Though, on principle, I don't give a rat's arse about speed or car racing, I was suitably proud of Singapore for hosting the world's! first! night! race!. Typical, typical; but still, I wouldn't expect any less: c'mon, it's Singapore we're discussing here. One-upping the Joneses as always. With a smile. Hell, with five million smiles amidst a commensurately large amount of greenhouse gas emissions and electricity usage; I was blinded on the way to Suntec the other night. And did I mention, a lot, a lot of noise pollution.

My interest in sports - especially noisy ones that involve speed and high levels of testosterone - can be described, at best, as lukewarm. R was, on the other hand, glued to the screen the whole time I was nursing my high pitched engine-induced headache.

The kitten worked itself into a yarnball-chasing frenzy fuelled (un)helpfully by the incessant screeching of engines. The kitten - Mine! - has been the bright spark in our lives for the past week now. Dill is the softest and mostly pliant little thing, and I owe last week's worth of dinners at home to him.



We do stuff together, me and Dill. This is going to be the start of a beautiful relationship, I hope, I think, I know. He's going to be so spoilt yet so lovable.

This arvo, I did something I have no recent recollection of doing: I ordered a bowl of fishball mee-pok on my own. Yes, that means I also ate the whole damned bowl of noodles for lunch - which was, surprisingly, satisfying despite being less so than my usual rice with 3 sides. No, a noodle girl I most certainly am not. Wasn't aware there were noodle options to go with the fishballs; didn't occur to me that soupy noodles would not already be served laced with chilli: the noodle uncle glared with suspicion.



Have been loving bicycles lately. This one, from Allan, The Gallant is so. to. die. for. And that dreamy orange one? On ebay, here, for which I may never be the top bidder. Auctions are scary that way - also, I am a wuss that way too.

Sony DIME 'Foam City' Making Of from James Lowrey on Vimeo.

Foam and bubbles have always captured my attention. In my childhood I once was absentminded enough to suck and ingest detergent through the straw I was supposed to blow bubbles out of. Watching the making of this ad had me enthralled for a good five minutes.

There has been an incidence of one overnighter, and one near-overnighter in the space of the past 2 nights at the office. I swear designers can be such masochists sometimes: slaves to their ideals to the point of forgoing their health. And sleep. We trooped back home zombiefied, this afternoon at 4pm, after the boss sent our competition entry to its stipulated submission point. Up to five years ago, I would've weathered these things a lot better. Now I'm just worse for wear. In the last two days, it's been brought to my attention, twice, that my eyes betray the jadedness of my age. How depressing.

One consequence of staying up all night: the discovery of Songza (thanks, G), which led to this bloody song getting stuck in my head. Contagious, now I've got S humming it also.

The UNIQLOCK music'd been getting on my nerves lately, so it's finally off. Vamooshed. Annihilated. But I really miss knowing what time it is back in Melbs somehow. Odd, coming to think of it; perhaps I've really left a fragment of my heart back there. Might look for some other web application to show me Melbs' time - it's so tiring having to figure out whether daylight savings has ended, or what's two hours after my current time all in my head. It's sad, because I *think* I used to be quite the nimble mental summer.

Speaking of mental sums, I was one of those detestable little girls who would guard her answers fiendishly, with a non-math-related exercise book of course, obscuring the answers to the previously given sum. Rather Hermione-ishly, I'd make a concerted effort to lift my head and look attentively at the teacher as soon as my answer was carefully written out. Just so she could be sure that I was ready and confident my answer was indisputably correct. Tsk.

Over dinner, E handed over, somewhat unceremoniously, a nondescript-looking package in a white, square MJ Multimedia plastic bag. I reached in, and to my delight, Paprika! We watched it back in Melbs and I loooovvved the procession scene. The soundtrack + the parade = mesmerising.

Perhaps this is alluding to something. A thing. A thought I've been nursing for awhile: that I should go back for a visit.

My first encounter with the works of Louise Bourgeois was in Second Year, while I was doing research for Herzog and de Meuron's take on Tate Modern. They were deliciously low-key then, which I liked. So. Maman, the 9.1m tall spider, where I'd imagine visitors only ever seeing its underbelly and its spider sacs - sound spidery, whatever they are. This video has put a voice to the remarkable sculptor, whose name's spelling I had been determined to memorise in Junior College.

Serendipitiously, I'd found a link (not that I'd been looking hard for it, really) to good ol' Gropius' Manifesto for the Bauhaus movement. Only these days, whenever I think of the word Bauhaus, my mind automatically intones Bela Lugosi's dead. It's funny how, for those poseurs from Archi or Design schools, we start referring to influential (read: widely publicised) Designers as someone we actually know, whether by reference to first names or casual name-dropping. Oh, Rem said such and such. Oh, Mies was blahblahblah. Corbu this and Eames that.