Tuesday, December 23, 2008
My iPod, set to shuffle, is playing a piece sung by the UK boys' choir Libera.

K: I can't understand a word they're saying.
S: ... maybe because they're singing in Latin?

written at 11:23 a.m.

Monday, December 15, 2008
Funny, one of the last words I would ever use to describe myself is "entrepreneur." It's down there on the list, alongside "ambitious" and "confident" and "sensitive." But then I married someone who dreams about as massively as Peter Daniels, and suddenly there it is, looming in my face and giving me periodic panic attacks.

This is for Aaron at www.businessminder.net, who is asking for reviews of his Online Business Blueprint in return for a chance to win an Acer Aspire netbook. (I'm still biased towards the Asus EEE, though!)

This is the first time I've reviewed anything other than a CD. Maybe because I'm quasi-qualified to discuss music, but not business. But Aaron's a cool guy, so I will attempt to quell my tendency to blather.

His article is a primer on launching an internet business. It is a quick and easy read, outlining the typical course of an online enterprise from ideological conception to automation. It is both general and practical.

What resonates with me most is his emphasis on the nonexistence of a shortcut to wealth. (At least one that carries no risk of jail time.) People on the lookout for get-rich-quick schemes give scammers a field day. Aaron stresses passion, preparation, and patience.

The "Online Business Blueprint" is less a detailed plan of action than an inspirational little piece of technical writing designed to mentally jump-start a prospective entrepreneur in the right direction.

written at 02:15 p.m.

Friday, December 5, 2008
Okay, I'll admit it. There were certain things that never occurred to me before I got married that surfaced afterwards.

Like the question of who sleeps on which side of the bed!

Kevin favours the right side, simple enough. Now, I'm not that consistent. My preference is directly dependent on the position of the bed in relation to the layout of the room. When I first moved in, I liked the left side because it was against the wall. But a few months later we shifted all the furniture around because I wasn't pleased with the aesthetics. Now I like the right side.

So we wrestle for it. MUAHAHA.

(Having always slept in a single bed, I never knew I even cared one way or the other.)

written at 06:16 p.m.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008
My attempt to record "The Atheist Christmas Carol" onto GarageBand just now, overlaying a synth-strings track over keys, failed. I didn't even get to vocals.

I blame Kevin, who was snacking on some CRUNCHY SNACK that made CRUNCHY NOISES on the BED, the sheets of which I have recently cleaned.

written at 03:57 p.m.

Thursday, November 6, 2008
We had somewhat of a drama queen incident yesterday.

A few weeks ago Kevin's sister had gotten her hair done in African braids. They were quite cool while they lasted; yesterday we helped her undo them because as much as she liked the look her scalp couldn't stand the itchiness and dandruff anymore. (As an aside, unravelling those tiny braids took over an hour with four pairs of hands!)

Afterwards, she trooped upstairs to shower.

Kevin and I were fiddling innocently with our laptops when we heard panicked noises filtering from the second-story bathroom. There was wailing, literal wailing, frantic cries of "my hair is falling out!" and "I'm going bald!" (If it sounds funny, I can assure you it wasn't.) There were tears.

The two of us sat tight, giving each other "oro!?" eyes. This was because my mother-in-law, who is infinitely more helpful and reassuring in situations like this, was handling it. Then Kevin had a brainwave. "This is probably normal," he reasoned. "Think about it. How many strands of hair do you lose daily? And for the past two weeks her 'lost hairs' have stayed trapped in her braids. Of course it'll seem like a lot - they're coming off all at once."

I stared at him. "Smart. Very smart." Continue to dazzle me with your phenomenal common sense and I'll love you forever.

In the meantime a quick phone call to a classmate had confirmed Kevin's theory. Gradually, the panic dissipated.

It occurs to me that this may not be the most appropriate blog entry ever, but I seem to have all these unarticulated thoughts regarding this episode, and nowhere to put them. I can't even put my finger on what it is, really, that makes me want to press a neat little hole into the wall. With my forehead.

The explosive over-reaction? Because when I went to check, she hadn't actually lost that much. A sizeable mound, to be sure, but nothing spectacular. Probably equal to the amount I suck up into the vacuum every time I use it upstairs. And the hair on her head ... looked fine. Jeez, I was expecting bald patches.

The underlying vanity of it all, maybe? Because at the end of the day, it's just hair. Hair is dead keratinized epithelial cells. Dead. Yes, it prettifies us, but it's not, you know, essential to life. ("My fingers are falling off!" on the other hand, garners my sympathy.)

I don't mean to be ornery. I know she wasn't trying to be a drama queen. She was genuinely terrified. I suppose the question is, would I react similarly if this happened to me?

In all honesty, I would not. But I'm fairly sure a lot of girls would. And that's just it. I think I've found my gripe at last.

written at 09:59 p.m.

Thursday, October 2, 2008
I'm not politically inclined by any stretch of the imagination. That's the qualifier.

But it does seem (particularly among but not limited to younger or university-age people) that Harper is not the "cool" guy to vote for. The funny thing, though, is that people have trouble justifying their dislike with anything substantial.

I see the media trying so hard, SO HARD to find something incriminating to say. And yet they can't seem to come up with anything, really. So instead they throw out barbs like, "He doesn't like art." "He's Bush in disguise." "He'll become dictator."

Which, honestly? Is so very lame.

written at 04:31 p.m.

Thursday, June 5, 2008
One mind-boggling thing about American food is its SODIUM CONTENT.

written at 10:08 a.m.

Sunday, June 8, 2008
Cancun is a place of languor, of fiery sunsets and pristine beaches. The sand in the ashtrays are stamped with flower patterns. The women have large busts and large bellies. Everyone, from the shuttlebus driver to the restaurant server to the airport official, thinks we are Japanese and we get a lot of "konnichiwa" and "arigatou." Nothing in Cancun is abrasive, except perhaps the occasional drunk tourist.

Cancun breathes.

Fort Lauderdale hums. The beaches are considerably less gorgeous, but the water temperatures are the same and the waves are milder. The women have large busts but some look fake, even to me. Fort Lauderdale is accommodating, but I believe my vote so far goes to Cancun.

written at 10:01 a.m.

Saturday, May 24, 2008
S: I feel like a doughnut.

S: Ow!
K: What?
S: You bit me!
K: You said you were a doughnut!
S: I didn't say I was an EDIBLE doughnut.

written at 11:16 p.m.

Monday, May 19, 2008
One thread of reasoning I've encountered occasionally during the course of wedding planning is this: that I should go with such-and-such a look because it's the only time in my life I'll be able to get away with something so different from the usual.

"Hair can be kept down any time of year; for the wedding, have an updo."

"Why not wear this barbie-doll dress for the reception? I know you don't like poof and bling, but this is your one chance to flaunt it."

While I understand the significance of the occasion, frankly this argument doesn't hold much water for me. Doesn't it make more sense that I stay true to what I like and who I am? If I'd never be caught dead in this normally, why would I wear it for the wedding ... just because I can? Besides, I can only pull off something I'm comfortable in. Otherwise it would just be awkward.

Things are going well, despite two episodes of bridesmaid drama. The first was a little out of the blue, but after that I half-expected the second and was prepared for it mentally. It's an ongoing process of character development, learning to stand up for myself instead of defaulting to a doormat state. I haven't mastered it yet but I'm closer than I was a year ago.

With less than two weeks to go and still a number of things to do, I'm not feeling particularly stressed. The key, I think, is to maintain perspective, to look beyond and above what is petty and ultimately insignificant. And to laugh heartily at the fact that I had an icky facial mask on yesterday and Kevin still thought I was beautiful.

written at 07:08 p.m.

Sunday, April 27, 2008
It's easy for me to trust a person's character. It's not nearly so easy to trust their judgment.

I wonder why this is.

written at 04:29 p.m.

Friday, April 18, 2008
Kevin and I had an appointment with our officiant on Wednesday at 4pm.

I'd just written my developmental neurobiology final that morning - my last undergrad formal exam ever! - and was running on roughly 4 hours of sleep. So, even though napping isn't normally my thing (it messes up my internal clock), I fell asleep shortly after arriving at his place in the early afternoon. And Kevin napped too because, well, he just likes his sleep.

When we regained consciousness after this monster nap, Kevin was shocked to discover it was 3:55. There was a moment of panic. Luckily our officiant's office wasn't too far, and we managed to get away with being 5 minutes late.

"I set the alarm on my cell phone to 3:00," Kevin protested on the brief drive over. "Why didn't it ring?"

He checked. (Just to insert some quasi-irrelevant trivia here: Kevin can drive perfectly with NO HANDS. Which is absolutely one of the reasons I'm marrying him. Uh-huh.) The alarm had gone off. We'd slept through it.

Now I'm generally a light sleeper, so this really weirded me out. "You know, I had the weirdest dreams. I kept dreaming there was some urgent need to GET UP, because someone was ringing the doorbell or coming up the stairs or something. Except I couldn't. Because ... I was so sleepy."

Kevin turned to look me in the eye. "I think I had pretty much the exact same dream. Maybe that's when the alarm went off?"

written at 10:59 a.m.

Saturday, April 12, 2008
One unfailing characteristic of exam period is the constant, undercurrent food cravings it elicits in me.

I interrupt study sessions in favour of wandering into the kitchen every twelve minutes to root through the refrigerator, freezer, and storage shelves.

Even if I'm not hungry. Even if there's nothing edible in there.

Even if I know there's nothing in there because I just checked twelve minutes ago.

written at 09:19 p.m.

Monday, April 7, 2008
To all the ladies - I'm sorry. I'm so very, profoundly sorry.

Because the best, most excellent and charming and squishable boyfriend/fiancé/husband in all the world? He's mine. He's ALL MINE.

And I'm not giving him back, ever.

written at 12:09 a.m.

Monday, February 25, 2008
By all means marry. If you get a good wife, you'll become happy. If you get a bad one, you'll become a philosopher. (Socrates)

Like everything which is not the involuntary result of fleeting emotion but the creation of time and will, any marriage, happy or unhappy, is infinitely more interesting than any romance, however passionate. (W.H. Auden)

They dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake. (Alexander Pope)

[Marriage] is the merciless revealer, the great white searchlight turned on the darkest places of human nature. (Katherine Anne Porter)

Marriage is the operation by which a woman's vanity and a man's egotism are extracted without anaesthetic. (Helen Rowland)

Ninety five days to go ...

written at 05:32 p.m.

Friday, January 4, 2008
I suppose it makes for an interesting compliment, when a guy who is not your fiancé says you are "a good catch."

written at 11:22 p.m.

Saturday, October 27, 2007
So yesterday after BIOL 455 I accompany Sam to Metrotown. We stop by the food court because, well, four classes in a row make me hungry.

Then this guy comes up to our table. And he says to Sam, "I'm sorry to bother you and your wife, but could you please spare some change?"

And after he leaves, we're all, "Did he just say ... you and your wife??"

written at 08:40 p.m.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007
There's a part of me that likes to play with fire.

I know myself well enough to know this is also the stupid part.

written at 05:27 p.m.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007
David and I have subscribed to ourselves a summer project.

We are writing a story. We're too lazy to research anything, and real life isn't far-fetched enough, and neither of us is very partial to sci-fi.

So the story is a fantasy.

It's set up so that we write alternating chapters from the first person narrative. His character is a man named Jariel. I am an elf named Eleanor. Everything else we take as it comes.

This is fun because I am free to compose sentences like "the lake stretched towards the horizon like a sheet of lapis lazuli" and "it was another tower, a narrow white steeple tapering into the sky," which rarely appear in my English literature papers. In fact, I've barely played with fiction since grade 9.

So this is somewhat exciting, and makes me feel fourteen again. (Which is, incidentally, David's age. Har har har!)

written at 02:22 p.m.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007
According to a worldwide study commissioned by Dove, roughly 2% of women consider themselves beautiful.

"Two percent!" I raged at David. "Isn't that sad?"

"Are you one of them?"

I have it easy. I have people telling me all the time - and not just Kevin, either, although admittedly he has been remarkably good for my ego.

But it seems that today's youth, in particular, suffer from a false understanding of the word beauty. Some believe the term applies and flaunt it. Others are convinced it doesn't and struggle with inferiority complexes.

I see girls whose self-images feed off the praise they receive from their peers. I know teens desperate for others to give them the approbation they cannot give themselves.

They have taken beauty and made it shallow.

There's a difference, you know, between being "beautiful" and being beautiful. The former is preoccupied with facial symmetry, waist-to-hip ratio, and the relative salaries of supermodels. But these things have an unfortunate tendency to wither on the vine.

Because true beauty is not the image reflected back at us in the mirror. It's the quality revealed to others through our actions.

Beauty is character.

As such it is both universally desirable and universally attainable.

written at 08:58 p.m.

Thursday, April 19, 2007
Sarah is feeling ornery.

Sarah is ornery after discovering that studying under direct sunlight causes her to fall asleep.

Sarah is also ornery because she hasn't seen Kevin in fourteen days and may be suffering from withdrawal.

Sarah is not appreciative of her Shakespearean lit and biochem finals falling on the same day - tomorrow.

Sarah is admitting, however, that biochem and genetics on the same day would be worse.

Sarah is of the opinion that people who tYpe lik dis should be banned from the internet, and especially Facebook.

written at 07:28 p.m.

Thursday, February 22, 2007
On Chinese New Year's candy wrappers:

"Since raw materials are chosen, mixing, mixing, shaping, come from the professional technician with remarkable technological experience" [sic].

written at 10:47 a.m.

Thursday, February 15, 2007
I am fluctuating between
white-hot rage at Justin Sterling

and

ecstasy
because the ring is so beautiful.

written at 01:38 p.m.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007
I have a bruise on my back from dance class. Because part of the routine involves a roll on the floor. A very cool roll, mind you, but evidently I lack that protective layer of fat which is supposed to cushion my vertebrae.

written at 06:57 a.m.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007
An Asian woman was with her daughter on the 19 bus this afternoon.

Because of the detrimental effects of snow on traffic in Vancouver, the bus was taking so impossibly long to turn onto Kingsway that she got off, went grocery shopping, then walked ahead to the next stop and got back on the same bus.

written at 10:05 p.m.

Monday, January 8, 2007
The shame of being a Vancouverite who has never hit the slopes finally overpowered me, so I tagged along with Kevin and his group on a two-night trip to Big White.

It was awesome. It was also a miracle that I was able to go at all, so even if it wasn't awesome I'd still be happy.

Snowboarding was easier to learn than I expected. But also much, much more painful. After the first full day I was aching ALL OVER. When I bent my knees, they screamed. When I rotated my shoulders, they threatened to mutiny. I told Kevin I was too tired to eat.

I actually prefer moderate difficulty slopes to the easy ones. Mainly because "slow areas" kill me; I always fail to build up enough momentum to coast through. So I end up stuck. I'd rather the trail be 45 degrees all the way down than riddled with flat places. Anyway.

Voil¨¤ -- a chronicle of our LONG journey back.

4:30 Trek home begins. Drivers relay info via walktie-talkie.

4:45 Van #3 (the really old one) veers out of control and plows into snowdrift. I am on Van #3. Truck heading to Kelowna kindly tries to tow us back onto road. Rope snaps. Truck volunteers to drive back up mountain to fetch chain. Second rescue attempt successful.

5:50 All vehicles resume journey.

6:35 Emergency bathroom stop at fire hall. (Reminiscent of Bowen Island incident anyone?)

7:00 Dinner break at Costco in Kelowna. Mmm, pizza and orange juice.

7:45 Drive continues. All drivers rationed a can of Red Bull. I try some; it leaves a nasty medicinal aftertaste. View from windshield resembles "starfield" screensaver exaggerated tenfold. Visibility nearly nonexistent.

9:40 Accident up ahead leaves us stuck in traffic. Lengthy wait ensues.

11:00 Brief stop at Petro Canada in Merritt to refuel.

11:10 No significant improvement in road conditions along highway from Merritt to Hope. Only able to average 60 km/h.

1:45 SUV #1 requires rear tire change.

2:20 Resume driving. I manage to half-sleep for half an hour.

3:30 Finally reach Hope for quick break at Shell station. Kevin has trouble staying awake.

3:40 Roads better beyond Hope. Yay.

4:45 Unloading vehicles at Pastor's house in Burnaby. We made it? Really?

5:10 Reach home in 8 minutes thanks to absence of traffic.

5:30 After brushing teeth I fall into bed and pass out.

9:30 I wake up without jetlag, amazingly enough.

Shouts out to my bao bei for your encouragement, compassion, and infinite patience. I knew I'd have the best snowboarding instructor ever.

written at 07:02 p.m.

Thursday, December 28, 2006
In my little utopia, this is what I would've gotten for Christmas:

1. A grand piano. Like the lovely Estonia grand at church, or one of those nifty new baby grands with recording equipment. The old Mason & Risch at home is slowly dying ...

2. A sound system. Because after all this time I'm still leery of hearing my own voice over a microphone, and it's a reaction I need to overcome.

3. While I'm there, sound for the computer downstairs. That missing feature is driving me crazy.

4. Something to read. Whatever, really, as long as it's a thick, thick volume. Though I'm still a sucker for good fiction.

5. Clothing gift cards. Something I never imagined wanting until this year. And gift cards because only I know what I will or will not wear.

6. A space in ISV's summer volunteer work-travel program in Costa Rica, along with necessary resources (read: funding).

7. Bass tablature charts. Come to think of it, this is probably available online, in which case the guitar itself would be nice.

8. Snow. Lots of it everywhere except on the roads.

All tongue-in-cheek, of course. It's been a lovely Christmas, and it doesn't even feel over yet.

written at 03:54 p.m.

Friday, December 8, 2006
I have never felt less like studying in all of my prior existence. And my genetics exam of doom is, oh, 3.25 hours away.

It's like IB was the acme of my intellectual prowess and it's all downhill skiing from there.

written at 12:12 p.m.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006
There was a lady toting a handful of grocery bags at the bus stop on Kingsway and Main yesterday evening. By the time the bus finally showed up, her milk had frozen solid. It made clunking noises against the bench.

I'm loving the snow! The downside being that transport -- in particular public transport -- becomes the ultimate test of patience and civility.

written at 02:36 p.m.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006
"How did you have time to curl your hair?"

"Well. The truth is, I didn't have time to straighten my hair."

written at 08:19 a.m.

Saturday, October 14, 2006
Since mid-June, I've updated my repertoire of Vienna Teng song transcriptions:

Blue Caravan
Nothing Without You
The Tower
Momentum
Between
The Atheist Christmas Carol
Drought
Lullabye for a Stormy Night
Decade and One
My Medea
Enough to Go By

"Blue Caravan" isn't the same without the cello baseline. I still suck at playing "Drought." "My Medea" was surprisingly easy to unravel, more tricky to deliver. "Decade and One" is impossible; so many subtle nuances. Overall, I'm best with "Anna Rose," "Lullabye," and "Momentum."

Thing is, I transcribed the six from "Momentum" to "Decade and One" in one day. Last Friday, when I really should've been prepping for midterms. Six songs, in probably about as many hours, including a break for dinner. Maybe strategic procrastinators all have our pet activity -- Cat translates French things, I brush up my play-by-ear technique. There should be a term for this.

But I'm getting better!

written at 01:08 p.m.

Saturday, October 7, 2006
I'm not in Chem Honours or Co-op, but I know what you mean.

Not that I worry about being in the wrong major; frankly, I just chose something I liked and plan to stick with it until grad. I enjoy literature and cellular biology, I really do, but passion? Probably not ... at least not in an academic context.

Know what my real passion is? It's music. It's singing. (Bet some of you didn't know that.) Admittedly, it hasn't always been this way.

I'm thinking of another term in Chinese, one my mom used on me just yesterday, when she remarked that I was only going through the motions of studying, that I'd lost the enthusiasm I used to have for school. Literally, it translates to "divided heart"; again, not giving something my all because I'm distracted by something else. She was, of course, referring to Kevin.

I suppose I'd be lying if I claimed our relationship doesn't affect my attitude towards academia. It does. But what it has done is show me that there's so much more to life than just school. There's a whole world out there that couldn't care less about my GPA.

Because, see, we want to get married.

And it'll be a new road after that. I'm perfectly willing to do lab work, although he'd prefer me to work as his secretary. And even though financial advising is in NO way my fort¨¦ (anything beyond "more in than out" is beyond me), I believe I could handle that.

In any case I am determined to finish my degree, if only for completion's sake. Also because education has always been important to me. And really, I love being a student. I'm grateful for this window of "taking in" while not having to pay bills and stuff.

written at 02:57 p.m.