You know, first week of school notwithstanding (or perhaps precisely because of the first week of school), I'm fairly taken with the new year. None of my classes are physically painful to be in (nothing really compares to the sheer horror that was Property Law, twice a week no less, and like surviving the war that sure as hell makes you stronger), the majority of my classes are noon-time affairs so I get an adequate amount of sleep, and, most importantly, with Mavis and Vincent every hour of every day is a party, or at least as much of a party as say, Constitutional and Administrative Law can be.

It's really bizarre after almost two years of absolutely hating school to suddenly find myself not minding it. No actually that's a lie, it's not bizarre at all, it's very straightforward - for the better part of the last two years I've been (on the average) unhappy, and now that's all behind me I realise goddamn you know, I'm actually an upbeat person and I do actually really love where I am in life (not the doing law bit, but I guess it could be worse I could be doing, god forbid, economics) and especially the people in it, and honestly speaking I'm really pleased by how it's all turned out.

K then, enough new-year-related twirling. What I meant to livejournal about was this art exhibition that I did that just opened yesterday, and the tragicomedy that was the gala opening. See, my university has a well-intentioned attempt at an arts festival annually, so this year the film society (i.e. my lovely secretary Athena, and I), with the help of the artistically established Chua Chye Teck (thank god, seriously, if not we would have been flailing about dying horribly all the time with our inexperience and general lack of ability and direction) did this film noir piece. Essentially we made a space up to look like a film noir bar with a stage and a bar and a diva dressing table, and had wigs, hats and trenchcoats for people to come in and dress up, which may not quite be high art, but at least it's a sizeable amount of fun. Actually I don't think it's an art piece at all, it's just an amorphous fun thing as opposed to an exploration in the transience of identity, but hey what do I know, all I do is read comics and make silly noises at my kid brother, I'm so low brow.

Anyway, so at the gala opening we were supposed to give the VIPs (the university president, the Dean of Students, some admin people and I don't know some artsy networked sorts?) some sort of artist tour which involved some sort of presentation, which was a wholly horrifying prospect (and a subsequently wholly horrifying presentation) that I never really recovered from. After said presentation People of Apparent Import congregated in small groups around the exhibition being all networky, laughing unnaturally exchanging namecards. Athena and I pretty much just stood there and tried to blend in with the coat hangers, which wasn't at all difficult to do because everyone was pretty much absorbed in their social expansions to bother talking to the artists about their work (which I didn't mind at all), before everyone adjourned somewhere else to continue their mingling - over some performances, but mostly food and alcohol in plastic cups with delusions of grandeur (you know the sort I'm talking about - airline plastic with necks and large bases hoping to pull off looking like glasses). The most ridiculous thing about the whole affair was the aspirations towards classiness (with what I imagine is the important business or art crowd socialising) in front of art that is largely, well-intentioned at most, a laudable effort (considering inexperience, time and resource constraints) etc, which is amusing and appropriate all things considered.

Which isn't to say that I didn't enjoy doing the exhibition (though it was hectic and crazy, somewhat), or that the gala was a complete waste of time (it wasn't - I spent most of it avoiding the main event and instead trying on costumes and taking pictures with Athena), but I'll put up pictures soon and you'll get the idea. Anyway, if you're in Singapore and you happen to be at SMU between the hours of 11am to 8pm from now till the 24th of January (at least I think that's when it's on till), you might want to pop by the school of Economics gallery and check my exhibition out (but then again you might not, but that's cool too, I won't take offense XP).

So we're making a zombie movie, and we've just started the dirty work (previously it had just been a movie, and now finally there are zombies in it). It is full of grossness and excitement and is exhausting, much in the same way I figure childbirth is but I think we kind of get a lot messier and involve more people. But it is very exciting! And! I shall be! Passing out now! There is much to do tomorrow!

I think I need to pack my room, because I had promised myself I would, the same way I vowed to stop camwhoring and look where that ended up (on the bright side, since losing my battery charger, my vain designs have been thwarted somewhat, along with the Chinese New Year weight [OH ERK MY VAST EXPANSE OF GUT ;_;] but during the visitations this was something awful because I had the cutest cheongsam and no pictures of me in it ;_;). Chinese New Year was warm and boyfriended, and highly profitable for said extension since he acquired a little over a hundred bucks by virtue of his presence, and now oh god with the bloat and the Shakespearean tragedy. I used to have adventures to recount, pictorically and with great histrionics, but of late the daily drama consists of work at my boyfriend's mother's clinc (which isn't dramatic at all because I bum about, register patients and dispense, and get paid pretty damn well doing it) and then hanging out with the boy, for whom I must come up with a more exciting name, surely (LOVERBOY is a hilarious title but only when it's not your relationship, as is say, HOT HUNK OF MANLYNESS or DISHY MANCANDY, and Fuck Friend, while cute, doesn't quite brace). And while life has never been better it's not exactly cinematic when recounted, for it is functional and surprising, and to go on at length about it just degenerates into a pile of sap and sex and waaaay too much information (ask my friends, they'll tell you!). But really, room-packing, so I can redecorate; my incredibly sexy Snoopy bedsheets are becoming increasingly embarrassing, and I might as well deploy my boyfriendly resources because I'm all about abusing positions (like I said, TMI TMI, ahaha).



JILLY, ILU FOR PICTURE-TAKING THOUGH WE DISGUST YOU. HAHAHA MAYBE WE'LL NAME ALL OUR CHILDREN AFTER YOU. YOU CAN BE ALL THEIR GODMOTHERS, WAHA. AND WE CAN LIVE IN YOUR HOUSE!

A couple of days back in a bookstore:
Zavier: Jan, that CJ boy checked you out!
Me: OMG SERIOUSLY? WHERE WHERE I DIDN'T SEE
Zavier: Over there, but not worth looking at. I know because I was checking him out.

Seriously, what would I do without my fabulous gay man-friends? You are all FABULOUS.


I dramatise and exaggerate the way people breathe, but in truth there is no place I would rather be, all things considered. And I say all things considered as if I've lived through several wars, having lost the use of my legs in the process, and am currently supporting my similarly invalid family by selling the rest the few still functioning body parts I have on my being on the street, but that's not it at all, because there is no place I would rather be because of all things considered rather than in spite of - there's nothing and no one I would rather be, there's no one I would rather surround myself with than the people I love now, and even what gets me down in the slightest respect I honestly couldn't wish for a better rain on my parade, whatever it may be from day to day.

I spent my day down at the National Library reading since my Lit papers are coming up, and god you know, every once in a while I am struck with this fierce affection for life, not in the disgusting wide-eyed happy sunshine girl sense, but more like a inspirational connection with humanity and the greater cosmic order sort of deal ahahaha. No I'm kidding, but in all seriousness there's so much that excites me (also partly because I'm a drama queen, but getting away from that and to the Universal Human Condition) it's slightly overwhelming in the best way possible how much there is to be done at every moment, and even if you've got absolutely nothing tangible going on for you goddamn, there's no reason for woe and violins, much less if your lot is somewhere in between fscking amazing and godawful like most; While I was there this old guy sat in the reference library all day reading The Collected Works of Oscar Wilde and that made me remarkably happy, as did the reading list I compiled and all these things I never knew until just. Actually in truth it's just been far too long since I've sat down and read because I'm a bit of a moron, but really there's so much going on for humanity as a whole if went out alone and found things to like about life (like the new advertisment to encourage people to report suspiscious objects showing at MRTs, which is full of great drama and an Important Message, oh yes).

Also, Gay Bar played twice on random play all (out of 3872389472384723 million tracks, what are the chances?), which can only mean that life is generally awesome. And on the way home walking through the MRT station The Shins' New Slang came on, and it dawned on me that as much as my life is sometimes a bit of a cosmic joke it is kind, though it may take a while to come around, for long ago there was a boy who sang along for a bit there was nothing more in the world I could ask for and if it is possible to experience that sort of perfection for even a single moment out of say, eighteen years of being alive rather unremarkably, how can you possibly say you've got nothing going for you, as fashionable as your melancholy (or exam-related angst, anguish of uncertainty or terror of the future, whatever you want) may seem?

---
Brian Friel's Dancing at Lughanasa

"And what is so strange about that memory is that everybody seems to have been floating on those sweet sounds, moving rhythmically, languorously, in complete isolation; responding more to the mood of the music than to its beat. When I remember it, I think of it as dancing. Dancing with eyes half closed because to open them would break the spell. Dancing as if language had surrendered to the moment - as if this ritual, this wordless ceremony, was now the way to speak, to whisper private and sacred things, to be in touch with some otherness. Dancing as if the very heart of life and all its hopes might be found in those assuaging notes and those hushed rhythms and in those silent and hypnotic movements. Dancing as if language no longer existed because words were no longer necessary."

So everyone and their grandmothers (mine, at least, who kept trying to pray over me while I was on the phone talking to people about said cryptic important things when she visited) wants to know what went down, but alas I am shifty and a horrible person so the public will know no such thing. I mean, Christ, people from school read this so obviously I want
everyone to know about my sexcapades ahaha I'm just being really obnoxious and milking this for what it's worth, aren't I? But find me on MSN (aestival@gmail.com) and I might tell you, since it's only the best thing that's ever happened to me, in all seriousness, and I'll be taking a while to deal with the onslaught of reality and it's banality oh dear god what am I going to do. But anyway, here's what Friday was like, with pictures.

( Hot damn, they don't make them like that over here! )

Yesterday was seven sorts of magical, but no one's going to believe me because that sort of thing doesn't actually happen in real life, and besides it's a little embarrassing anyway - it's not really the sort of thing you would want on a public entry, ooh isn't this scandalous? And that's all I'm saying about it, except it was the sort of thing that you wouldn't believe in a movie and especially not in your life, the sort of thing that is soundtracked perfectly and everything is just so unbelievably in place.

In Singapore v-day's almost done, thank God, but everywhere else around the world except maybe Australia there are things to be excited about and giggle about insanely. The day's still young - do something incredibly stupid for someone you kind of don't mind today! Any time's a good time to do something stupid that doesn't matter very much (and it's even better if it does), especially so on v-day. It's all to make life a little less intense and more exciting, that's all, unless you're one of those with intensity and true love in which case yes, that may be slightly preferrential. But yeah, don't take things too seriously and go out there and do silly things! It's a good, good day for all manner of embarrassment.

Then again, I am spending Valentine's Day alternating between being on eljay and writing a History play (it's a musical!), so I might not be the authority on this sort of thing.

Plunkett and Macleane has possibly the worst direction there ever was. And the worst soundtrack to boot. But oh, I do so love Robert Carlyle! All badass and shooting people and robbing them! Swallowing and shitting jewels! Liv Tyler would be incredibly pretty, if not for her awful eyebags, because honestly, they're most of her face. But Robert Carlyle! And his sidekick person, whom he grabbed and shook and talked to while looking slashy like he's going to kiss him! Dude. But truly, the direction was godawful. Firstly, the gallows were about fourty feet high, with dramatic music, and the only show I've ever seen where the hero gets hung, the girl gets to cry, the guy gets to look brave at the same time nostalgiac, there's smoke and expolsions, and no one dies, with a valiant rescue attempt by his friend, the girl, and some random ponce who was only part of it because they couldn't pull it off without to the same effect. Excessive, much? Also, the worst vengeful!death sequence in the world. Director should be crucified.

There was also running to bright light in the sewer. WTF, mate?

I made my mom watch the Full Monty, and have discovered that the really sweet gay guys are named Lomper and Guy. I love Guy to bits! Running up walls! Looking like Rupert Everett! Love! And Robert Carlyle doing strippy dances! I love so much! Love!

In yesterday's post I mentioned people coming over. We were rather random, so we took pictures of hat!downthehill. I have concluded that downthehill looks silly in photos. Or it just may be the lack of eyes.

( Or the sunglasses, give or take a nose or so. )

What an extraordinarily strange girl.

And since I've been on about movies lately, what about another meme?

( Yes please! )

On the matter of movies, everyone's seen bunnies re-enact the Exorcist in thirty seconds. But wait, what's this? More bunny action! Now with The Shining, Jaws, Alien and Titanic. Also, cyrilavenue's been making movies, until she was violently dispossessed of her video camera, which means our great movie-making plans are put on hold currently. This sucks.

I suppose after my periodic Slayer dreams, this meme is only appropriate. ( Not that I'm complaining. )It occurs to me now that I'm missing out on dream!Spuffy!action, which saddens me, quite. I suppose I'll have to wait until I watch the DVDs of the later seasons for that to be brought on. Likesay, a week or so ago I remember something about Angel and someone wanting to kill him, as they always do. He's awfully sweet in dreams, that one. Still, lack of Spike is disappointing.

My prelims are, as of this morning, as good as over, seeing as the only paper I have left is Geography MCQ, which I have already somewhat studied for in preparation for its paper two and have a great deal of time to salvage anything in comparison for what I had been given for the course of this week.

So the exams were bad - let's not go into detail. Instead there should be singing and dancing in the streets. In view of such, I spent the remainder of the morning at logomania's house, playing video games with her, black_archer, jillanthropic,ebriositas_, Debo and Pui Khuan, after which I met cyrilavenue and downthehill, and they (and Pui Khuan) followed me home. A Hard Day's Night was viewed, with much squealing indeed, and I love them so, followed by the Full Monty, which is arguably the point of this post.

The Full Monty was utterly brilliant. Almost died laughing, and of Robert Carlyle's hotness in leather. Completely utterly hot, in a brilliant Rothesque manner, too. I heart! So much! And the slash I completely did not see coming. They're incredibly sweet together, those two, though I can't name them off-hand. The one who kept running up the wall and the redhead. And dude, Robert Carlyle doing strippy-dances! What's there not to like? Also, the subplot between Dave and his wife was kind of sweet. I quite like Mark Addy. And the little boy telling Gaz off! Policeman hats! So, so much love!

So, heart! Also, according to Shimona, Plunkett and Macleane is showing at 10pm on Channel i tomorrow. So watch it, indeed. I heart Robert Carlyle, which I think I have done since Hitler. And now I really have to watch Trainspotting again because Begby! Just brilliance, like! (And incoherence on my part.)

cyrilavenue has made me a lovely lovely squeey Edward Norton icon, from Primal Fear, back when he was really young and aah I could die. Primal Fear being especially important to me since it started me on Nortonism, and began the Fight Club love from there. Sam! I love you! It's so so pretty and I bought you pink soap! Bright pink soap! The right bright pink! Find me on Monday.

Look! Look at the pretty!



Aah! Aaron Stampler! Such a hot, hot, sweet thing, and I want to marry you, issues and all! And his hair is so lovely! And the accent! Aah! The stammer! Can I bring you home, please?

I have bought the Italian Job and watched it. It's okay, I guess. Entertaining, nevertheless B-grade. Edward Norton was uhm, a bad guy, still hot, though the moustache kind of threw me off. And there wasn't very much of him anyway, being far less interesting a character than his typical role, so I can see his point in not having wanted to do it. I mean, Edward Norton picks his films very carefully, every one of them, that I've seen thus far, anyway, besides the Italian Job, has been brilliant in its own right. I mean, sure, Norton's participation aids its brilliance muchly, but the film projects he signs on with, well, rock. He's done under twenty films in his career, which is very few for an actor of Norton's acclaim, and it says something - that his roles really matter to him. So in that way, Job was a bit of a let down, but I expected it since there must have been a reason for Norton's reluctance. But! Seth Green! Really funny, really great, and yeah. Redeemed it by far. In fact, I'll go to the extent of saying it's worth watching, if only for Seth Green. He reminds me of someone, but I can't place it. But really cute and funny, and now I'll have to get Buffy off Shimona (LOL. No, not that way) to appreciate Seth Green, because I completely missed out on early Buffy. Mark Wahlberg was blah, Charlize Theron was blah, but Seth Green was yay!

Seth Green YAY!