Mahler’s 8th Symphony, Esplanade Concert Hall, Singapore, 28 May 2004

I spent Friday night at the most crazy-ass ambitious musical event I have ever witnessed. They’re opening the Singapore Arts Festival with 400 people performing Mahler’s 8th Symphony, and thanks to Debbie, I got to attend the media preview.

I’ve always loved Mahler because he’s such a drama queen, and this symphony didn’t disappoint. By the end of it the audience has been buffetted from side to side like leaves in the wind by superpower choir, mad trombones and walls of orchestra noise. In a good way! I could write more about why I think the performance was musically damn good, but it would almost certainly sound like pretentious bollocks, so all I will say is that everyone involved in this should be bloody proud, and everyone who was lucky enough to get tickets to this before it sold out should be bloody thankful.

Fare-Fucking-Well

My exam results arrived a few days ago, and I can at last confirm that my wasted year is finally, gloriously over. No more lectures which substitute Powerpoint presentations for actual imparting of ideas, no more constant cringing at people speaking in accents which are part-English, part-American, part-Singaporean and COMPLETELY annoying, and generally no longer having to be in a university I do not give a damn about and never will.

There were always many reasons why doing my law degree in London was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, but until this year, those reasons were never academic. I didn’t choose UCL because I thought it would give me a superior legal education to NUS, but I spent most of this DipSing year thanking my lucky stars for that choice. So goodbye, NUS. May we never meet again.

She’s Lost Control Again

This week’s Breezeblock show has an even higher hit:miss ratio than usual, although the Knifehandchop live session should be skipped if you’re prone to nosebleeds. I started making a list of the good tracks but got tired of it because I was pretty much just adding every track. Can anyone out there be a lovely geek saviour and tell me how to record RealAudio streams and convert them to mp3?

Django’s offer of 25% off new CDs AND free shipping for new CD orders over $25 was just too good to resist.

  • Low and Dirty Three: In The Fishtank ($8.78)
  • TV On The Radio: Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes ($9.58)
  • Mogwai: Ten Rapid ($9.58)
  • Diverse: One A.M. ($11.18)
  • Explosions In The Sky: Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place ($11.98)

Wheeeee!

[Random question: does anyone find my frequent use of lyrics/song titles as blog entry titles pretentious?]

The Reader (Bernhard Schlink): Excerpt

From Bernhard Schlink’s The Reader:

“What happened at the selections?”

Hanna described how the guards had agreed among themselves to tally the same number of prisoners from their six equal areas of responsibility, ten each and sixty in all, but that the figures could fluctuate when the number of sick was low in one person’s area of responsibility and high in another’s, and that all the guards on duty had decided together who was to be sent back.

“None of you held back, you all acted together?”

“Yes.”

“Did you not know that you were sending the prisoners to their death?”

“Yes, but the new ones came, and the old ones had to make room for the new ones.”

“So because you wanted to make room, you said you and you and you have to be sent back to be killed?”

Hanna didn’t understand what the presiding judge was getting at.

“I…I mean…so what would you have done?” Hanna meant it as a serious question. She did not know what she should or could have done differently, and therefore wanted to hear from the judge, who seemed to know everything, what he would have done.

Everything was quiet for a moment. It is not the custom at German trials for defendants to question the judges. But now the question had been asked, and everyone was waiting for the judge’s answer. He had to answer; he could not ignore the question or brush it away with a reprimand or a dismissive counterquestion. It was clear to everyone, it was clear to him too, and I understood why he had adopted an expression of irritation as his defining feature. It was his mask. Behind it, he could take a little time to find an answer. But not too long; the longer he took, the greater tension and expectation, and the better his answer had to be.

“There are matters one simply cannot get drawn into, that one can distance oneself from, if the price is not life and limb.”

Perhaps this would have been all right if he had said the same thing, but referred directly to Hanna or himself. Talking about what “one” must and must not do and what it costs did not do justice to the seriousness of Hanna’s question. She had wanted to know what she should have done in her particular situation, not that there are things that are not done. The judge’s answer came across as hapless and pathetic. Everyone felt it. They reacted with sighs of disappointment and stared in amazement at Hanna, who had more or less won the exchange. But she herself was lost in thought.

“So should I have…should I have not…should I not have signed up at Siemens?”

It was not a question directed at the judge. She was talking out loud to herself, hesitantly, because she had not yet asked herself that question and did not know whether it was the right one, or what the answer was.

[The reference to signing up at Siemens is to her signing up with the SS when it recruited workers from the Siemens factory where she had been working.]

Boats, Floats, Horses, Courses, Strokes, Folks

When you’re this bored and depressed and permanently sweaty, blogging anything more eloquent than a series of blehs becomes quite a challenge. I could regale you with thrilling tales of my afternoons on the couch watching whatever’s on Animal Planet (generally, too many proboscis monkeys), or go off on a rant about how Jamie Cullum makes jazz for lobotomy patients, or make dark statements about how if Fantasia Barrino doesn’t win American Idol there will be no truth, beauty or justice left in this world, but I really think it’s better for everyone if I do one of those links-as-substitutes-for-real-content posts, don’t you?

Here are some about porn.

I found this dictionary of Japanese porn perversions through Tamara’s livejournal, but it really needs to be shared with the world. To give you an idea of what’s apparently available to the average Japanese porn consumer, Fundoshi (women in traditional Sumo g-strings rolling around giving each other “really harsh wedgies”) is I guess fairly understandable, Pantsu To Kao involves putting panties which are several sizes too small over someone’s face so that they squish the nose, Shokku-shu kei involves tentacles, and Unagi (eels) may quite possibly no longer be my favourite Japanese dish.

People who know me should not be surprised that my favourite entries in The 100 Worst Porn Movie Titles are the ones that involve really bad puns (on Hollywood movie titles). To this effect, I offer you “Big Trouble In Little Vagina” and “Sperms Of Endearment”. However, I acknowledge that some people may find more esoteric joys in “Let’s Play Anal Twister”, “Airtight Granny” and “Beyond The Valley Of The Ultra Milkmaids”.

Alec once told me a Simpsons quote where Homer meets Billy Corgan at some rock festival. Billy says “Billy Corgan, Smashing Pumpkins”. Homer says “Homer Simpson, smiling politely.” The alternate title for this post should probably be “Michelle’s Readers, Smiling Politely.”

Home Bittersweet Home

Perhaps some of you may wonder if walking through the Heathrow departure lounge trying to stop sobbing gets any easier the second time round. It doesn’t. You can deal with it differently – I hid behind the Telegraph until the plane was well into the air this time, instead of pressing myself against the window shuddering – but either way, things get soggy.

* * *

I got home having had no or very little sleep due to the two louts behind me who spent most of the London-Bangkok flight loudly telling a Thai woman about their girlfriends in Thailand (Graham has two, Ashley only has one, I think), and later due to the need to not fall asleep in Bangkok airport and miss my transfer. My mother then informed me that it was my Sunday obligation to attend 6 pm mass instead of the solemnization ceremony later that day of the wedding of one of my oldest and dearest friends. Never mind that I had deliberately shortened my initially planned holiday just so that I could be at her wedding. Apparently, Pei Ee would “understand” me missing the most important part of the wedding since I would be present at the big banquet later which is usually far more meaningful to a couple’s parents than the couple themselves.

An argument, much stress, and a tearful call to Alec later, I took the drastic step of text messaging Pei Ee seeking confirmation that no, she would not fucking “understand”. Confirmation came in the form of Pei Ee actually sending her bridal car to pick me up from my home and take me to Sentosa. Within half an hour, I wriggled into my dress, threw stockings, makeup and hair products into a bag, and rode to Sentosa in the front seat.

* * *

Attending a wedding just hours after parting from Alec at the departure gates was never going to be easy. This poem was read at the wedding dinner, and I hope the couple will forgive me for co-opting it to describe my own feelings.

Love
And in Life’s noisiest hour,
There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,
The heart’s Self-solace and soliloquy.
You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within;
And to the leading Love-throb in the Heart
Thro’ all my Being, thro’ my pulse’s beat;
You lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light,
Like the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve
On rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake.
And looking to the Heaven, that bends above you,
How oft! I bless the Lot that made me love you.
– Samuel Taylor Coleridge

* * *

As I was leaving the dinner later that night, I shook Tjin Kai’s hand meaning to congratulate him and say something merry. All I managed was “Take care of her” before I started tearing up and hastily moved on out of the ballroom. It might just have been residual waters from what I had already shed that weekend, but I’d like to think it had nothing to do with me, or the man I had had to leave behind at Heathrow, or the old life I had briefly lived again in London only to have to abandon once more. I think it was just about Pei Ee, the gem of a friend who I have loved for 18 years and is now blissfully happy. Congratulations, Pei Ee and Tjin Kai. I wish you all the love and joy in the world.

Krakow

We’re on our last day in Krakow now, and leave in a few hours on the night train to Prague. Everything has gone frighteningly swimmingly so far.

I’d heard from various people that Poland can be a little racist and unfriendly to Oriental-looking people, but so far the most viciously racist comments I’ve encountered have pretty much been from Alec. We’ve received impeccably professional, extremely pleasant service almost everywhere, and everyone has been very forgiving of our lack of Polish and general bumbling nature.

We have had meals of such high quality (at an absolute pittance too – the best restaurant in Krakow for £40 in total, including wine) and such variety that Alec hasn’t even felt the least craving for Chinese food yet. (This is to be contrasted to our return from Budapest, where we spent the entire tube ride from Heathrow trying to decide which Chinese restaurant we’d rush to as soon as possible.)

Krakow itself has been great. The city centre’s got that usual European charm, but trekking along green fields and phallic rock formations in Ojcow National Park and being wowed in Wieliczka salt mine have been nice breaks from city strolling. Holocaust “sightseeing” can be harrowing but very worthwhile – we explored Kazimierz, walked over the river from that to the dingy factory building which would be completely unremarkable if Oskar Schindler hadn’t used it to save thousands of Jews, and yesterday, finally made the journey to Auschwitz.

All in all, this has been so fantastic I fear the cosmos have something bad planned for us in Prague. Fingers crossed.