Happy Father's Day

Today is father's day in Thailand so I thought I write a little about my father.

When asked to describe my father, first thing that comes to my mind is hard working. My dad never took a day off work if he didn't have to - and by that I mean, if he didn't have to go do his civil or juristic duty. Illness had never prevented my father from going to work. Two more words describe my dad: staunch republican and devoted Redskin's fan. So, in short, my dad and I have nothing in common.

Because I would often lie on the couch and read books, my dad had great expectation for me. His thesis was that successful people are curious about everything. So, him seeing me, lying on a couch reading books often pleased him - surely thinking that his youngest child would amount to something in the future.

Alas, with my lack of ambition coupled with introvert personality, I've never turn out what he had hoped I would become. Much to his dismay, I announced that I would major in fine art in college. "Why don't you study something that would make money?" He would often said to me. Or "Why don't you take a class in computer - that's the future...what's the point of taking ancient history?"

No wonder we became more estranged as years gone by.

About four years ago, on a rare occasion, my father called me. I just changed my job - to something that is non art or history related - and I found myself lost, hating my job, hating my boss, not having any friends. I'd told him about my miseries and anxieties. After listening to my rambling, my dad, in a calm voice, said "Look...you've got two arms, two legs and one head just like them. You may not be as smart as them, but they hired you, right? So, all you've got to do is work harder than them and everything will be okay. And if push comes to shove, you can always paint for a living." He ended the conversation by telling me to make more friends -- connection is everything.

Four years later, no, dad, I have never become a painter, my friends are still few, I stink at making connection, I prefer to read history rather than marketing books, and I still work just as hard as before, but I'm kinda happy this way.

Tolstoy and Anna Karenina

Following Clifton Fadiman's book, The Lifetime Reading Plan, I picked up Anna Karenina off my shelf (it's been sitting there for a long time). Why? Just because I have heard many people say that this is the best novel of all time (of course, some might say it's War and Peace - also by Tolstoy. Imagine that! Two books that you written are on the greatest of all time list)

So, I vowed to not only finish Anna, but to read every single word of it. And not just read, but understand every sentences. If it is unclear, I'd read it again and again until I feel I have understood the meaning of it. So, all in all, I've read ever word that makes up 790 odd pages of this novel (my patience ran out for the last 30 pages of the book). For two weeks, it's Anna by my side - I read the book during lunch time, traffic, before going to bed, in the bathroom, etc. In short, Anna occupied every single moment of my free time.

Overall, I like the book up until when Anna commits suicide. I could care less about Levin and his religious angst that makes up the last 30 pages of the novel. But, for all the life of me, I really don't feel emotionally connected to any of the characters.

I find Anna to be shallow, stupid and self centered. Levin and his angst towards everything annoys me. Kitty I find to be a goodie two shoe that she makes me nauseous. Vronsky, I feel sorry for him at the end because he really came to love Anna. The only character that I like is Stiva and his flirtatious, noncommittal attitude.

What I like most about this novel is the beautiful Tolstoyian sentences. I read somewhere that Tolstoy is like a painter. First, he sketches the painting then he fills in the details. As a result, reading this novel, we get a sweeping scenes of 19th century Russian society, the lives they lead, the activities, the customs...

So, on to the next book on Fadiman's list: Bleak House by Dickens...it's winter, it's depressing, daylights are short, nights are long.

A Nation of Elitists

As I was reading an article in NY Times today I was struck by the growing concern of our dire education system (by our I mean American). Apparently, even Bill Gates is appalled at our public education, especially in the math & science department, when compared to the likes of other Western European nations.

Well, I knew our public education is in a sorry ass state when the ability to speak clearly and intelligently or think critically is being viewed as elitist. How did we get to this stage? My guess would be around 2004 when Bush pointed to Kerry and labeled him an elitist. Or was it in 2000, when he pointed to Gore and called him an elitist.

When I was in high school, those qualities were the most prized. I remembered spent countless hours reading books after books trying to come up with well supported evidence for my essays. I spent days organizing and perfecting my thoughts/arguments before I wrote them down on papers for assignments. My English classes were either about parsing sentences or discussing classics such as Dickens, Austen, or Camus.

I remembered spending days learning how to break down the molecular structure of key elements (like that will come in handy in my everyday life) or trying to keep up with whatever my math teachers were trying to teach.

I didn't enjoy high school because of the rigorous curricula, but I wouldn't have traded them for anything easier. Because, in the end, I truly believe that learning is supposed to be difficult...it takes hard work and dedication to learn things that are worth knowing.

In today's education, teachers/parents/kids have this mentality that too much hard work prevents learning. They want everything to be easy for kids - no homework more play time, replace Shakespeare with Dan Brown (ARGH!!!), if it can't be googled, then let's skip the research process (what about going to the library and searching the catalogue?).

And we wonder why American kids lag behind other developed countries.

So, I say, let's bring back the 'elitist' mentality and forget about the 'average American' mumbled jumbled crap. After all, haven't we suffered enough during the eight years of Bush administration? I wouldn't mind having an elitist president for a change - at least he speaks good, understandable English (even if I had to look up some words in the dictionary).

I'd rather be viewed as a nation of elitists rather than a nation of fools.

Thoughts on life

When things enter your life, you have to be prepared when they depart...

oh, but it is so so hard. The dead do not mourn - it's the people that are left behind - it's them that have to pick up the pieces and move on.

And don't they know...don't they know that once their miseries are over...the others have just begun theirs...

Was it Homer who once said that human beings are the most unfortunate creatures in the world? We were created to love, to feel, to become attached and when we are most at our happiest, Fate looked down upon us and snatched it all away leaving only grief and sorrow...

Maybe the ancient Greeks had it right...one shouldn't become too attached to things; the Gods do have wicked sense of humor.

รัก...รักเธอจนหมดของหัวใจ ซึ่งเรานั้นเก็บไว้ข้างใน เธอได้ยินมั้ยคนดี...

Hua Hin, Thailand

Hua Hin, company trip, October 23 - 25.

Sunrise...after an hour of waiting and setting up, the long awaited sunrise came and gone within five minutes. This is the only shot I could snapped. By the time I moved my tripod/camera to another location, the dark blue sky with streaks of orange was gone.



Nighttime - view from the resort balcony

Too bad the pool was closed - it would be pretty romantic to swim under the moonlight - even when swimming alone.



The architecture of this resort is really beautiful especially the shadows created by bright sunlight.



Fireworks - our last night so let's have some fun. I don't think fireworks is illegal in Thailand, is it?

Seeking Courage and Thunder Road

I often wonder what it would be like to be able to say things that are on my mind without having to care about other people's feelings. I am often in awe of those people who are able to articulate their thoughts in a well spoken words.

I, however, have come to a conclusion that I lack these qualities: I can't put my thoughts into comprehensible sentences nor am I able to speak my mind freely. As a result, I've ended up agonizing over my incompetence, replaying the same scenes in my mind over and over again.

Once again today I had an opportunity to point out problems, but, instead of blurting them out, I chose the roundabout route, which, in the end came out to nothing. Not only that, but as a result of my indecision, I didn't help anybody.

You can hide 'neath your covers/And study your pain/
Make crosses from your lovers/Throw roses in the rain/Waste your summer praying in vain/For a savior to rise from these streets -- Thunder Road

A Tribute to Old Dogs

Rarely do I cry while reading a newspaper articles or books, but this one just left me sobbing - Gene Weingarten's article about old dogs. The link is here:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/09/26/AR2008092602860.html

"It's no big deal to love a dog; they make it so easy for you. They find you brilliant, even if you are a witling. You fascinate them, even if you are as dull as a butter knife. They are fond of you, even if you are a genocidal maniac. Hitler loved his dogs, and they loved him." - Gene Weingarten

How true those words are. I grew up with a mixed Lab named Lucky. We picked him up from a pound when he was only six weeks old. I was ten years old. In a way, he and I both grew up together - through my adolescents, his transformation from a puppy to a healthy dog, my graduations and, finally, his entering old age.

Throughout most of his life, Lucky never listened to me. He often ignored me whenever I called, never sit when I told him to, would often slept in my bed, taking up most of the space and in the morning, I would find him chewing on my wallet - having eaten all of my money. In short, he was a dog from hell.

But, as Lucky became older, he became more subdued and, in a sense, more vulnerable. Coincidentally, it was my transition from college to finding my first job. As I waited at home for prospect employer to call while others went to work, I was basically responsible for taking care of Lucky - helping him walk, feeding him, giving him a bath, massaging his arthritic legs and comforting him whenever lightning struck. In turn, he became the first one who I turned to for comfort, complaints, and solace.

Lucky became my best friend.

Seven years later, whenever people asked me, what makes me happiest? Without hesitation, I would say the best moment in my life is sitting on a front porch in the evening with Lucky and my two best friends in early autumn weather. We watched the cars go by, runners jogging and other people walking their dogs. It's always the simplest thing that brings joy to our lives.

I have often said, unashamedly, that I only have three friends in my life: two are humans and one is a dog. That still hasn't changed.

The Villain in My Life

"Surround yourself with only people who are going to lift you higher"

That's not what I've been doing. Lately, I found myself stuck with people who drag me lower and lower until I hit the depth of despair. People come in different shape, size and personality. I'm not naive: I don't expect to meet angels and saints all the time. However, I also didn't expect to meet so many devils.

Villain #1: YOU MAKE MY LIFE A LIVING HELL! (And this is really unfortunate considering that when I'm dead, I might not make it to heaven.) So, because of YOU I will never know what 7th heaven feels like.

It's amazing really - people don't do their jobs properly and the problems begin to snowball - oftentimes right at me. I'm sitting at my desk, minding my own business and KABOOM - the bazooka falls on my head. Of course, the people who started the snowball are nowhere to be found.

I should have signed up for a janitor position since I've been cleaning other people's shit all the time. (no offense to janitors)

Villain #2: Oh, I don't know who is worse: you or #1? Those who has power, but don't use them properly or those who have power, but abuse them absolutely. You remind me of Mr. Arafat: 'He never missed an opportunity to miss an opportunity'.

So, there you have it. The two villains of my life. In my own narcissistic world, you two would be...thump thump thump...(I'm banging my fist on the table). You get the message.

The Joker Steals the Show

Batman da da dah da da... Batman da da dah da da... The opening tune to the TV series Batman should be common to everyone who has lived in the U.S. in the past 20 years.

Out of all the superheroes, I like Batman the most. Why? Well, he IS human just like us. Superman is a Kryptonian, Spiderman is, well, an arachnia while the Hulk is...green. Second, Batman is the penultimate philanthropist.

Out of all the villains, I like Joker the best. Joker has always struck me as evil, chaotic, yet silly person. I mean, remember Jack Nicholson's rendition of the Joker? Who would be scare of that? Ok, until this new version of Batman: The Dark Knight.

The Joker (Heath Ledger) is freakingly freaky. Okay, there's the smiling face except it's a scar and not a red paint (like earlier versions). And then there's the tongue that keeps sticking out like a lizard every time he talks. Creepy...yet sadistically humorous.

Every time he is on screen you feel like covering your face with your hands like you always do in a horror movie. The laugh, the hair, the face and the tongue...and you realize, despite his name, the Joker is hardly the funniest person in the world.

At the end of the movie (and it's a long movie), the scene where the Joker is hanging upside down, laughing away with skyscrapers as backshot...is artistically creepy and beautiful. It shows the difference between our hero and the villain. Batman, his mission accomplished, is grim while the Joker, captured, is having the time of his life.

And as soon as you are out of the movie, you just want to go back in again. Hell, if only HE could scare the living shit out of you again.

On Loneliness

"When you close your doors, and make darkness within, remember never to say that you are alone, for you are not alone; nay, God is within, and your genius is within. And what need have they of light to see what you are doing?"

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Missing my friends very much...

Dreadful Sunday

** This post has nothing to do with Van Gogh -- except for the author's mental state that remotely resembles the great painter **

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It's been one of those days when making a decision on an easy topic is as taxing as solving algorithm problem. So, it's only obvious when facing with a difficult problem, trying to decide the best course to take is just mind goggling.

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On the other hand, I can absolutely say that I hate hospitals, doctors, medications -- anything that has to do with the medical system.

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I should be listening to the voices inside me, that soft whisper coming from the heart. Yeah, I should listen to that. The more I listen to it, the clearer its message will be. It will ultimately lead me towards the right direction.

The smartest thing my doctor has ever said to me.

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Saturday's evening: caught a movie called 'The Counterfeiter', which won the Oscar for best foreign film. The story is about a group of Jewish printers/artists who were forced to make counterfeit money (Pound & Dollar) in a concentration camp. Operation Bernhard it was called - after inspector Bernhard Kruger. The goal at the beginning was to flood the British market with counterfeit money causing inflation, but since the forged money was so perfect, the Nazi decided they would use the money themselves.

I like the movie overall although the movie drags on in the middle especially at the failure to replicate the dollar. This is where the movie tries to explore the ideal of one person against the lives of fellow mates. Is it the right thing to do?

Best phrase from the movie has to be when a young Jewish artist gave a picture to Sally and said 'The Academy didn't like my style of paintings. But, who cares? I like it and it is my painting'.

Well said, mate.

The Big 3 0

This past week I celebrated my 30th birthday. Nothing special – just dinners with friends. But, then again, I wasn’t expecting nor feeling anything special.

People kept asking me how does it feel to finally turn thirty years old and my answer was always ‘it feels like every other day’. No life changing events occurred to me – I didn’t wake up with any kind of epiphanies that would distinguish that day more than any other days.

Life begins at 30. Or so someone said. And you could change the number…life begins at 40, 50, etc…

Not exactly. For me, life begins as soon as you are out of college and looking for your first job. Full of zest, motivation, ideas – just full of life. Those are the time that you can try living out your dream – willing to work odd jobs to pay the bills. By the time you hit 30, that’s when you have to start contemplating about the future. Life doesn’t start at 30, adulthood does.

But, no matter. All of the above theories are wishful thinking to me now. My life was decided two years ago when I walked into a hospital and heard that fateful voice. For some unknown reason, I was thinking of one of the Guns n’ Roses songs…

old at heart, but I’m only 28, much too young to let love break my heart/ Young at heart, but it’s getting much too late, to find myself so far apart…

So that was it. Things that I could do in the past, I can’t do them anymore. Places I could go in the past, I can’t go anymore. So, life doesn’t begin at 30 – it ended two years ago. And it’s quite annoying to hear people tell me I should do all the things I wanted to do before time runs out…only to have them turn around and say that I shouldn’t do them because of my fragile health.

It’s always easier to tell others what to do or how to live – somehow, it makes us feel better about ourselves – like we have contributed something beneficial to society. Or maybe it’s a feeling of guilt…If I don’t have to see it, I don’t have to be responsible for it – therefore, I’m not guilty of it.

I don’t know…sometimes making a simple decision can become such a difficult task as if my brain was being asked to solve some complex calculus formula.

Or maybe it’s a sign of becoming too old and too tired.

I don’t know.

Vanity Fair: A Novel Without A Hero

Sigh...I tried...I really did.

I tried to finish this book, but at 800 pages, it is just too long. Not that this is the major obstacle that kept me from finishing. Oh, no...the main problem has to do with Amelia Osbourne. I knew it would be a problem when, after page 10, I just cannot stand this character. I found myself wanting to grab a snow shovel and hit myself in the head until I bleed to death.

Oh, whatever happened to Elizabeth Bennett? Amelia makes Jane Bennett looks like Lady Macbeth

My favorite character, of course, is Rebecca Sharp. Realistically, Becky would be your worst nightmare. She is shrewd, deceitful, smart and charming (in an evil kinda way), but since this is a fantasy, she is so much fun to read. (Whereas Amelia is naive, kind, generous, but at times can be whining and (oftentimes) stupid).

The novel basically follows the lives of these two characters from their marriages to being mothers -- covering reversal of fortune (Becky from poor to rich to poor and vice versa for Amelia). Obviously, there are a lot of in betweens, which I won't go into.

The novel starts out well for me. I particularly like the scene where Rebecca threw out the dictionary from the carriage when she leaves Mrs. Pinkerton's school. But, like I said before, the character of Amelia got on my nerves and I just couldn't take it anymore. This is really a shame for me because the novel is a really good satire on the aristocracy/social status in England during Waterloo and some of his writing is really witty and funny.

EXCEPT FOR ONE THING: AMELIA OSBOURNE

So, which book do I want to read next? It has been raining every single day and I'm in a gloomy mood so I will pick up a book written by the greatest story teller in the world: Boccaccio's Decameron.

This will be my second reading of this wonderful book -- this is a book about greed, proper social conduct and death. And most importantly, there is no character that remotely resembles Amelia Osbourne

Black Dogs

“Shutting it all out was how I found peace. If I’m bitter, it’s because I haven’t forgiven myself.” June, Black Dogs

Black Dogs is my first encounter with Ian McEwan's writing – and a disturbing one. First, a brief synopsis of the book. Black Dogs is a story about crumbling marriage as told by their son in law, Jeremy. Like other McEwan’s novels, the plot involves one life changing incident (in this case, it’s June’s) that transform their union into downward sprial. The novel is broken up into two major parts: June and Bernard’s.

So that’s that. Here’s my opinion: I like the novel as a whole. I really like June’s version of their union and estrangement. And I think McEwan writes some of the most beautiful and thoughtful prose, especially about how June perceived their love for each other.

“The truth is we love each other…And we failed to do a thing with it. We couldn’t make a life. We couldn’t give up the love, but we wouldn’t bend to its power.”

And of course, once you get to Bernard’s version, everything that is romantic and sentimental is shattered by his rationality. “…how people like June bend the facts to fit their ideas instead of the other way round.” And I have to confess that I didn’t particularly enjoy this section as much as earlier section. What is life if it is just about cold hard facts with no embellishment? Which leads to my first disturbance:

Which version do I believe? Obviously, being a romantic meself, I lean towards June’s. Sure, it may not be the true version, but who the heck cares? Much like the doctor in Big Fish who said “If you ask me, I would’ve preferred the fantasized version rather than the truth.”

Second disturbance: Black dogs. Do they really exist? I mean, I know June says she encountered them, but really? If we take Bernard’s words that she likes to fantasize things, can this be another event that she twisted the truth?

It’s been almost two weeks now that I’ve finished reading and still, I find myself thinking about the ending and about June’s character. Throughout the novel you are reminded of how she found God after she had met evil. But, did she? She seems to not have found peace of mind because of her emotional attachment to things. Instead, Bernard looks the more likely to find some sort of tranquility in his life. Maybe this is a reflection of truth: the more you want some things, the more elusive they become. And I’ll end with June’s opinion on this:

“Happiness is an occasional, summer-lightning thing.”

Photo Shoot

Got out a camera, grabbed a tripod, bolted out of the office, hopped on a BTS, arrived at Victory Monument and snapped a couple of pictures.

Encounter a problem: TOO MANY PEOPLE - sigh.

better luck next time, told myself.

4,000

Two weeks ago the number of U.S. military deaths in Iraq hit 4,000. Three weeks ago, V.P. Cheney was asked how he felt about the latest poll showing two thirds of Americans feel that Iraq was not worth fighting for. His replied was short and to the point: "So?"

Nice to know you care about American people, Mr. Vice President

I've read somewhere that, on average, ten people are affected for every soldier death. Obviously, these ten people include families and friends. So, with 4,000 deaths, that means there are 40,000 people in mourning - trying to come to terms with the loss.

Was Cheney awared of this statistics when he arrogantly dismissed American people's attitude?

Of course, Mr. Cheney would love to have us believed that Iraq is worth fighting for. He talked about liberating Iraqi children from tyranny, giving them a chance to grow up in a democratic society.

Really? Are you sure, Mr. Vice President? Are you sure it's not throwing them into anarchy after pulling them from tyranny?

I once received a letter from a friend in Iraq telling me how dire the situation was. How, instead of heroes, the soldiers are viewed as invaders. And there were no smiling Iraqi children. Most don't dare to show their faces outside their homes.
Even though the letter contained doubts, he still hung on to the ideals: that he was there to help, that his sacrifice was worthwhile.

I just hope that someday, whatever they think of our politics, the Iraqi children will come to acknowledge and appreciate the sacrifices that these military men/women had made.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

If you are like me, you probably love reading Arthurian novels. I can't explain why, but I find the chivalric period to be full of bravery, courage and romance. Alas, as with almost everything that occurs in my life, I discover this love somewhat late (why did this fascination not occur in my college years?).

Anyway, this past weekend I picked up a little book called Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and was totally enchanted by it. Told in the tradition of old English alliterative style, this novel may be hard for some who used to read in the traditional prose style - although, IMHO, it is way easier than Beowulf.

Sir Gawain opens with a feast on New Year's Day at King Arthur's court. Suddenly, a mysterious green knight enters the hall and challenge anyone to hit him with an axe - on a condition that a year from now, that same person has to endure a similar stroke from him. Well, Sir Gawain got up (really, after King Arthur himself was going to accept the knight's challenge) and with one stroke, slashed the green knight's neck so that his head rolls around on the floor.

Not to be deterred by this minor incident (of having no head!), the green knight walks over, picks up his head, hops on his horse, and with his head still in one hand, said to Sir Gawain that he looks forward to their meeting in the next year at a place called the Green Castle.

What follows are some of the most tantalizing events from Sir Gawain's journey to his stay at one of the castles to the king's wife seducing Sir Gawain. The author's description of the hunting scenes, the feasts and even the encounters between King's wife and Sir Gawain are most enjoyable to read. Particular the hunting of the deer - or shall I say, the cutting up of the deer is quite detailed - so this was how they hunt in the 1300s.

The book is relatively short - so nothing like Homer's epic - and one can finish within a day and reread it again!

Sir Gawain is not just a pleasurable read - at the end of the book, it also explores questions about chivalric code, what it means to be a knight...lest what it means to be an honorable person at that period.

At last, I wholeheartedly endorse this book if you are interested in a) Arthurian romance or b) just looking for a good, magic filled book.

La Vie en Rose

Non, Rien De Rien,
Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien
Ni Le Bien Qu`on M`a Fait,
Ni Le Mal
Tout Ca M`est Bien Egal
Non, Rien De Rien,
Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien
C`est Paye, Balaye, Oublie,
Je Me Fous Du Passe

Those are the words to the song, Non Je ne regrette rien, sung by Edith Piaf. It is also one of her most famous - others include La Vie en Rose, Milord, L'hymne a l'amour - songs performed by Edith just before her death. And, of course, if you've seen the movie, this is the last song performed by Paif.

This past weekend saw me watching most of the Oscar nominated Best Pictures movies from Michael Clayton to There Will Be Blood. But, the movie that I was really looking forward to seeing was La Vie en Rose. And it's not the movie itself that I wanted to see, but the acting performance of Marion Cotillard as Edith Piaf.

Why? I was listening to a podcast of my favorite radio talk show and one of the guests, though not a movie critic but have seen just about every movies every year - American and foreign - said that Cotillard gave the greatest single acting performance, male or female, he has ever seen. Yep, that was enough to persuade me.

And, oh, what a performance.

Good thing that she won an Oscar too because it would be sacrileged if she hadn't. And speaking of post Oscar, I was listening to a certain movie critic, Arch Campbell, rambling about how he was still trying to figure out why "a French film won Best Actress". Really, Arch can you just be a bit more americanphile? Because I don't think there are enough American haters out there in the world. IMHO, the award should be given to those who deserve it the most; what does it matter if the film is French, English or Mongolian. I don't see British critics calling for heads when she picked up the BAFTA. Geez...

But, let's get back to the movie


The movie is pretty difficult to follow through its non linear storytelling. I didn't know who Edith Piaf was (and let's face it, few people under the age of forty would know who she was)so it took me a while to actually follow the story. In sum: La Vie en Rose is a movie about the tragic, yet triump life of Edith Piaf.

She was abandoned by her mother when she was young. Brought up in a brothel, following her father in a circus and living on a street, supporting herself by singing. A locally famous cabaret owner spotted her talent and things grew from there (though not without problems). She came to New York to perform and at the zenith of her career, became the highest paid entertainer in America. All of these triumphs, of course, are entwined by series of unfortunate events, which I won't go into details.


But, La Vie en Rose is all about Cotillard's performance covering Piaf life span from 20 to 40s (though she looked like a 60 year old woman). You wouldn't think much of it until you see a picture of Cotillard. She's tall, beautiful and healthy looking whereas Edith Piaf was small, oddly looking and a fragile person. That's when it hit me how hard it must be to play her and convince the audience that they are she is Piaf. So, double kudos to the make up artist as well (and he did win an Oscar for it). My favorite scene is when she found out about the death of Marcel and she completely broke down. Heartwrenching. (Reality: Piaf did not even cancel her performance that night!).

Other than Cotillard's performance, the thing that I love most about this movie involves a scene where Raymond is teaching Piaf how to sing. Pronunciate...nobody can understand the song if you are mumbling the words. Seriously, somebody should tell most of the singers nowaday that NOBODY can understand a word they are singing. I mean, if all one has to do is mumble (and have no vocal range), then I can be a singer. Art? No, it's craptastic. And that is one thing La Vie en Rose is not.

Translation:
No, nothing of nothing
No! I don't feel sorry about anything
Not the good things people have done to me
Not the bad things, it's all the same to me.

No, nothing of nothing
No! I don't feel sorry about anything
It's paid for, removed, forgotten,
I'm happy of the past

Boy Trai

Last Tuesday night, we went to Boy Trai concert at Shoo Bee Doo Bar. We got there around 8pm, eat some food, drink some liquer and waited for P'Boy to show up (which he did at 10:30pm).

Anyway the concert was sponsored by Red Label, so of course, we ordered Sang Som as our rum of choice.

The concert was pretty good - I only know one song by him so I can't profess to be his biggest fan. But, one of my friends is. And during the concert, she was either backstage (to get a good look of P'Boy) or singing along to his songs.

As the concert wore on, some of us were beginning to feel restless and couldn't resist to dance. All in all, a happy, fun evening.

One Night in Bangkok

On Monday night, I went to take photos of Sathorn & Narathiwat road. Since there is nothing but buildings and traffic, these two elements basically constitute my photos.

Rather than just take pictures of buildings, which are pretty much static, I decided to rotate the lens while it was capturing pictures (see these two photos of the same building).





At another shot, I tried to capture the streaming traffic at a busy intersection. I also want to get a picture of a BTS, but couldn't manage a successful result.



Finally, I take a picture of a lamp hanging from the BTS - don't know why really, but I like to take pictures of street lamp...

One Special Teacher

This is a post dedicated to my art professor, who on this day, retired from teaching at the age of 62. I learned about his retirement through the alumni newsletter.

I can still remember the first day I met Prof. Thom. It was my freshman year - first class of the semester. Prof. Thom came into the room and probably seeing some doubts in our eyes (or was it because it was so early in the morning most of us weren't awake yet), he said 'All of you are special.' Okay, I thought. Totally weird.

I breezed through Freshman year and Prof. Thom's class. I didn't talk to him again until my senior year (because he mainly teaches introductory class) - when I was struggling through my senior projects. Much have passed during those three years and more doubts crept in - doubts about my ability as a designer, a painter and in general as a college student.

I met Prof. Thom by chance while he was smoking and I was lamenting about my senior projects. He came towards me, asked me how I was (terrible, can't you see from my facial expression?) told me he was assigned to be my advisor (really?) and told me that I would turn out to be something special (hangover again, prof?). Throughout that semester, he would made comments on my projects in detail as if he were analyzing the Sistine Chapel. By listening to his comments, I learn how to draw.

I wish I could go back in time and relive the experience again. Most of all, I wish I were back sitting on a bench in front of the Art building so that I could hear him tell me, one more time, that I was something special.

In Love With...La Féerie

La Féerie is a French word meaning 'enchantment' and that was my first thought when I entered this little spa. It is located just across from Thonglor 23 - many people have missed the place because it is just a little house located between My Place restaurant and Ducati motorcycle shop. (Speaking of which, can somebody move this irritating shop...like to other province? Seriously, what kind of person would buy a 2 million Baht motorcycle)

Anyway, La Féerie is a small, cozy spa, specializes in manicure and pedicure. Massage is currently available only on Wednesdays - until they find a permanent masseuse.


What I like about this place is not only the services, but also the atmosphere - it's very homelike - since the place is small, it has that intimate quality that big spa lacks. People often complain about the high price, but if you consider where it's situated and the quality of the products, you have nothing to complain about. (IMHO, taken in the atmosphere and services, it's worth dishing out the cash).


But, what I like most about this place is that 90% of the time, I get to spend time with two of my favorite people in the world - and there are not that many. They are that type of people that once you left their company, you feel like you are the most special person in the world. All in all, La Féerie is not just a place that I go when I want to relax, it's a place that I go when I feel tired, when I need life/career advice and whenever I feel down.

Without A Tripod

How would your picture comes out if you shoot it at night without a tripod? Check these out.

I took these pictures at Siam BTS. Set your shutter speed at about 1/20 and F stop at 16. After pressing the shutter try adjusting the lens. You will get some 'electrified' results.

Night Out at Siam Paragon

These are some of the photos I took on a night out at Siam Paragon. To celebrate CNY, S.P. decorate the courtyard with dragons and lots of red color (bit tacky, if you ask me).

Enjoy the photos...






I like to take pictures with slow shutter speed - you can make boring subjects look more interesting - ghostlike images...

Mandalay

If one were to ask me what is the most attractive city in the world, I would immediately say Mandalay. It isn't the most 'happening' place (that would be London) nor is it the most romantic city (that would be Florence, of course) nor is it the most beautiful place (without a doubt -- Santorini), but gosh darn it, it's the most attractive place I have ever traveled. Though I didn't dare to travel outside the 'tourist' spots, but maybe that's why it's, oh, so mysterious.

Not to say that I just locked myself up in a hotel. I ventured outside on my own with some trepidation -- scenes of oppression and military force, as shown in the news, came to my mind. However, after ten minutes of meeting and talking to local people, I found that my fear was gradually reduced. Myanmar people are largely polite and very religious - something that the media tend to ignore. Not surprisingly, most are still 'localized' (thanks to the military government) and that, paradoxically, is the most charming aspect of it all. As I began to interact more and more with the locals, I couldn't help myself hoping, selfishly wanting Mandalay to stay like this forever.


I stayed at a hotel just across from the Mandalay palace and every mornings I opened the window curtain, I was staring at the pagodas and the massive man made lake. But, my favorite time is not during the day, but at night when the sky opened up, revealing the stars and constellations (blue/red/orange). Since residents do not wander at night (thanks to military curfew), silence filled the city. And at about this time, I would stand in front of my hotel, facing the palace and I would look up in the sky that is filled with stars and felt that, just for a few hours, time has stood still in Mandalay...for the past two hundred years.

Photography and Leica

Photography: I don't know when it happened or how it happened, but I just fell in love with photography ever since I bought my first SLR camera eight years ago. Took one photography class - naively thinking that it would be just a one time thing - and have been a photography addict from that moment on. A while back I purchased my first digital camera - Leica and this tiny camera is now with me everywhere.

Leica...as photography enthusiasts will know, is not a camera...it's a Leica. Leica was founded by Oskar Barnack and introduced to the public in 1925 - It was the first portable, small camera. (Before that, camera was a traditional format that used heavy plates). Today, Leica is still coveted by many and is probably famous for its immaculate materials and lens.

Recently, I bought my first DSLR and is currently using my Canon 400D to take photos. I don't take pictures with my Leica as often as before, but this tiny camera will forever be my favorite.