Victoria's big secret

Gerlynn got me hooked on shopping online at Victoria's Secret and Forever 21. I've long been skeptical over online shopping, primarily over the fact that there's no physical assurance that the clothing will fit me to a T, since the models parading the clothes are all Size 0 and look absolutely fabulous in the apparel. Doesn't sound like me. So I took a risk the first time round by ordering 'safe' items like earrings from F21 and undies from VS. I had initially placed my order with size M, and when Gerlynn advised me to change the size to S, I gave the O.O look from behind my computer screen. "Are you sure I can wear VS size S?!" my internal OS screamed. But I went along with her advice and, surprisingly, the undies fitted really well and, as praised by Gerlynn, really comfortable and cute. The F21 earrings were a steal at USD3.80 for 3 pairs in a set. So I gave online shopping a second chance. :)

I just never thought I could wear anything from VS, because the VS Angels all have killer bodies and gorgeous silhouettes. Bless Victoria's Secret.

Gross-out: Dancing squid, anybody?

To reinforce my lacto-ovo-pescetarian diet, I had to subject myself to a small amount of grotesque viuals.

Warning: Not for those with weak stomachs or have just finished their meals.

You know how the Japanese love their seafood - freshly slaughtered, skinned and served. Someday, I wanna pop by Hakodate market for a visit too.

Or, like what the Japanese would cordially say, ITADAKIMASU.

Get your brands right

I guess at some point of time, everyone, male or female, rich or poor, intelligent or no-so-smart, has to have a lesson on pronouncing famous brands. You deserve to know.

Burberry: Bur-bur-ree. Not Bur-berry. Not Bal-berry.

Jaeger-LeCoultre: Yay-ger Ler-Koot. Not Jagger-Ler-Cult.

Missoni: Miss-own-ee

Longchamp: Long-shum. Not Long-Champ.

Christian Louboutin: Christian Loo-boo-tahn. They make awesome stilettos, so I should start getting it right.

Bulgari: Ball-garh-ree

Agnes B.: Arg-nias Bay. Not Agnes Bee. Who the hell is Agnes Bee?

Louis Vuitton: Loo-ee Vo-e-ton.

Loewe: Low-ev-ay.

Givenchy: Ghee-von-shee

Tag Heuer: Tag Hoy-er

Versace: Ver-sawh-chee

Balenciaga: Bah-len-siah-gah

Hermes: Air-mez

Moschino: Mos-kee-no.

... which is exactly why I'd rather stick to American brands. Happy correcting your friends. :)

Fluidity and Calder mobiles

Google makes the best unobtrusive flash banners. Check out today's banner, created in commemoration of Alexander Calder, inventor of the Calder mobile.

The Calder mobile could very well be used to epitomize art; a large part of the idea revolves around balance, fluidity and motion. While it'll be impossible for a layman like me to appreciate this artistic concept of kinetic art wholly, it's comforting to know that it hasn't been cast away as part of history and forgotten. In fact, I'll love to have one of these in my home some time in the near future to remind me of the importance of fluidity, and not stability, of life.

How can art be realized?

Out of volumes, motion, spaces bounded by the great space, the universe.

Out of different masses, tight, heavy, middling—indicated by variations of size or color—directional line—vectors which represent speeds, velocities, accelerations, forces, etc. . . .—these directions making between them meaningful angles, and senses, together defining one big conclusion or many.

Spaces, volumes, suggested by the smallest means in contrast to their mass, or even including them, juxtaposed, pierced by vectors, crossed by speeds.

Nothing at all of this is fixed.

Each element able to move, to stir, to oscillate, to come and go in its relationships with the other elements in its universe.

It must not be just a fleeting moment but a physical bond between the varying events in life.

Not extractions,

But abstractions

Abstractions that are like nothing in life except in their manner of reacting.

- Alexander Calder, "Comment réaliser l'art?" from Abstraction-Création, Art Non Figuratif, no. 1, 1932

Shaddup, STOMPers

I absolutely abhor STOMP for the lack of journalistic conscience of its "citizen journalists" and its editorial team (if there's any to speak of). Apparently, people who adhere to the preaching of STOMP appear to value nosiness over privacy.

What privacy are you talking about when you're in a public place? Because I'm ME and you're YOU, and I will not tolerate YOU taking photos of ME in public. If shaming and flaming is your form of journalistic flair, it is obvious that you have no basic sense of self-respect.

So why are you so worked up? Are you aware of nosy parkers on SMRT trains? I'm unhappy with them for the way their trains work, but I'm especially infuriated by trigger-happy commuters who find joy in intruding other people's privacy with their camera phones. And these people engage in victimizing those who sit at the reserved seats trains, always hawk-eyed and ready to snap away, be it relevant or not. DO YOU ACTUALLY HAVE BRAINS?

I found this in a comment by warrant1982 under a post by a nosy someone who took a picture of a woman who was apparently busy on her iPhone while sitting on the reserved seat and was said to have ignored an old man who was standing right in front of her. If you want others to believe you, make your photo convincing, arsehole. As much as we would like to point fingers, just bear in mind that you have to search your own conscience before making an accusation. If you had been there, why are you giving up YOUR seat instead? If you had felt so strongly about it, why hadn't you taken the initiative to tell her to let up her seat? If you think your camera is the deadliest weapon, its not. YOUR STUPIDITY IS.

So here's the "Ten Commandments of public transport" written by warrant1982 which I totally subscribe to:

1. You and I paid $$$ to board the transport.
2. All people are equal.
3. I'm entitled to sit as much as you are, subjected to availability of seats.
4. Seats are of a "first-come-first-sit" basis.
5. Do not expect and behave as if people owe you the seats just because of your plight (if any).
6. Giving up seats is a privilege and purely voluntary. You can only wait for seats to be vacant but you cannot expect.
7. If people do not give up seats, just forget it.
8. If you're really desperate to sit, take a taxi. You can sit all you want.
9. If taxis are expensive, then stop whining and remain standing and wait for an available seat.
10. Don't preach about kindness and karma when in office politics, everyone backstabs to fight for promotions. Will you give up your promotions?

It all ends - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II

Seldom do I undertake the painful job of loading Photoshop to create stuff. Today called for the necessary, especially when it's for the second parter of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the final film of the Harry Potter mania franchise.

Don't deny - we all grew up with Harry Potter and his sidekicks, whether we liked it or not. Ever since the first film took the world by storm in 2001, every year's been a waiting game, either for a new film or a new book. I loved the books - every single one of them - for delivering huge doses of adrenaline with every read, regardless of the number of times. I even bought the Deathly Hallows book the day it hit the shelves in Singapore and finished it in one sitting. Don't get me wrong; I'm not a Pottermaniac, just someone who loves good reads.

Damn, I remember collecting those Panini stickers when Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban hit screens.

And I had (and still have) a secret crush on the Weasley twins from Book 4 onwards. Gosh dark secret.

So despite disappointments by the past few Potter films (mostly due to skimpy plots) and really bad cramps, I just HAD TO drag Boyfriend Jack to GVMax to catch the first 3D session. If I had to pay 9 bucks for a normal theatre and 11 bucks for 3D, wouldn't that be a yawningly obvious choice?

Why watch the film when you already know who's going to die and, most importantly, whether Harry's going to die? Because it's just never the same. While lines in the book can tell captivating stories, it's definitely good to complement the plot with lights and sound to paint a better picture of the plot. Catching the show in 3D (like what I did today) further enhanced the experience; now I know how Hermione and Ron felt when Nagini came flying in their faces.

More importantly, it's like coming a full circle and completing the tumultuous journey of growing up and fighting to live with Potter, Granger and Weasley. From Potter's first day at Hogwarts, his discovery that something out there's trying to kill him, and finally to the Battle of Hogwarts (where 3 of my favourite characters were unfortunately killed off)... it felt as though I've been just there, at the very spot Potter reclaimed Hogwarts from the Death Eaters. And now that it's all over, I can't help but feel slightly melancholic.

Anyway, on a lighter note, ever wondered how our main leads look like offscreen?

:)

Rupert Grint

I actually suspect that he smokes offscreen, though I've been unable to confirm it from anywhere. He isn't bad-looking, just far toooooooo unkempt for my liking. If you don't like to shave and enjoy looking like a vagrant, shoo.

Emma Watson

She's beautiful in every way, off- or onscreen, with or without makeup, inside (her brains) and outside. She's opted out of Brown University, I heard. Her next stop? Oxford University. Eat your hearts out. Oh, and she's tearing off her goody-two-shoes for her next film on teenage years and homosexuality. Right.

Daniel Radcliffe

Everyone found him cute in the first film, lovable in the second film and adorable in the third. What happened after that looked something close to a cross between train wreck and a bad case of alcoholism. While he's confessed to undergoing therapy for his problem with the bottle, I guess I can never fully appreciate Radcliffe, not even in his full (nude) glory in theatre. Oh, he's the guy with the cigarette.

Bye, Harry Potter. Thanks for growing up with me. But I still don't like the films.

Muse of the mortar boards

Today marks the end of Jack's treacherous four-year journey through varsity, complete with an overpriced teddy plush and congratulatory bouquet. Throughout the entire process from helping him with the cumbersome gown to watching him receive the scroll from the Engineering dean, I couldn't help but mull over my current situation as a "late bloomer" - graduating one semester later than all the others in the same intake - in my bid to qualify for the honours track.

There might have been people who label me as insane for putting a toil on myself by undergoing additional semesters of crazy deadlines and readings, while others could have branded my bold decision as naive and short-sighted. I remembered deliberating all the countless permutations of possibilities on both sides of the line and I'm glad to say my decision was justified and rational. The million-dollar question here is: Why honours? Because I knew that this is a now-or-never situation: without an adequate amount of passion, no one would voluntarily sit through another bachelor's degree programme, and I know I'm included there. I knew fairly well that if I let slip this chance of final redemption, I might never be able to return back on this path again. Another arts degree? No thanks. Besides, like what I had mentioned way back then, I wanted to tread on this path and open up more possibilities and knowledge a B.A. course could never present to me. And I was proven right, after one semester of level-4000 modules and competitive course mates. With one more semester left, I shall strive to make the best out of it, just like what I had initially set out to achieve.

So while I didn't get the chance to don the graduation gown with Jack and step out into the workforce at the same pace, I was still proud as punch over Jack's achievement; he had started off his university on the wrong foot academically, but managed to break free from the bad start and rise to the occasion. The mugging sessions, the lunch dates, the Yakun coffee sessions, the bickering at the bus stop... I'll miss it all. Semester 9 will never be the same without Jack to watch my back. That'll probably be the real test for the both of us.

Happy Commencement. :)

Being thankful

The past few weeks have been fulfilling, despite the lack of an internship and temporary assignments. The tuition schedules are still as hectic as ever (take today's 3-lesson session for example), though I get to spend enough quality time with the family, Jack and his family, and my girlfriends a midst the insanity. Also, I took some time out to whip up comfort food for the family, because nothing soothes the soul better than a good warm and wholesome home-cooked meal.

Movies to the rescue of the lovelorn. :)

To be honest, I had stepped into the theatre believing that this movie would be a total waste of 95 minutes of my life because it had CG penguins and madhatter Carrey. WRONG. I totally underestimated such kiddy G-rated movies, because I failed to see on my part that movie-makers would have taken great care in ensuring that adults, at whichever life stage they're in, have the right to bring childhood back to their jaded adulthood. I'll advise such movies as a good alternative to romance flicks for couples, because it ensures that both parties are kept wide awake with no-bars laughing.

Oooohhh. And we HAD to catch this. Just for continuity's sake.

Give Julie a film with loads of flashy souped-up cars and she'll be smiling all the way home, even if the movie had badly done CG with some lame anti-climaxes. Sorry, Michael Bay, but the final parter failed to hit the same expectations I had of it after watching Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen couple of years ago. While I didn't feel sorry that they kicked Megan Fox out of the final sequel, the wet blanket came from the storyline. Everything was well and fine until, well, lame twists in the movie appeared. The best reason to watch this unimpressive parter would be to catch Optimus Prime and Bumblebee in their final glory, as well as the other beautifully engineered machines. Not for the-girl-with-the-ridiculously-long-name Rosie Huntington-Whitely.