Nyotaimori

Today at the Sultan Mosque by Arab Street in Singapore, we were allowed inside by the reception guy after he proclaimed us “too sexy, too sexy ladies, must cover up the sexy sexy,” and gave us these long button-up shirts/nightgowns to wear. mine was brown and annette’s (marina’s mom) was green. i so wish i had taken a picture of us in these now, but sadly i am not on top of my picture taking game. i blame it on the heat. or possibly on my phobia of being labeled a tourist, even a too too sexy one.

there was a black and white cat wandering the entry grounds with his enormous balls hanging all out and meowing chainsaw loud. so unhappy this cat. was it the distended balls? i am not sure. too too sexy, i said to him as i tried to take his photograph. but him and his wriggling balls moved too fast for me.

i did wander around taking pictures of the mosque. inside outside. cute muslim boy admonished me that this was the ablution area. i wasn’t sure if it was a keep out, no girls warning or a gentle remark to a photo-crazed tourist. but i think his friendly smile lends credence to the latter (and he couldn’t even see the too sexy sexy!)

i bought six saris in Little India. this is a confession. would anyone like a sari? name a color(s). they’re between $12-17 US. fucking gorgeous. it’s not so much a sari, admittedly, as the 6 yards or whatever of sari fabric. you’ll need to find a detailed guide on how to wrap it around yourself into sari high fashion.

kristen: signs for ‘car parks’ are everywhere. everywhere, i tell you.

happy birthday marina on time this year! whoooooo-hooooo!

i don’t really have the time or the awake-ness to write anything good. but i’ll see you in 2 day…3? 3 days in singapore, baby! (fucking 18 hour plane rides)

love,

michele

i honestly came to work today just to play my 5 Kingdom of Loathing characters (incarnate, lunch, yer_mom, polka_dots, and spca). i’m only going to be here 3 hours, and already i have wasted half an hour breaking a priceless pottery object from the ming dynasty.

mind you, it was already broken and being held together with blue sticky tac, (for some obscure reason), as i discovered when the part i was holding broke away from the other part and totally shattered the legs off that stool/candle holder/doo-hickey thing.

there’s a man on a ladder outside my window with a soapy sponge! what does one do in this situation? i waved and smiled politely.

…i could push the ladder over.

i can’t figure out what the attraction is to the book versions of the bourne trilogy by robert ludlum. they’re absolutely horrid. it’s all useless talk, talk, talk, which then degenerates into italicized outpourings of emotional garbage. everytime marie or jason/david/delta/whatever the hell he’s taken to calling himself now, feel the need to internally scream out the other one’s name, it’s all of a sudden, “Oh David, my darling! Are you ALL RIGHT? Have they hurt you? I’m giving you this clue about a tree, David. Darling, do you understand? The tree is for Canada, Canada is for consulate. Darling darling darling David David.” or “I WILL BE JASON BOURNE! MARIE, do you hear me? I will hurt them for you, for us, for my former family–can I use the word ‘strafe’ again? Come on. Let’s go. Frenchman. Carlos is for Cain, Cain is for Delta. Delta Delta Delta. Marie, my love! I need you! Rest is a weapon. Rest is a weapon. Rest is a weapon.”

fucking jason bourne, pansy ass.

the thing is that it’s relatively obvious that these books are written by a man for men. but in its bizarre own little universe the male lead is completely crippled by his emotions, constantly crying for his woman, and a repetitive little bastard.

the woman is a little more complex. she was this well-known canadian economist, and then she became this feeble-minded little wet-sop female constantly claiming that the man ‘needs’ her and subsuming her whole self to do the ‘thousands of things a woman does to make a home.’ but she also has the resources to escape several different government special forces on her own. but it’s, of course, all due to the training she received from him. in the end, her whole character is just a foil to build up david with love and support so that he can go off and be jason bourne and then return to her weeping and she can comfort him some more.

but why, WHY? is this man supposedly a hero to the male reader? is it the lure of all too human with crippling flaws? is it his ability to persevere and succeed in the face of all odds? is it the fact that he’s probably still suckling at his momma’s teat? i just don’t understand this whole phenomenon. and yet i read that whole damn second book, griping at it madly all the way.

i really don’t remember the first one being this awful. i do remember when i saw the first matt damon vehicle in the theatre, i was pissed at how much it deviated from the book and claimed that the book was better. anyway, i’m going to see the second one today after work (AMC Kabuki, 5:15, anyone who’s interested), but this time i will not go in expecting it to be anything like the book. and honestly, if it could possibly be completely different that would be excellent. it’s got to be better than the book anyway. anything would be better than the book. smashing my face in poo would be better than the book.