Borders… Page One… Harris!?

(prays hard for Kinokuniya. And err, libraries.)

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“Miss Kinnian teeches me how to spel better. She says look at a werd and close your eyes and say it over and over again until you remember. I have lots of truble with ‘through’ that you say THREW and ‘enough’ and ‘tough’ that you dont say ENEW and TEW. You got to say ENUFF and TUFF. Thats how I use to rite it before I started to get smart. Im mixed up but Miss Kinnian says dont worry spelling is not suppose to make sence.”

- extracted from ‘Flowers for Algernon’, Daniel Keyes

#currentread #ootdmatchesbookcover #FREAK

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the boy was down with one of those 24-hr stomach flus on tuesday, at around 1 in the morning. it was to be his first MC from school.

at 6am he cried out, “but today i got spelling!”

yeah, that was my first thought too, ha ha.

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he did his spelling yesterday, all ten words in one go. and got them all correct. (feough. phew.)

next week’s spelling’s going to be tuffer tougher.

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a bit on ‘Flowers for Algernon’: it is a story of Charlie, a 32-yr-old with a low IQ, who undergoes an experimental brain surgery to artificially increase his intelligence. the result is a rapid rise to great intellectual heights. like a modern-day creation of Frankenstein’s, he begins to question his existence, and what makes up humanity since it soon becomes clear that intelligence alone does not fulfil the criteria.

a subset of the story is the far-reaching repercussions of childhood traumas on one’s psyche. one of the memories Charlie gains from his new-found clarity of mind is of constantly being pushed – and punished – by his mother when he was young, to accomplish tasks other kids his age had already mastered, to no avail, and even to detrimental effect. all the doctors told her to give up hope that he would ever become smart. she eventually sent him away to a facility for the mentally-challenged, for the sake of giving her younger daughter of normal intelligence – aptly named Norma – a normal childhood. for Charlie, these memories and events have remained fuzzy all his life, but when they finally emerge from his subconscious, there is pain, anger, grief and disillusionment in place of blissful ignorance.

the part where Charlie’s mother tried to teach him to read, and him trying so hard to please her yet only succeeding to make her even angrier, made me so, so sad.

i ended the book last night feeling wretched.

#greatread

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i gave the boy extra kisses in the morning. i know i’m sometimes hard on him.

they test my patience, each in different ways. but i am just grateful they are normal, average children.

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but seriously, i swear i don’t know what to do about my spelling-nazi-ness!

(brain surgery, anyone…?)

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extracted from here:

My Husband Has a Man Crush on Ryan Gosling

…. “It’s amazing all the things Ryan Gosling can do with his eyes.” He sighed. “The emotions he can convey, with just a look. I could watch him in anything.”

Atticus is a discerning cinemaphile who re-watches his favorite films the way some people re-read books. He is particularly compulsive when it comes to movies about outsiders trying to connect. Matt Damon in The Bourne Identity. Ben Affleck in The Town. Clint Eastwood in anything. But his affection for Ryan Gosling is unparalleled.

I grinned. “You have a man crush on Ryan Gosling!”

Atticus scoffed. He’s 150% guy. Drives a bright yellow sports car with black rims. Rides a red motorcycle. Has my name on tattooed on his bicep. Checks sports stats on his iphone several time a day. And if not for my relentless prodding, he would never even have considered applying product to his unruly hair.

Atticus won’t admit he has a man crush on Ryan Gosling, but it’s true. Recently, he came home with a smorgasbord of Ryan Gosling on Blu-Ray. I sifted through the DVDs. Blue Valentine. Half Nelson. Lars and the Real Girl.

“The Notebook?” I glanced from the swooner responsible for Gosling’s permanent warm, mushy place in the hearts of women the world over to my stridently non-metrosexual husband.

“Best Buy was slashing prices,” he shrugged, sheepishly.

I’m glad Atticus has a man crush on Ryan Gosling. Because I can be open about the fact that I also think he’s one smooth drink of water, and Atticus totally gets it. In fact, we seriously considered changing the date of our camping trip last weekend so we wouldn’t miss the opening of The Ides of March.

In case you have just relocated from Siberia, Ryan Gosling mania is now ruling the zeitgeist. The media has latched on to the actor’s statement about female sexuality being sublimated due to a “patriarchy-dominant society” and has positioned Gosling as a feminist-approved love object. The fervor officially tipped over into satire last weekend with the creation of the uniquely hysterical spoof web site, Feminist Ryan Gosling.

But my husband is proof that Ryan Gosling is not just for women. Or girly-men. Gosling has a brazenly iconoclastic masculinity–an I-am-who-I-am-wounds-and-all-and-I-don’t-give-a-f**ck-what-you-think-ness–that appeals to the most alpha of Alpha Men.

“I kind of think he should only be in indie films, where he’s a crack addict or in love with a doll,” he said. I nodded. But it didn’t matter. There is no question, that as long as we both shall live, we will watch Ryan Gosling in anything, even if it’s Mouseketeer reruns.

hmm, i wonder who *my* husband’s man crush is…

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Kids getting ready to check in while parents embark on new project at Ikea

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i’m a little behind in discovering (and enjoying) graphic novels…

we both finished Craig/Thompson’s delightful ‘Blankets’ and ‘Habibi’ over a few nights, and we’re already craving for more! (we even went down to Planerds@313 on the second day of CNY, optimistically hoping it was open, but it wasn’t, to our disappointment.)

i’ve always been a strictly-prose kinda person, but the first graphic novel i picked up – the husband’s copy of Marjane/Satrapi’s ‘Persepolis’ – surprised me, as a thought-provoking, insightful, evocative piece of literature, for all its comic-like illustrations and black & white panels.

‘Blankets’ and ‘Habibi’ similarly marvelled and moved me.

i personally preferred the more understated ‘Blankets’, a semi-autobiography of thompson’s childhood and adolescence, a beautifully-told memoir of a boy who never quite fitted in, and his questioning of the relationships that formed him during those growing-up years – with his brother, with his parents, with his first love, and importantly, with his religion.

a bittersweet story that i could connect with, for some reason, despite the geographical and cultural gaps.

except, if you look closely, we are in fact of the same generation – certain icons of the early 90s tacked on the walls as clues.

and then, a line from The Cure did it for me.

the husband on the other hand preferred ‘Habibi’, an epic tale of a girl, sold into marriage at 9 years of age, who learned to read and write from her husband…

3 years later her husband was killed by thieves, and she escaped from being sold into slavery, along with an 3-year-old boy abandoned by another slave. she brought him up in the harsh, lonely desert, and as he grew older, the mother-son/sister-brother love evolved into something deeper and complex…

and while that, in essence, is the central storyline, what was more fascinating to me were the other stories interwoven throughout, lifted from the Quran and other sources, of Prophets and angels and their relation to the main characters, and in extension, to us, the reader.

and of course, the beautiful, intricate Arabic calligraphy and motifs (amazing coming from a man who grew up in rural Midwest america, raised as a fundamental Christian no less), with poignant ruminations on each Arabic letter depicted in the ‘magic squares’ (exploring the mysticism of Arabic numerology), as each chapter unfolds…

while its hard cover and sheer volume feels as though you are holding the holy book itself, be forewarned that there are depictions of nudity and sex within the pages so you may feel some discomfort if you aren’t able to reconcile such images in close proximity to the scriptures, but otherwise, read it with an open mind and you may end up appreciating the Quran and its teachings, the Arabic language and its aesthetics, and what they stand for, even more…

“When the last letter of the magic squares – Haa’ – reaches out to connect with the first letter – Baa’ – the word ‘Hubb’ – meaning ‘Love’ – is formed. ‘Habib’ means ‘Beloved’. Linked with the possessive ‘my’ – Yaa – it spells ‘HABIBI’.”

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(overheard at 10.11 PM…)

“DADDY, can i do my homewooooork??”

what the…..

(i am ashamed to say, she has turned into an activity-slash-assessment-book fiend, despite my worst efforts. yes, i have turned to The Dark Side. in moments of weakness. at Popular bookstore, the axis of evil…)

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anyone else late today…?

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the little bit of time we have at night after her brother has gone to bed, i become her playmate…

Yoga Barbie does a downward dog.

(ok, so it’s actually Ballerina Barbie.)

the girl got a bit creative with pseudo-Yoga Barbie, taking her to my bed railing, hooked her feet upside down and declared with the full seriousness of a preschool-going yoga instructor: “this is Bat Pose”. erm.

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i saw this unbelievably simple mug cake recipe while browsing the net that i just had to try.

basically you just need a microwave oven to bake the cake, no need for a full scale baking oven.
and you don’t even need a mixer, just your good old fork will do the job.

below are the ingredients

4 tablespoons self rising flour
4 tablespoons white caster sugar
1 egg
3 tablespoons cocoa powder
3 tablespoons nutella
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons olive or vegetable oil

method

1. combine all ingredients in a large coffee mug. whisk well with a fork until smooth. microwave on high for 1.5 – 3 minutes. (time depends on microwave wattage. mine took 1.5 minutes.)

2. top with whipped cream and chocolate syrup. enjoy!

yep, that’s it! easy peasy! took less than 5 minutes if you have all the ingredients.
btw, you can try replacing the nutella with peanut butter if you want some variety.

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a bit of entertainment during our ice-cream….

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thankfully, we he survived his first week of spelling.

i was initially apprehensive when i saw his spelling list (twice a week, starting from the third week). they went straight into long vowels, double letter words, and past tense. how delightful.

i turned ‘a-n-i/m.a.l.s’ into a catchy rhyme. i bribed him with a kiss for every correct word. i barked “LONG VOWEL E, ‘E-A’!” probably a hundred times. i promised a scream at his sister every time he got the word ’screamed’ right. (hey don’t judge, it worked.) his daddy and oma too took turns to – shall i say it? – *drill* him. yes, the dreaded drilling has (sadly) begun….

gladly, his ejaan (once a week, phew) was slightly less stressful. i was more amused by the stickers than the fact that he got them all correct. the stickers say “Teruskan” and “Menakjubkan”. indeed.

atrocious handwriting aside, i think he did ok. we asked if he copied. he assured us he didn’t. because everyone did this: *demonstrates hunching over with arm covering book*.

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meanwhile:

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