Schizophrenia Is Taking Me Home

In typical music snob fashion, I disdain SPIN’s views on music unless they affirm my own. And in naming my two favourite members of my favourite band (i.e. Thurston Moore and Lee Ranaldo from Sonic Youth) as joint number 1s of their “100 Greatest Guitarists Of All Time” list, together with my favourite Sonic Youth album (which is not actually Daydream Nation) as the high water mark of their guitar work, and my favourite song on that album as their “Most Heroic Moment”…well, let’s just say the last time someone’s views coincided so much with my own, we were exchanging vows on our wedding day. (This is not to say that Alec’s views generally coincide with mine, because that would suggest he is more obsessed with Simon Cowell than is healthy. But I’d say we were pretty much in agreement on stuff like vows and shit on our wedding day.)

If you will bear with my fanwank a little longer, this is a nice opportunity to meander into a little story about seeing Thurston Moore (i.e. one half of the Greatest Guitarists Of All Time winners) live in London last year. I previously described the wonderful luck that allowed me to attend that gig at all. As always seems to happen to me in London, this was not the last serendipitous musical moment I was to enjoy there, and the extent to which this was all Sonic Youth related is kinda ridiculous.

Earlier in my trip I’d been to the fantastic Gerhard Richter exhibition at the Tate Modern. The only reason an art doofus like me even knew who Gerhard Richter was, of course, was that Sonic Youth had used one of his Candle paintings for the cover of Daydream Nation, and I’ve basically been longing for a print of that painting ever since the age of 14. So I went to the exhibition, loved it, and bought the print.

candle

So far, so freakin’ awesome. There was just one problem. Given that I was frequently changing accommodation to crash on different friends’ couches, a 100 cm by 100 cm poster stored in a large protective tube was rather unwieldy to schlep around London with the rest of my luggage. While standing in crowded trains with this monstrous protuberance wedged between my legs to save space I couldn’t help but feel like some train perv with a massive boner, and after various instances of dropping or nearly dropping it while digging out Oyster card and suchlike, I did begin to question the wisdom of going through all this just for the sake of a poster of a giant fucking candle.

So how did I resolve this problem? The same way I resolve most of my problems in London: I imposed on Russ. Which is how, just after dropping the huge poster off at his workplace (for him to hold on to until I was leaving London), I was wandering around Shoreditch with no particular agenda other than to indulge in one of my I-love-East-London reveries, and suddenly this materialized in my rose-tinted, Lomofied, heavily vignetted sights.

ATP Pop-Up Shop

(ATP, for anyone who isn’t a music nerd, is a music festival I love, firstly because its lineups are far more interesting to me than those for more famous festivals like Glasto or Coachella, and secondly because attending it doesn’t require you to sleep in a tent. Sonic Youth are pretty regular features at ATP festivals, as are many other favourite artists of mine. So basically a shop like this, to me, is like Famous Amos to the Cookie Monster.)

I must have looked like the dramatic lemur upon spotting the sign, and then the OMG cat while exploring the shop. While I was very restrained in my shopping – lugging around a poster of a giant fucking candle can have this effect – I also noticed a poster on the wall advertising the Thurston Moore gig I would be attending on 2 December. And because I am a huge sap, I really really wanted that gig poster as a souvenir of both the first instance of serendipity I linked to earlier, and this second instance of just chancing upon my dream music nerd shop in the course of an errand involving a Sonic Youth poster. (Still with me? When the going gets tough, just imagine how much more stupefyingly boring this would be if I were telling it to you face-to-face!)

Gig posters like that are usually for advertising purposes and not for sale, so I shyly asked, feeling really awkward about the weirdness of my request, whether it might be at all possible for me to buy a copy of the poster. Most commendably, instead of calling psychiatric social services to come pick up this stammering, bug-eyed Stan, the kind shop attendant shrugged her shoulders, smiled, and said, “Just take it off the wall, you can have it.”

Cue embarrassing gushing in the vein of “OMG, you don’t know what this means to me and you just totally made my day!”, me lovingly removing the poster from the wall, rolling it up and holding it with more care than I held my degree scroll, and then me bouncing happily down Rivington Street while calling Russ on the phone and explaining that, um, I needed to meet him again to pass him another burden poster.

The story ends, predictably yet happily, with me seeing Thurston at the Union Chapel. The gig was everything I had hoped it would be.

Thurston Moore (Union Chapel, 2 Dec 2011)

Months later, the story I’ve dragged you through here remains one of the most treasured memories of my 1.5 month holiday. I don’t know if my convoluted tale strikes a chord with anyone other than me, and the poster I snagged from the ATP Pop-Up Shop isn’t really much to look at. But as an instant, soul-elevating reminder of a moment when multiple things that take up a fair bit of my heartspace (Sonic Youth, ATP, London and the awesome things that happen to me there) magically converged to make me the happiest or at least most mawkishly sentimental girl in East London, nothing holds a giant fucking candle to it.

Thurston Moore - gig flyer

Pretty Good Year

My mother started 2008 in hospital with dengue fever, so until she was discharged yesterday I really didn’t have the mental wherewithal for any sort of goodbye 2007, hello 2008 blog entries. It was as much as I could do to monitor her condition, do what was necessary at work for a lotsamillion$ deal we signed yesterday, and fill the gaps in between with especially escapist TV.

In any case, it’s pretty obvious that getting married to Alec was the best thing that happened to me in 2007. He started 2008 by spending hours keeping my mum company in hospital (he’s starting a new job soon and had a few days free) and cooking me lovely dinners when I came home at night exhausted from stress. I will cut the mush because I’ve already given you enough of that before, but I am continually amazed at how I managed to luck out with this man.

I’m looking forward to the year ahead. I loved our wedding and it was totally worth all the planning hassle, but ironically one of the best things about finally being married is that we now have far more time and energy to devote to our individual hobbies, which of course also includes ridiculing each other about the lameness of said hobbies. Also reading, which is the perfect excuse to ignore each other entirely, and TV, which allows us to pretend we are spending quality time together when we actually are not. Marriage rocks, guys.

Every time I resolve in writing here to do something I inevitably fail to do so, but I think sharing these three things will be safe enough. I’ve already started on the first two, and the third is so wimpy that it is a cop-out from any actual brave resolution-making.

  1. Make more stuff with my imagination and hands:
    The Internet’s record of the crafting renaissance suggests that being inept and mediocre at this doesn’t discourage lots of other people. Inspiring!
  2. Become less financially clueless:
    Because continuing to let my life savings languish in a POSB savings account seems really, really, stupid.
  3. Exercise more than I did in 2007:
    This is easy, because I did fuck-all in 2007.

What are your resolutions, if any? (If they are actually worthwhile and will make me look pathetic, please don’t share them.)

Birthday Presence

So there I was, up to my ears in the details of an oil pipeline contract, and then I heard a voice outside the door of my office, asking for Michelle.

My first thought: Wah lau that bloody ________! Always barging into my office without calling first, just assuming I’m free to drop everything and attend to him. Too much!

My second thought: Hang on, that sounded like Alec. Wha??!

Next thing I knew, Alec was in my office with a bunch of lilies. :)

He couldn’t stay long because he had to rush off to work. I walked him down to the taxi point, and we had this conversation while waiting. Sorry if it grosses anyone out, but I thought it might amuse fans of the long-running Alec/Russ war.

Me: Aww, thanks for doing this. It was really sweet of you to bring the flowers yourself.
Alec: My pleasure. Anyway, I totally had to one-up Russ.
Me: Ha! I bet next year Russ will COME FROM ENGLAND to hand-deliver the flowers to me!
Alec: Well then the year after that I’ll FLY TO ENGLAND, BUY THE FLOWERS THERE, AND BRING THEM BACK!
Me: Aw. Okay, there’s your taxi. Bye dear.
Alec: See you later, dear. Happy birthday.

I Hope Brian May Was Wrong

Wakeboarding on Saturday morning – my back’s killing me.

Clubbing on Saturday night – my hips are killing me.

Cycling on Pulau Ubin on Sunday – my legs are killing me.

Karaoke screaming on Sunday night – my throat’s killing me.

Saw my best friend Russ off at the airport this morning, after a series of wonderful weekends with him, during which my boyfriend Alec and my entire family did their best to make our time together as lovely as it was because they knew how much this visit meant to Russ and me – my heart’s killing me.

Too much love for one person to bear, and I’ve never figured out what I did to deserve any of it.

Reason To Celebrate

Today marks one year since I returned to Singapore, and one year Alec and I have spent in different continents from each other. It’s also Alec’s birthday.

During this year, I have drawn much-needed comfort from him at some of the lowest points in my life, discovered countless new things to love about him, and embarrassed myself frequently while alone in public when the thought of him brings a smile to my face.

Many people don’t believe that long-distance relationships can work. I’ve become accustomed to the look of polite disbelief that passes fleetingly across people’s faces when I tell them I don’t agree. I don’t really blame them, given that everyone has examples of this friend who got cheated on and that friend who got stifled by jealousy and still more friends for whom romance without physical proximity was just unsustainable.

Theoretically, I understand how all these problems can arise, but from the personal experience I’ve had so far, I can’t actually identify with any of them in reality. If I feel this lucky and blessed and loved now, what more when he finally moves over? In the meantime I wait, hope, and thank God for him.