Delicious

I always wanted a trampoline.

The day I first saw a big one, I knew I had to have it. It was the most glorious thing I had ever seen.

The day I first jumped on a big one, I felt that I had met my soulmate, in the form of mesh stretched across a steel frame, attached by springs.


It wasn't until I was around 19 that I finally had this soulmate sitting joyously in my backyard.



It took years, YEEEAAAARRRSSSS, of begging. Pleading. Reasoning. Then more begging.



Finally it's assembled in the yard, only after my Dad makes repeated visits during the build, just to make sure the foam safety padding isn't forgotten. No Dad, I didn't forget.





The first jumps are magical. The next jumps are bordering a religious experience. I can't believe this is real.





Now the jumps come only after a verbal contract with my parents:

NO JUMPING IF WE'RE NOT HOME

NO FRIENDS JUMPING WITHOUT US KNOWING

NO JUMPING IF WE'RE NOT HOME



Fairly straight-forward.



So it's 2 days after we get it, and news of the new purchase travels fast. My friend Ross is one of the first ones to come over for a jump.

We're both doing tricks and jumps and jumps and tricks, all under the watchful eye of my Mom who's at the kitchen sink. Everything is going well until Ross does some spin move and loses his balance. He lands too close to the edge, and his momentum leads him off the trampoline. Instead of being thrown onto the lawn, he rolls onto his side, attempting to grab onto the frame. His side hits the padded bar, and he groans in pain, then flops onto the lawn.




Shit.




He lies there holding his ribs, fighting for breath. A million things are going through my head.

Most of those things are "I CAN'T LOSE THIS TRAMPOLINE!!!"



I run to the kitchen, with a fraudulent air of relaxation and calm. I'm an AC-tor.


I get two large cups full of ice. "They're for frosty beverages, of course - all this jumping has worked up a sweat." I also pocket a plastic bag.



I return to Ross who has regained his ability to speak, but is now feeling a crunch every time he breathes. It's probably the muscle that is knotted up and rubbing against the ribs when you breathe, I explained. My 19 year old brain is grasping for straws.

He puts the bag of ice on his side.




Soon after, the pain is too much to bare and Ross needs to leave. DON'T TELL MY PARENTS, I plead. He doesn't.


He sneaks out of the house so they can't see him limping along with his leaking bag of ice, and drives home. Apparently on the way home the pain gets even worse, and he drives to the hospital instead. It's confirmed: 3 broken ribs.


I don't remember much after this. I think it's my brain trying to protect me from evil. All I remember is Ross saying something about blood in his pee.


That's gross, and I feel bad for Ross.





But I still have my trampoline.

-- "Don't Tell My Parents" by Mike Rosenthal

Confessions

I don't know why I dance anymore. But still I dance. I mean, you don't really have to have any real reason to do something, right, especially something that you know how to do and have avenues to gain access to. I do realise that this is rather unfortunate. There were times where it was the reason why I woke up in the morning. There were times where I did it for external validation. There were times where I did it because I enjoyed the company while I was at it. There were times where I danced because I felt it was my thing-- my precious-- and no one could take it away from me. Now I can't really say all those things with so much conviction anymore. I've built a home around it-- and rather painstakingly at that-- and I'm not sure whether I could fine another home elsewhere without having to lay the bricks from scratch all over again. It's like the reason why people stay in a bad relationship, or settle with a horrible job: it's inertia and fear of change. There were times where I said I would never give it up, and I said it with gusto.

I don't really know what happened. One plausible explanation is that I've chewed the taste away from it-- dance overdose. Perhaps. Or may be I realise that it's time to move on with other things in life. Like comic books, video games and peanuts, dance has had its special time in my 21 years of living, and that time has run out. Perhaps I have ceased to be inspired by others-- in videos, live, or otherwise-- for too long and the fuel has not been replenished to keep the fire going. Everything is just a blur. At the end of the day, there can be millions of good, great and excellent dancers and dancing out for grab, but there has to be that one moment of inspiration, which can't be forced. So may be the problem lies in my self: I've thrown myself to a state of nonchalance, which really perfectly fine by me.

At times I wonder why others can be so hungry about dance-- so insatiable, so tireless, such voracious appetite. We all know it's an endless pursuit: always not good enough, always something new to learn. If there is no end to it, why keep chasing it? Merce Cunningham said once that the reward is "that single fleeting moment when you feel alive". Truth be told, I do feel alive dancing, I do, but I don't feel un-alive otherwise. Others oft cry that they want to be the baddest ass around. Why? If that is the ultimate reward, which I genuinely think there's nothing objectively wrong about it, I can live my life without it, and I am really saying this stripped of any form of condescension. Gold is one precious metal, but not everybody wants gold, so mutatis mutandis vis such reward. It's just not my thing anymore. To me the best part of dance was the journey: the race to the top, and on hindsight, that journey was the ultimate reward: the means is the end. Now that I feel relatively detached from it, I cherish the memories-- the bad, the good and of course the ugly-- of having gone through all that, more than I appreciate my own dancing. Perhaps it follows that, inter alia, I dance to create more memories.

By no means that I think I have reached the top because that top is, as the cliche goes, illusory. However, it has now reached a point where I've found a plateau and I'm okay with it-- "okay" because "okay" is a neutral word"-- for some unapparent reason. Should it rise, blessed it be, should it not, there's no real loss either. Nonetheless, it does feel terrifying thinking of rolling down the hill altogether and starting to climb another hill all the way from ground zero. Is this feeling permanent? I don't know. And do I want it to not be permanent? I don't know either. I was asked before: "What do you want from dance other than time-filling?" I didn't know. What does, could, and should, a person want from dance?

I don't know why I dance anymore. But still I dance. I don't really have to have any real reason to do something. I do that everyday.

Hometown Glory

I love coming back home. Coming back home means an inevitable checkpoint where I can genuinely take a breather, and just stop to reflect on things. Coming back home means bookmarking a chapter in my journal of life, and comparing it with preceding others. Coming back home means food galore and shopping spree. Coming back home means seeing my family and hearing the exact same stories over and over again, though somehow they never get old. Coming back home means, well, a lot. Did I mention how much I love coming back home?

The Deathly Hollow

Yes, I know it's "Hallows", there's no typo there. In the latest and final stretch of the world-wide sensation septology, Harry, Ron and Hermione embarked on their epic journey to destroy the Horcruxes, and defeat the no-nose Dark Lord. The movie was, well, alright.

So I stopped following the books after dreading and ultimately failing in ploughing through the fifth one, where Harry turned into this angsty, whiny teenager lashing out to the magic universe. Basically, he turned into another us: an ordinary (well, may not exactly) blame-the-world ball of resentment, and no one wants to read that kind of stuff when they pick up a book about spells, Patronuses and wizards, especially not hundreds and hundreds of pages of it. Nonetheless, I came across tonnes of posts about the movie before I watched it, and what a sobfest they were. I guess I can't really judge those who are devastated by the closing of the series because I unfortunately fell out of love with the trio after the fourth book, but come on, how could you turn into an emotional wreck after watching the end of the movie? The end was ridiculous, almost farcical even. The 19-years-later versions of the characters look hideous: the make-up artists should really be shot. I'm fine with not replacing the characters with older actors, but the drag wig, the beer belly, the ghastly make-up that made them look like they hadn't slept since they came to Hogwards (and they probably hadn't with the amount of drama that went on), and the faux wrinkles did not work. They look cartoonish, and it robbed all seriousness and any opportunity for the audience to be awed by the ending. They should have hired look-alike actors to sub in.

However, I do like the beginning of the movie, first of all, the quality of video is fantastic. To compare it the first movie, there really has been an increase in the dollars (or pounds) spent and an improvement in the tech side. The acting for me was com si, com sa: I can't really judge their acting because the British accent kind of get in the way. To my Asian ears, they fall almost inevitably into their parts because they simply sound right, not really sure whether they act brilliantly, and as for the earlier movies, their kiddish charm sort of made up for everything else that was lacking. So the story went on, and I could follow what was going on even though I didn't read the novel beforehand, and then came the middle parts where Harry was sucked into this whitewashed, bad and budget-looking digital-effect train station of a dream and met Dumbledore. It went slightly too Chicken-Soup-for-the-Teenage-Soul for me, with the whole "Of course this is in your head, but what makes you think that this is not real?", and where Longbottom came forward to give his Captain America speech in front of you-know-who and his army. It felt like a middle-school after-school play to me. JK Rowling might have had the multibillion-pound imagination, but I hope I don't write they way she does.

The movie was essentially a war movie, and war movies always give me this sort of unsettling feeling, like things are in shambles and messy, which I don't particularly enjoy. And somehow the chemistry amongst the trio is lost in the movie, or may be it's because now there is now the supposed romance between Hermione and Ron, which felt so feigned and the kiss was awkward and uncomfortable, somewhat misplaced. I think I just don't really care much about the teen-drama side of the series, I would rather focus more on the magic side of it, which is the reason why I adore the first movie the most.

Anyway, I don't really mean to complain about the movie or the series, because insofar as the production aspect and the quality of it, it hasn't been anything less than amazing. But amazing does not necessarily mean likable. Guess this is just a perspective of a viewer who didn't grow up alongside Harry, Ron and Hermione, but outgrew them before vice versa.

Life Wonders

It's 3 am, some country song is playing in the background (it's The Once and Future Carpenter by The Avett Brothers), and my proudly-bought 20-dollar Ikea night light just sets the mood for musings.

I wonder what would have happened if I had

been born the eldest son.

sucked so badly in school.

been good at sports.

picked up the guitar in junior high.

not gotten the scholarship.

stayed on and gone to senior high.

sucked so badly that I was sent home.

actually made it to the drama auditions.

failed the dance auditions.

not moved to another junior college.

hated dance.

failed my law school dream.

been the badass kid in the family.

said yes.

stayed religious.

been simply mediocre.

Legal Fiction

I'm not sure whether I like Boston Legal. I still remember in my first year, right at the beginning of law school where everyone was a stranger and we had to do some introduction and say a thing or two about ourselves, someone said that he wanted to be the next Alan Shore. And the class broke into a laughter. The tutor then made some witty comeback, and another laughter ensued. Of course, I cracked a smile and laughed along, and lordly lord, I really thought that Alan Shore was some bigwig in the legal fora: a Chief Justice, a stellar judge, a minister, or someone of that stature. It does sound ludicrous but it may be surprising for you to know that right from the get-go some people did already have their legal chip plucked into them, which made me think there for a moment how come I didn't get the memo. Sometimes-- if not most of the times-- it did feel like I was in a secret club with a secret handshake. Only last week then I finally met this legal myth Alan Shore-- just in case you are like me then, he's the main character of the show-- and he was, well, okay. James Spader is definitely the best actor on the show (or poised to appear that way), and perhaps together with William Shatner and Candice Bergen they make the holy Boston Legal trinity. The rest just appear as pretty faces, accessory to these characters' larger-than-life (to say the least) closings and caricatural quirks. I think the biggest problem with the show is that it is very clear even after having watched just a few episodes how formulaic the plot is. Every episode will end with one or two closing statements (i.e. heroic lawyer attempting to convince the nodding-at-strategic-moments jury that their client deserves what they sue for), which more-often-than-not begin with a rendition of some statistics (which would have been dismissed in real court setting for want of relevance), followed by an argument (delivered with such a bravado, it borders on a melodramatic recitation), and end with a sound bite that necessarily triggers a couple of nods from the jury. Always. To be fair, the show tries to present an array of interesting (read: make-believe) cases to spice things up, and the same formulaic pattern is also noticeable in other cop shows or doctor shows, but something about it just does not connect. Perhaps it's the set (they simply jump from the lawyers' office, which is not exactly the happiest place on earth, to the court room, which is definitely not the happiest place on earth), or William Shatner's character Denny Crane, whose behaviour is harder to understand than is algebra. It's sad though because I really want to like the show, but I can't bring myself to do so. And bummer, there aren't that many lawyer shows out there anymore. Then again, I only watched half of the second season, hopefully it would get better in the following seasons.

Watching So You Think You Can Dance Top 20 Showcase Performances

Finally Season 8 is out! It's been a while since I was really into any TV shows these days. Season 7 was slightly wonky because of the change in format, and the stage was somewhat too big for TV, so I didn't really have a lot of good things to remember about it, except that Elastic Girl Lauren Froderman won, and Freakshow Kent Boyd came in second. Anyway, Season 8 for me has been exciting thus far. Early stand-outs like Jordan and Melanie, who are now in the top 20, blew me away. Right from the get-go I found the girls more beastly than the guys. The top 10 boys routine didn't really do it for me, especially after the whoop-ass intro video, I thought the routine would be as so. It looked slightly under-rehearsed, probably because it was a mixer of numerous different styles, and not all the boys were trained to dance a la LXD, they didn't really look like they danced together. Then again, who can blame them? It was the first time that they danced together ever.

The girls routine was fantastic. Probably the best one of the night? It was a style that almost all of them (except may be Iveta) were trained in, and Sonya is really a nut-job with a lot of flavours to bring to the table. The eleven of them together translated into one combustible reaction, and burn the stage they did. The world champion (and this season's only) Russian ballroom bombshell Iveta was a beast dancing with Pasha that night. The whole routine was entertaining from start to finish, kudos to Ausi-born Jason Gilkinson who made use of the cape splendidly. I would say he was the best ballroom choreographer they'd had on the show, or perhaps he would be neck-to-neck with Jean Marc and his wife, France. Alex da Silva was brilliant, but he was then indicted for some sexual assault, so there goes his career on the show. The same happened to Shane Sparks. Sigh. Anyway, it was refreshing to hear Nigel thanking Iveta for, in his words, humbling herself to join SYTYCD. I think he did that because effectively she would end up giving free crash-course ballroom lessons to whomever she would partner on the show. Can you imagine the first time you get those leather shoes on and you have to partner a world champion? And she held the title for all ten genres. Gotta be hard to wear the pants in that partnership.

The hiphop number was a snooze for me, not necessarily because of bad dancing or bad choreography, but again it felt like the guys didn't dance together as a group. There were these sporadic energies on stage that didn't synergise to elevate the routine to the next level. OMG I sounded like Lil' C. Another bugger, he should stop talking. He ruined it for me big time. I literally had to skip his comments because it was too painful to hear. Someone please get him an English dictionary, not a thesaurus.

My favorite routine of the night was Stacie Tookey's routine to In This Shirt by The Irrepressibles. Melanie was a stand-out. This girl was something special. Watching her during the auditions, I really thought she would be one of those vanilla dancers-- technicians with little performance quality, kind of like the dancers in Season 6 and may be 7? But in this routine she was some-heavenly-infant creature that was just stunning. She definitely ticked all the boxes on the list, my list. Speaking of good dancing and good technique, the choreographers needed to find another freak-show stunts for their routines, anything other than the ponche thing that the girls had been doing the entire night. Jordan did it once in the Sonya's Jazz routine (assisted by Marko), some did it in the Geisha routine, Miranda in Stacie Tookey's, and some others in the Little Bird routine. That's a whole lot of ponches in one night, and the same one at that.

Anyhoo like I said, this season has been exciting, and I've got the feeling that this season will give birth to more Katie-and-Joshuas or Twitchingtons. One thought that keeps bugging me: Ryan was a ham-- don't know why, just gotta say it. Congrats to Mary for the successful surgery she had had before the show kicked off (it was her throat I think), and for now not being the one with the highest Botox-content on the judging panel. Anyway, cheers to a start of a great two months of a lot of beastly dancing!