The last few days, I have spent my energy designing wardrobes. My virgin attempt at Interior Design has - though I'd never known there'd be such a science to it - taught me some things about heights, width, sliding or hinged doors, and general construction details, etc. While it's nice to be part of a team for realising someone's dwelling - I wonder why they'd entrust such intimate decisions to strangers. Residential interiors should best be made of by its inhabitants in time, rather than to be made by someone else against time.



Last Friday, Tan Pin Pin's box set of 3 DVDs was launched at Books Actually. Singapore Gaga, Invisible City and Moving House. I went, and immediately purchased the set because I had been so desperate to watch Singapore Gaga. It was launched while I was away in Melbs. My research, at that time, concerned sights and sounds of the street in Taiwan, Singapore and Melbourne. I had this whole gamut of sound recordings: vendors' street cries, the sound of passing traffic, disembodied voices, blind buskers, alongside hours' worth of video footage of street-related encounters. An incoherent jumble that I have still maintained, until now, as that. Perhaps one day it will come in useful as a soundscape project. Or otherwise. Or perhaps not.



My paper has been published. Yay! But at such a price. I don't reckon I've got the makings of an academic researcher or writer. So tiring. How do some people actually enjoy this process of whittling and editing draft after draft? Actually, it may not be such a perverse activity after all, especially when it's self-inflicted. But it may be another age before I actually decide to attend these conferences, the draw of legendary arts festivals notwithstanding.

Whoever did this, I want to send you flowers.
*wipes tears of happiness*



The permutations! Sheer possibilities! The work! Oh!
But you MUST feel the guilt for every magazine you chuck away.
The designer's Blood! Sweat! Tears! Bile!

3 weeks of all-nighters. That's all it takes to formulate the revamp of a bi-monthly publication with 40 plus years of existence. My temperature, scratchy throat, pounding headaches and a stuffed nose occuring at random times all point to: heatiness. No, I'm not fussed about the onset of auntiedom; desperate times call for heap-til-overflowing amounts of desperate measures.

In the past 3 weeks, the world has passed by around me. The Olympics has come and gone; National Day was but a blink of a bloodshot eye; I'd missed the National Day Rally on the telly; I'd only met up once with A who'd returned from Hong Kong for a weekend; my poor old cat died - she'd been poorly for awhile now. And too many things besides.

I was looking for a job and then I found a job
And heaven knows I'm miserable now
In my life, why do I smile
At people whom I'd much rather kick in the eye
- Morrissey, Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

Take me out tonight.
As I live and breathe, you have killed me.
Morrissey is so eloquent.

The rain over the weekend was so good. At least we managed to share a bit of that typhoon - I've always wanted to be told to stay indoors because of a blizzard or typhoon. Sadly, it hasn't happened yet. Not in boring ol' 25-32ºC Singas.

I saw 4 black cars in a row the other day, on my way to work. Before I could stop myself from drawing references to Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, I thought, 'today's gonna be bad'. And it sort of was. Why do I let these signs affect my expectations psychologically?

Was chuffed to find a copy of the 2009 IKEA catalogue sitting on my staircase landing last night. Felt a deep furniture-based joy welling up inside.

I once stole picked up a yellow button from Spotlight, back in Melbourne. It was on the floor, and away from the usual buttons section. It looked vitage-y, and didn't belong in any of the button canisters. I considered kicking it through the door so I could rightfully morally pick it up outside, but we were too far from the doors. So I bent down, pretended to tie my shoelaces and held on tightly to my newfound treasure.

While watching the opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympic Games last night, I felt a glowing pride for my Chinese heritage, if not by sheer default appearances alone, then at least by trying to show an appreciation for my culture's innate elegance and history.

The screen of the iMac at my office is so huge I have to physically turn my head from left to right to take in all there is. It makes me appreciate Wilmot's lovely 17-inch screen. Cosy!