MAUS

I liked Maus a lot. I thought the author was very creative in that he took such a serious and touchy subject and turned it into a comic, something that is usually looked upon as light and for entertainment purposes. When first given the assignment to read the book, I did not think it was going to be an interesting read, for in my mind, comics and serious history just don’t mix. What a pleasant surprise I had. A story in a graphic form, readers would tend to take it in as a story, as they would a Spiderman comic or Calvin and Hobbes (one of my personal favorites). That, in itself, can be a big plus, or a minus, depending on the reader and perspective. A comic would definitely appeal to a wider range of readers, because of its simplicity and pictures, and we all know that most people prefer pictures to words. Even young teenage boys and girls would have the opportunity to pick up the book and read it, as a book about the nazis which are usually thick and wordy, would never even have caught their attention. Besides its obvious appeal, having a story about the nazis written in a graphic form takes away all touchiness from the subject. Readers would not get offended or anything of that sort because Art Spiegelman is only telling his father’s story in a fun way, including little bits and parts about his mother, not a history lesson. Maus in a graphic format makes it a lighter read, therefore appealing to a wider range of readers.

Maus being a light read, however, can also be a big minus. Given that the subject of the nazis is always a heavy and touchy subject, making it a light read gives the impression of unimportance. Because Maus is so storylike, readers would probably only remember how Anja killed herself, or the ongoing friction between Mala and Vladek. Artie’s father’s story would seem like a background, much like the many stories of their youth that grandfathers like to tell to their grandkids. I do remember the story, however, and therefore I think that if history book writers wrote like Art, I would have loved History in school so much better, the way I like it when my father tells me stories from the history books rather than reading it myself.

I really liked how Art used animals in telling the story. Although it was rather confusing in the beginning, since the character’s faces were all the same, I slowly began to see how Art used different styles of drawing to convey emotions the mood in certain scenes. I particularly liked Art’s representation of the Germans, Jews, and Poles as Cat, Mouse, and Pig. The characters are symbolic in that the Jews as mice are the at the mercy of the Germans as cats, and no matter what they do, mice simply cannot defeat cats, and therefore, all they can do is hide or run. I have personally seen cats attack birds and mice just for the fun of it, and then leave their dead bodies when they are no longer struggling. I think this represents the Nazis very well, how Art’s father tells of the gestapo who shoot Jews for the fun of it. However, one panel towards the end of the book stood out to me the most. It is the part when Vladek finally convinces Anja to leave for Hungary, and it turns out that the smugglers themselves were working for the nazis, and turned them in on the way. The panel shows the gestapo taking off Vladek’s pig face mask. With just a single panel, the intensity of the situation is immediately clear – how Vladek was trying to disguise himself as a Pole, and with the mask off, his true identity was now known and that it was doom for Vladek and Anja. Morover, the jagged edges to the panel made the situation seem more intense and urgent. In one small picture, so much is written that would probably span a few pages if put into words. Through this, we see the truth behind the saying A picture paints a thousand words.

No schedule attached.

First and foremost, I would change my name to something simple and monosyllabic, like Jo, to spare the “Huh?”s and “Excuse me?”s when I tell people my name. My moods have been known to change like the weather in Indiana, therefore, if I were to run away, I would choose the travel the country in a car, spending the night under the stars, bathing in hotel restrooms or springs, and doing whatever I feel like at that particular moment. Going for days or weeks without bathing doesn’t seem that bad: I don’t like the dull routine of bathing anyway. I would travel with one or two friends, preferably just one, but since I can’t stand being around someone for too long, I’d probably take two.

The one thing at the top of my list would be catching the beautiful sunsets and sunrise in various places. Even now, the view of the sunset and sunrise from my balcony overlooking the Wabash river(which is currently flooded, so the trees look like they’re floating on water) never ceases to amaze me. What more being able to lie on the grass watching the sun rise and set in the forest through the trees or on a beach where the amazing colors of the sun lighting up the sky would be reflected on the water, for as far as my eyes can see. I kinda miss being greeted by chirping birds and insects waking up in the morning. Probably only happens in tropical countries. Jumping off cliffs doesn’t seem like a bad idea too, except I don’t know how to swim. Which only adds to the fun.

And then, I would spend a few days or weeks in cities, like Chicago or New York, talking and making friends with the homeless people. I think these people are interesting, I have always wanted to meet them and hear their stories, but when I go holidaying during breaks, all my friends want to do is either go shopping or eat. I once spent hours talking to a trishaw rider after midnight in New York and he was one of the most interesting people I have met in a long time. I would also bring my guitar out and sing my heart out on the streetsides, making my own tunes or singing some well known tunes which I hope would brighten someone’s day. Perhaps I could do duets with those homeless guys on the streets. I bet some of them are better than me.

Next, I want to go to Hollywood and watch a movie being filmed. I have recently gained a slightly more than keen interest in acting, not so much the deed of it, but rather the curiosity of how the actors and actresses on the big screen manage to hold their expressions together and sometimes convey so much with a subtle change in facial expressions, a twitch of the eyebrows, or the angle of their head. It is so fascinating to me that I hardly enjoy movies in the conventional sense anymore. Instead, I subconsciously watch the actors and actresses and analyze what they did, how did their facial expressions change with their thoughts, or the insignificant things like a boy playing basketball in the background can affect the mood of the scene and make it seem more real.

My dad used to tell me “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” Thus, when in America, I want to do as the Americans do. I want to audition for a movie, or American Idol, or something like that. I want to feel how it feels to wait in line in the blistering heat, or getting drenched in the rain for hours, just for the chance to get a minute or even seconds of fame. We frequently see how this unquenchable passion for fame can blind these aspiring stars of their singing abilities, or in most cases, disabilities. Therefore, going by the principal of don’t do, don’t know, I want to experience this firsthand so that hopefully I can better understand that flaming passion that leads people to chase fame so fervently. I just hope I don’t give up halfway, though I would almost definitely turn into a grumpy ol’ hag once I actually get to the front of the line. (Alternatively, I can attend a Twilight signing, be it a book or a movie, and get trampled over by fans who are obviously out of their minds.)

The above are my Summer plans, and many more.

Into the Wild.

I feel that Chris’s upper middle class upbringing had a lot to do with the way he acted and his ideals that are so clearly emphasized throughout the book. Being like any normal teenager, he craved to live his life in the extremes, something I do too, from time to time. He was not rich enough to live a life of luxury, yet not poor enough to be needy. That longing to live life in the extremes was probably a major pull in his decision to try to live in the Alaskan wild. He wanted a world where he was left to fend for himself, but at the same time, he was rich enough that the world seemed to belong to him, leaving him wanting nothing more.

It didn’t help too, that his parents were constantly fighting, leaving Chris and his sister, Carine, to fill their own emotional needs. This lead to Chris to harbor ill feelings regarding his parents, probably not so much in the way they treated him, but rather for his sister, whom he felt so protective over. Like any other child, he imagined his parents to be perfect, people he could look up too, people whom he could seek counsel when needed. Learning about his father’s past turned his admiration into disgust, that the very people he had looked up to all his life turned out to be imperfect after all. Chris even mentioned that he felt as if his childhood was just a lie, as if the seemingly blissful childhood he had was just a facade, to hide the discord and trouble that were already present before his birth.

Another thing I find interesting about Chris is how he forms bonds with people and then pulls away. In a way, I think Chris is actually afraid of getting hurt by the people he loves again, just like when he was disappointed with his parents, whom he so looked up to. Subconsciously, Chris is trying to protect himself from being subject to being vulnerable around people any more. Thus we can see that although he really does enjoy the company of the people he meets, he is friendly but never really opening up his heart, never really fully trusting the people who have come to love him, even for the brief time he spends with them.

Ideas I have mulled over for my zine:

Horror stories about my secondary school – Being an old convent school aging more than 100 years old, we used to trade horror stories that have either been witnessed or passed down verbally especially when camping out in the school during Girl Scouts camps. I thought it would be interesting to compile a few of the many stories to make a zine.

Popular phrases or words here in the US that amuse or irritate the hell out of me – Some words and phrases are too embedded into the American spoken vocabulary that makes it sound normal but irritates the hell out of people who are not used to it.

Things that are of sentimental value to me – A few material things that I have accumulated throughout my 19(approaching 20) years that have always reminded me of certain events or coincidences in my life.

How the weather affects my mood – Well, this is not a hard one to write about. After experiencing my first winter anywhere in the world, I thought it was pretty exhausting. The tropical weather, equivalent to Summer here makes me sweat buckets, but I would prefer that over wrapping myself up like a mummy every time I go out.

Legal ages in different countries including the US – Given that underage drinking often witnessed and more widespread, it has always amused me that the legal age for drinking in the US is 21, among the highest in the world.

People who have changed my life in some way or another – A tribute. Few people have changed my life in more ways than they could ever imagine, not all good however. Some with bad actions/intentions, but good outcomes, some good intentions, bad outcomes.

Donkey Kong

Indeed, as Billy Mitchell says, the movie The King of Kong does paint him as ‘a son of a gun’. Throughout the movie, there is not a single scene of Billy playing Donkey Kong neither in private much less in front of a crowd. Given what he says about a great player as someone who has to perform well on demand, it definitely let the audience to believe that Billy was an ex-champion who is way past his era. Portrayed as quite an egoist, it is ironic that Billy comes across as a competition dodger, who ducks every chance he has to play Steve Wiebe head to head.

In the articles, Billy justifies his reluctance to compete at the time of the movie because he “hadn’t played Donkey Kong for a half-year at that point and didn’t see the sense of trying to compete.” Even so, it does not explain his dodging around his own restaurant when Steve is there, or refusal to show up even when Steve travels all the way to an arcade event 20 minutes away from Billy’s home in Florida. This gives us further insight into Billy’s intriguing character, specifically his pride. He is so convinced that he is at the top of his game that he does not want to risk the embarrassment of playing the game in front of an audience and losing to Steve. To Billy, ignorance is bliss. If he cannot know for sure that he would beat Steve, he’d rather not play.

There is only so much of a person’s character that can be exaggerated. I think Billy Mitchell must have done something to piss the directors off, hence his villain part in the movie. It is interesting to note how the camera always lingers on after a person is done talking, to capture the subtle facial expressions and emotions of the person. Two such scenes that I find the most interesting is on Steve and Billy. In the first scene, the camera lingers on Steve’s face after he talks about being disappointed that his Donkey Kong high score was rejected, and we could see tears running down his face. This, to me, further emphasizes Steve’s frustration with the system and his naivety, something the audience can related to. In the second scene, Steve Sanders, Billy’s best friend, is shown talking about Steve Wiebe, but when Billy is asked to comment, he simply says, “I’m not familiar enough with this situation.” Even when Steve Sanders was talking, the camera is directed towards Billy’s face and iron glare, and lingers on their faces for a good 10 seconds. I find this a very effective and creative technique that the directors used to speak the character’s minds without words.

However,we should give the man credit where credit is due. On the 25th anniversary of his record-shattering performance that remained unbeatable for more than a decade, Billy played live, in front of a large audience, including the referees and scorekeeper of Twin Galaxies. He reclaimed the world record at Donkey Kong with a score of 1050200, a narrow margin from Steve’s previous world record, 1049100. True to his nature, Billy was then quoted on mtv.com saying, “I’m Billy Mitchell. I don’t need to run up the score. I just want to put one in the win column. I want to make it competitive. I didn’t want to make it too tough.” So much for pride coming before a fall.

A Tale.

One of the movies that have left an impact on my movie going life is ‘Quantum of Solace’, more commonly known(to me at least) as the second James Bond movie with Daniel Craig in it. Well, I have friends who totally adore Daniel Craig till no end so my ears are constantly bombarded with how cute he is in this movie, or how sexy he was in the other movie. As much as I am hoping this is the last movie he is ever going to act in, I know that it won’t come true. This movie, along with its many charming actors and actresses, takes its place at the top of my ‘worst movies watched’ list.

I have enjoyed the other James Bond movies I have watched. Not because they are utterly unbelievable, but because fast-paced action, wit, and happy endings in which the main actor simply won’t die makes a typical good movie. And by good I mean a movie you’re able to sit in the cinema and watch while laughing with your friends. Not only did the Quantum of Solace make me almost fall asleep a number of times, it was extremely draggy to the point where the storyline just disappeared. I did not fall asleep for two reasons: 1. I paid 9 bucks for the movie, 2. I, being an optimistic person, thought that the foggy plot would clear up and reveal itself to me along the way. It never did.

Its predecessor, Casino Royale, was captivating. I particularly liked his wit and smooth getaway moves. However, I am irked by the fact that he never gets hurt in fights or burning buildings. In real life, no one escapes a building that just got bombed up with just a scratch that miraculously heals the next hour or so, depending on when the next scene is set. Also, there are just too many coincidences peppered throughout the movie so I find it difficult to actually appreciate the plot itself.

I understand however, that in movies, things are supposed to piece together and work out nicely for the benefit of the viewers. This creates a false sense of reality in the viewer’s mind, and thus you get people jumping off a tower claiming to be Superman or girls waking up in the morning expecting their knight in shining armor to sweep them off their feet. In some countries, namely India, movies with happy endings used to be a big thing because people went to the movies to escape the harsh reality of life. Movies were to envelope themselves in this world of make believe where everything turns out okay. Not everything did. One brilliant director decided to make things different for a bit: He made the heroine die in the end. The result? Hundreds of movie goers mobbed the cinema.

Made me wonder that if movies have such a large impact on people’s emotions, what would the Bond movies do to them? Would killing one to ‘protect’ another be thought justified? Would they get into fights expecting to emerge unscathed? Would they take to jumping out of the window in full style expecting to land gracefully on grass?

Peacock feathers

If I were to get a tattoo someday, I would get a peacock feather, fully colored, down the side of my left upper arm.

Peacock feathers are the most colorful bird feathers I have ever seen, and also the most intricate. In the middle of the array of colors is an eye-like pattern staring at you. My siblings and I used to get very excited when we found a peacock feather on the roadside or among the grass. Occasionally my father would bring home a peacock feather he found in the compound of his school and that we would have the time of our lives admiring it. Now, I don’t even know how we managed to fawn over the peacock feather for so long, but I guess it is the simple beauty of the feather that we were admiring. Until now, whenever I think of a peacock feather, the image of my father bringing home a peacock feather from school is conjured up in my head. As kids, we spent a lot of time outdoors, or just talking and playing with each other, because my mother was strict about watching TV, not only when we were kids, but until we graduated from secondary school. After marveling the feather’s colors and beauty, we would keep it pressed in a huge telephone book – the yellow pages. Not only did we have peacock feathers in the book, we also had a myriad of flowers, unique leaves (I particularly liked the leaves that felt like velvet), and other strange-to-our-eyes flora. As we grew older however, the addition to the collection decreased, but time and again, I like to take out those huge  books and thumb through, stopping to admire those beautifully colored peacock flowers.

There are two reasons why I would get the tattoo along the side of my upper arm. To me, a tattoo would be an accessory – sort of like a chain or an earring. A tattoo on my arm would be in a place where I would be able to cover it up, yet would be able to display and admire it if I so wish. If some time in the future were to decide I wanted a smaller one, I would get it just below my left shoulder so that I would be able to see it in the mirror.

The peacock feather tattoo has no particular significance except for the fact that it is beautiful. Whenever there are colors and/or patterns, I think of music, and vice versa. When I see a peacock feather, I instinctively think of jazz, the way I think of Red when I hear Chinese music, Purple with R&B, and Yellow or Pink with pop, depending on the type.  In classical music, we are taught that mixing mismatching notes creates dissonance that are unpleasing to the ear, and that keeping your rhythm is one of the most important rules. Jazz breaks all the rules of classical music training yet creates sounds so beautiful that it is literally impossible to describe. Like jazz, the peacock feather combines contrasting colors and yet never ceases to amaze. For an artist to be able to capture the magnificence of a peacock feather would take a whole lot of skill and hard work.

The second reason why I would want the peacock feather tattoo along the side of my left arm is because there is an injection bump as a result of a required injection taken when I was 11 years old. I have always wanted to color that bump, therefore the bump would be a good disguise as the ‘eye’ of the peacock feather.

Optional Attendance FTW

Summary:

While mandatory school attendance has been enforced so that every child in America would have a quality education, Roger Sipher makes it clear that the the result is quite the opposite. He asserts that there is no proof to show that compulsory attendance actually increased the number of school-attending children. Although this is not the end of public education, abolishing compulsory school attendance would indeed be the start of a real education. This, he says, would give the institution the power to dismiss misbehaving students who interrupt the education of the other students. Also, the move would increase the public’s faith in public schools, and parents would be glad to know that their child’s grades actually reflect their learning. Education would once again be a privilege and this would eventually increase the quality of education in America.

Paraphrase:

Roger Sipher argues at the end of the second paragraph that compulsory school attendance only serves to undermine the quality education that every American child is entitled to.

Quotation:

The problems with compulsory school attendance is that children no longer have the drive to excel in school, knowing that they ‘will be passed from grade to grade… until they receive a high school diploma.’ (paragraph 8,  sentence 3)

Of Golliwogs and Amelia Jane

I see people reading all over the place. In buses, waiting for buses, sitting on the floor while waiting for classes to begin. And then I think of how it would be like in Malaysia, where you rarely even get to see students in school reading, what more while waiting for a bus. In fact, a study that showed Malaysians read only 2 books per year on average. It is sad that you can actually classify reading as a subculture, but thanks to my parents, I am part of that wonderful subculture.

My younger days were filled with books, books, and more books. Instead of growing up watching Disney cartoons on telly, I read them instead. When I see an old Disney movie, it always seems like I had imagined it exactly like that all the while. Those large, long books with pictures and an imagination that made everything come to life were all I needed. On an unrelated note, another thing I recall about my childhood was running or cycling around the neighborhood, disturbing all the boys, picking little red seeds from the ground, and the highlight of my life -  getting chased by dogs, which, in a very short time, developed into a dog-o-phobia.

Soon, I moved on to Enid Blyton books which were to remain with me for a big portion of my childhood. Although I frequently visited the library to feed my book-hunger, the Enid Blyton books still stand out in my vague memory of my childhood. I can still remember the times my sister and I would stay up all night talking about Amelia Jane, or pixies and fairies, and eventually making up our own versions of the stories. Little cottages, buttercups, crooked houses, and golliwogs were real to us, although we had never seen them before. Also, tiptoeing into my bedroom at night hoping to catch my toys come to life was a favorite pasttime for a while, until I was tired of my toys outsmarting me all the time. That didn’t stop me from looking out for gnomes and fairies in my garden or up in the trees.

And then, I grew up. After reading almost all of the Enid Blyton books, if not all, I moved on to random books my friends brought to school, and also the adult books my sister borrows from the library. My parents, being teachers, and thrifty ones at that, discouraged us from buying books, telling us to borrow them from the library instead. Which to me, seems a little weird, considering they were the ones who encouraged me to read in the first place.

Thus, when I reached secondary school, I started to spend a lot of my time in the library (my primary school’s library was filled with kiddy books so I didn’t really bother about them). One day a friend came to school with some Malay novels, and for a period of time, I spent my free time in school reading those novels, which kept coming. My mother didn’t like me reading those particular novels so I hid them in my closet or under my pillow at night. Soon, I started to bug my friends to lend me their books, which more often than not, belonged to their brothers or sisters. I would spend whole nights curled up in my bed reading, and falling asleep in school the next day.

Then, the complaints came. I got into trouble for ‘reading in class’, among many other complaints. But what is secondary school without the fun plus the trouble? I eventually became a librarian and never enjoyed the old dusty library more. Being friends with the chief librarian came with privileges – I was able to borrow any book I wanted, even if it came from the ’staff only’ section, called the RedSpot.

After I graduated from the load of fun and trouble called secondary school, I went on to college and with the freedom of choice, the bookstore became known to my friends as ‘my favorite hangout spot’. Much to my mother’s chagrin however, and my pleasure, I carted new books back every trip home to store them in my book box. But ever since coming to Purdue, my reading has slowed down a whole lot thanks to the internet and a movie theater in front of my apartment. And, a bus service that takes me ‘Wherever Life Takes You’.