the human psyche can get the better of you. When you afford your life to lose all direction, when you topple out of balance, when you do not reach out and ask for help, when it becomes too much for you to handle on your own...so please dear reader, if any, reach out. Ask for help. A dented pride is a small sacrifice compared to rediscovering your capacity to feel happy. To enjoy the world for all its worth so that when it's time to go, you are able to sigh in peace, reflect and think, "Well I've had a good one. Time to move on."

I learned this the hard way. I hope you take the easy route.

(I don't believe in anti-depressants. Zolofts and prozacs are temporary; the real solution lies within. The challenge is to (re)discover your capacity to feel the good emotions and filter out the negative ones; to realize that you are not alone, that the world doesn't hate you, doesn't judge you, and in fact you are free to be whatever you want to be. Therein lies true happiness. That is all you and I can hope to achieve. One day.)

i got myself into some trouble tonight...

(Not a big fan of the Delta Goodrem version; Aaberge's slightly husky voice lends a better tone to the nature of the song.)

I am in love with this song. The lyrics never cease to blow me away and every time I listen to it, I am overcome with a combination of nostalgia/tranquility/peace of (my) mind. I image a sunset by the beach; the bruised sky overhead; the sunlight fading behind the shifting sea clouds; the gentle collision of waves against the sand; preparing for high tide; the wind blowing against my face, seeping through my hair, un-combing it, making a mess of it...there are some things that cannot be condensed into words. I think this song, the feelings it invokes is one of them.

[I refuse to comment on football. I REFUSE. The rambunctious Liverpool (and Barcelona) fans an go and fuck themselves. Putain.]

i promise to think of a good title later.

I just finished revising the basic fundamentals of the Solow Model of Growth. Of course the in-depth analysis (of how savings rate affect the economy, the instances when an economy starts off with too much or too little capital AND THE STUPIDLY LONG WINDED ENDOGENOUS GROWTH THEORY) remains to be covered. With finals less than a month away, I am reasonably satisfied with the amount of progress I am making. I am starting early; something I failed to do in my freshman year, leaving everything to the last minute and as a result my Grade Point Average suffered. It’s ironic that in this semester (of my Sophomore year), I am much more motivated to do well than I was the whole of my freshman year. There is a catch though – I have to work hard to be able to qualify for Honours. An economics degree without honours, in my view, is equivalent to not securing a Bachelors degree at all.

The top graduate schools (for Economics) are constantly on the look out for top scholars with near perfect GPA, tons of research/working/internship experiences in the field. To be able to stand a chance to compete, I need an Honours degree. I need a minimum of Second Upper Class which, at this point in time, looks like an impossible feat. I do regret the slack and absolute lack of discipline in my first year. My father puts it aptly, “You screw up your first year so badly, that you spend the rest of your time (at the institution) playing catch up.” This was exactly what had happened in Secondary School and Junior College. He feels it restricts my potential; puts a damper on it if I am desperately trying to get my grades up above average rather than striving for a near perfect GPA.

At this point I have to seriously consider the possibility of graduating with a B.Social Sci degree, get some work experience under my belt and then apply for Graduate school. Of course mathematically it is not out of bounds yet; but the tricky thing is that with every semester the modules aren’t getting easier.

However, I know I have the aptitude for it. The current module I am doing is a Level 3 module. I performed disastrously for its Level 2 equivalent. Logic dictates that Level 3 is inherently tougher than level 2. I am finding Level 3 a breeze; it has drawn plenty of gasps and odd facial expressions from my friends. Why? I asked myself. The answer is simple. This semester I have been a lot more disciplined. Living at home, as opposed to dorm, helped get my mindset into shape again. I am working hard again (not as hard as I would ideally like to, but this is baby steps towards the ammendment process), I have begun my revision early and I shouldn’t be here crafting this entry but my head is going to explode if I have to review another word from my Macroeconomic Analysis lecture note.

Speaking of Macro (as it shall be referred to from this point onward), why can’t the Professor follow the build up given in the textbook? (Mankiw, G, Macroeconomics, Sixth Edition) Makiw starts with the basic Production function, builds up the impact of Money supply in the economy, then International Trade, before introducing the Solow Model of Growth and finally the big picture of the IS-LM/AD-AS concepts. Reading the textbook makes more sense as opposed to my lecture notes. We started with the Solow Model, we hopped to Money and Banking, we did Consumption Theory and Investment and now we are doing IS-LM/AD-AS concept. Next we’ll be doing the merits (demerits) of the Short Run and Long Run macro policies and then end with Open Economy. Which means, International Trade – MY FAVOURITE DARLING MACRO TOPIC – has to wait right till the end of the semester, in exactly 3 weeks. Boo. Hiss. Throwing a tantrum.

I think I am going to take one day at a time. Do my revisions systemetically so that I am not at a loss before the final examinations. Whatever happens from thereafter, I am not going to waste my time worrying about it. Just yet.

If you still haven’t figured it out, this is a feel good/self motivational post. Because once in a while I need to tell myself that I am not going to screw things up. That I am not restrained by my past. I can do anything I want if I put my heart/mind/soul to it. And I will.

symbol of romance

Quand j'étudiais du français, je ne l'ai jamais apprécié. Maintenant, je le manque. Je veux apprendre du français encore. Je veux parler bien dans lui. Si je vais à Paris encore, je parlerai seulement en français. J'ai essayé ce juin, mais je ne me suis pas senti assez confiant. Je manque mon Semestre 1 Professeur. Il a fait du français classer très intéressant. J'arrêterai l'écriture en français avant que je me gêne.

Here I love you

by Pablo Neruda

Here I love you.
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.

Oh the black cross of a ship.
Alone.
Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.
Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

♥

Taking time off from analyzing the consequences of supply shocks on short run and long run equilibrium output and price.

Nokia loses it.

The infamous lawsuit that's been buzzing the world as of yesterday 22nd October 2009.

If you read on, you'll see that Scott Lindvall aptly summarizes the situation; "They (Nokia) have kind of declared war on the iPhone."

Apple has a reputation of not playing by the books, but filing multiple patent infringements in one lawsuit is what makes this interesting (we all love a bit of drama don't we?). The claims by Nokia are legitimate and the suit comes after months of negotiation ended in futility. (Case-in-point: Product wise, Apple wins the competition hands down. Service and durability wise I'm still undecided. As a Nokia user, however, I admire how sturdy their phones are)

From Nokia's official press release:

The ten patents in suit relate to technologies fundamental to making devices which are compatible with one or more of the GSM, UMTS (3G WCDMA) and wireless LAN standards. The patents cover wireless data, speech coding, security and encryption and are infringed by all Apple iPhone models shipped since the iPhone was introduced in 2007.

Watching this case progress will be interesting. If Nokia wins, they stall Apple's development in the telecommunications industry and pocket a couple of hundred millions (see Economist link above). But if Nokia loses, I think its share in the industry is going to drop further - maybe to 42% or so, and continue doing so for the next couple of years. The timing of the suit makes it more controversial; especially after Apple posted record profits in this quarter and Nokia, acknowledged losses in the industry. As a consumer I'd tell Nokia to focus on the attractiveness of their phones. The iPhone wins hands down because it is sleek, flexible and has plenty of interactive features. Nokia's high end N-series doesn't make the cut - not entirely. Maybe hire a few new designers, or invest more to find out from your consumer base why people are turning to Apple these days. Apple's got this brand status; Nokia doesn't. A lot of people view Nokia as an ordinary man's phone, whereas the iPhone reflects status in layman communities. Or at least that's how it comes across as.

Either way, I can't wait to read what Apple has to say to this pending suit. *excited*

It's a pig, no it's a man...no it's....H1N1

(Youtube is not entirely about music videos and stand up comedy. Once in a while, you come across some informative or practical - for real life usage)

Despite its pandemic status, I have successfully managed to ignore it so far. Three scares and two false alarms later, I remain unconcerned by placing blind trust in my immune system. (At a time like this, I appreciate my parents' enthusiasm, almost two decades ago, to get me an overwhelming number of vaccine shots; despite my kicking and screaming and ear shattering wails) However, my mother's diabetic. Contracting the virus will not do any lasting harm on me - considering I avoid the unnecessary complications - but it might endanger my mother. That scares me, more than the question of my own well being. Singapore, even though many like to vehemently deny, is a hotzone. Being extra precautionary is not a sign of paranoia. People need to understand this; I need to understand this.

(This video post serves three purposes. 1) Provide some basic information on the H1N1 strain. 2) For your viewing convenience, dear imaginary reader and 3) a placeholder for future references.)

ETA: Fed Plans to Vet Banker Pay to Discourage Risky Practices

The officials emphasized that the plan was not intended to make pay packages more socially equitable but was part of a broader effort by the Fed to shore up the stability of the banking system. That effort has included tighter supervision of lending and trading practices and higher requirements for capital held as a cushion against losses.

So the FED is going to let the banking hierarchy get away with making millions, on tax payers' money? At least they are increasing the reserved requirement ratio - the amount of capital they expect, by law, the banks to hold back before they lend out the rest of their liabilities. The problem however is that the banks aren't lending! There have been very little long term investment to kick-start the upward movement along the business cycle. I only have 3 basic level economics courses under my belt - I have recently embarked on my sophomoric journey this academic year - in university and even I can posit that the way Fed's going, it is going to take a long time before any sign of progress is made. After exhausting its monetary policy, perhaps the government should look to making changes in its fiscal policy - except with a trillion dollar debt per year for the next decade, their hands are pretty much tied. America needs to increase their savings rate; they need to push it up beyond the 10% that is hypothesized (the actual rate is considerably lower).