March 12th, 2006

happy girl

relentless addiction. (joaquin-heavy content.)

I searched this diary for "Joaquin Phoenix" and I read this entry and while I could actually recollect the dream I had, like, more than 4 years ago and I smiled at the last paragraph because it is true once again, the one prominent thought I had was:

"Oh my god, what was with my lousy usage of the comma?!"

Well, in any case, yesterday, moments before I woke up, I dreamt that I was severely molested by someone who was supposed to be a doctor; he was standing behind me and groping me and thinking about it gives me the creeps. That certainly wasn't fun.

And you know what? I've noticed something. When I do get stared at by members of the opposite sex, they are nearly always men in their 40's or 50's. On the bus, getting off the bus, feeling eyes on me and of course I'd look and I'd see some creepy old man staring at me, even this one time at Crystal Jade Holland V. with Agatha and Siming when there was a pretty big lunch group seated in front of our table and some 50-something man in a nice shirt and tie KEPT STARING AT ME. My god. I only noticed when we were nearly finished with lunch; I looked up randomly and saw that old man looking straight at me. Then whilst we were leaving I saw that old man looking straight at me again.

It's freaking disgusting. Ugh. Why does that happen? I mean, I dig older men (i.e. Joaquin <3), but I don't dig old men, especially not people who are as old as my dad! And people more age-appropriate, I hardly get attention from.

It's sad. Maybe it's just this weird-ass country.

Well, whatever it is, Joaquin is my soulmate and we're totally meant to be. My 2002 Joaquin entries are hilarious; just read another one about another stupid Joaquin dream I had. I'm actually glad that I wrote about them, to be honest, because it's nice to remember things that kind of happened, but didn't really; especially if they are things that will never happen in this life or the next, unless some obscure, elusive miracle happens.

Oh my god, I can't believe I actually wrote that my first boyfriend was better-looking than Joaquin. I must've been on crack.

Then again, I was, wasn't I? This thing we call 'love' is really heroin in disguise.

Wouldn't it be cool if someone really smart (me? Hahaha) adapted Julian Barnes's England, England for the silver screen and Joaq is roped in to play either Sir Jack Pitman or Paul and Kate Winslet plays Martha Cochrane? If Martha were a male character Joaq would play with perfectly, but since she's not...Joaq as a megalomaniac (I suddenly can't remember how to spell this word) would be infinitely interesting to watch though. It'd kind of be like his turn as Commodus in Gladiator, only non-incestuous and a hundred times more pompous.

Philip Kaufman may find it interesting enough to jump on board to direct it. In order to meet Joaquin and have him propose, I would write the screenplay (this way, I get to meet Julian Barnes too - OMG!) and impress Joaq with my keen eye for detail and the fact that I wrote a screenplay (like, a real one) without going to film school!

Okay, seriously, I woke up at bloody 8 a.m. yesterday and I'm currently very sleepy and since I won't get to dream of Joaq in my sleep, just let me indulge in my far-fetched Joaq fantasies, okay? Thank you.

Crap, I can't shut up about Joaquin. Oh my god, I have it so bad it's not even funny. I am so totally in love and I'm not even kidding. It's been a while since I was this irrational, but who can blame me, when he represents the things that I look for in a guy? To add the icing on the cake, he's 12 years older than me which is such a turn-on that I can't even describe it. And his eyes, oh his eyes, feral forest green with a dash of yellow, so intense when they are ablaze, so gentle when they are placid. Six years have passed and he's still everything I want in a man, such that I don't care about the smoking, I don't care about the pot belly (he really has one), I don't care about the odd posture. A man's political views matter a lot to me and his are congruous with mine, and the fact that he's vegan always endears him to me even more.

Sigh. How sad is this? I should go to bed.

For the record, I'd just like to say: If I were writing an article on him, I would not mention River Phoenix's death at all. Every single article on him that I've read to date (and trust me - a lot) pull the same old bullshit: They write, "Phoenix doesn't like to talk about his late brother." Then they go on to recount the horrible events of October 31, 1993 (I think it was). And some fucked up journalists go as far as to ask him about River. That's just so self-evidently stupid that I would clobber them if I were him; I really would. It's obvious that his refusal to talk about River is a universal fact, and yet there they are, asking him the very question he doesn't talk about and still failing to mask their retardedness by writing things like, "When asked about his late brother, Phoenix brushes the question aside with a curt 'I don't want to talk about it'."

Can't the man just have some peace? Some people are just bloody incorrigible.

On a slightly different note, I love The New York Times' movie reviews. I was reading reviews of Joaq's films and I was just blown away by how well-written they were. The review on 8MM was blatantly sarcastic and it cracked me up (it also described Joaq as a 'scene-stealer' with which I completely agreed), I was glad to know that I got Clay Pigeons right (that it's really damn funny and ridiculous), and the review on Quills was more a tribute than a review. I also loved the way one reviewer described Joaq's role in The Yards; something about Willie being incendiary, upward mobility running amok, can't really remember and yeah I read it before 6 years ago but reading it again makes me realise just how far I have to go before my writing reaches such standards.

I resort to gushing. That is just bad style, utterly unsophisticated. Skilful writers disguise their gushing behind sophisticated wordplay and phrases and metaphors; me? I just go, "Oh my god Joaquin is so beautiful and talented!!111!!!111~~"


I'm falling asleep. I was going to read a crappy book I picked up from the library just for the heck of it while borrowing books for my bro but I ended up writing this dumb entry. Oh well.

I will write about Saturday in the afternoon, after I wake up.

In short, it was fun.

happy girl


Yesterday was a hell of a long day, so this may end up being a hell of a long entry.

My LAWR TG visited the Subordinate Courts in the morning to test, like, the microphones and the volume and to get a feel of the environment and all that. I woke up at 8 a.m. for breakfast at a dim sum restaurant, supposedly with Siming, Agatha and Joel, but when I took the escalator down to Chinatown MRT station and saw Siming alone he told me that the other two weren't showing.

Um. Okay. We took about twenty minutes getting to the place and it was about 9.10 when we got there and it was quite crowded. The food was good; my heaviest breakfast in a long, long while. I ate very little though. Siming was quite amazed, and the feeling was certainly mutual (the bill was about $28; I had three plates and he had everything else).

In the end, we were ten minutes late for the Subordinate Courts thing. When we burst into the room it seemed like everyone was already getting ready to leave. The tutor from the opposing TG was there. The height of the lecturn (sp?) pleased me. The need to speak into a microphone didn't.

It was cold. I attempted to recite my opening statement off the top of my head but ended up getting my Jacqueline facts mixed up. When this whole thing is over, I'd be the first in line to cheerily bury our client. Whatever.

I must've driven by the Subordinate Courts before, but I never quite got a good look at it. So yesterday when Siming and I emerged from the underground MRT station and I had a good, hard look at the Courts, I could've sworn that I'd just seen NUS' Engineering Faculty. The building is fugly, all run-down and greyish brown and unpleasant to look at. Then again, the new Supreme Court is fugly too; no surprises there. We're way too obsessed with "modernism" and massive clinical glass walls that look like a too-sleek shopping mall, just like SMU.

Ultimately though, I don't give a damn either way.

The fun part came after we got out of the Subordinate Courts. Siming, Agatha, Grace and I squeezed into the back of Joshua's car while Kelvin had the front seat all to himself. After a long bout of indecisiveness, we headed to Maxwell Food Centre where we sat around for about an hour and talked and laughed and had a good time. If I hadn't had dim sum for breakfast, I would've eaten the mifen that I adore so much; instead, I had bubble tea. I haven't had bubble tea for the longest time. Sometimes it surprises me that the bubble tea stall at Maxwell is still surviving.

After that, Siming, Agatha and I took a cab down to Orchard. On the cab we were talking about mooting and all that jazz, and Agatha made a random comment about how she'd discreetly pass a note saying "let's have lunch" to a good-looking male lawyer if she were a judge, which cracked me up and grossed Siming out. The taxi driver was very amused by us. And I also found out that this American guy who disappeared halfway through last semester is actually in Iraq right now, serving his country and all that jazz. Needless to say, I was very surprised. The Iraq situation always felt like something remote to me to which I hadno connection, and although I didn't know that American guy (and only knew of him because he spoke a lot during lectures) it still feels weird to know that it's a reality for someone you knew of.

If that even made sense.

We went to Zara where I tried on a bunch of clothes but didn't buy anything. Agatha tried on this hilarious long polka-dot skirt and this other short frilly-ish white skirt. It was funny. What was hilarious, though, was when we got to Guess and Agatha was like, Let's try on something outrageous! And she picked out a random green halter dress for me and another long-ass black halter dress for herself; we hit the fitting room and I attempted to cover my chest with whatever stingy amount of cloth it had and the dress was too big and it kept slipping off, and it was the most horrendous outfit I've ever tried on. It was utterly atrocious and I looked shitty in it. Then Agatha came out in her dress and proclaimed, "I look pregnant!" Haha! It was hilarious. We swapped dresses and the black one was slightly better but I looked pregnant too.

Siming waited outside and was very amused.

Because I don't really feel like writing at this moment: we walked around Paragon, then around Wisma (where I saw this HOT guy in a nice suit) we had food at BigO (I had a cheesecake and it sucked), then more food at KFC, and that was that.

All in all, it was a fun, enjoyable day.


I watched Ray on HBO last night and throughout I was thinking that it was a better film than Walk the Line until I went online after Ray ended and found out that it left out a lot of salient facts about Ray Charles' questionable morals.

I felt cheated and thus concluded that I like Walk the Line much better. In any case, Ray felt too dramatised for a biographical film. Walk the Line is truer and more real, and once again, Joaquin's performance is that much more natural than Jamie Foxx's. For me, the latter suffered the same problem as Philip Seymour Hoffman: the performance was a bit too studied to be truly natural.

And that super dramatic scene in Ray at the end involving his mom and his brother? Those contrived two minutes alone almost ruined the entire film for me. I blame it on "it wasn't your fault".

I got a strong urge to watch Walk the Line again while watching Ray. I need the double-disc DVD!


I sat through an hour and a half's worth of shitty "singers" and groups on TVBS this afternoon just to watch 3 minutes of Jay Chou singing Fa Ru Xue. His purple pants were fug, I've always hated his goatee, he copped out on that super high note towards the end of the song, but it was worth it anyway. Ah, I love his music. He's so talented that it's almost inhuman.

Haha, but not quite.

Anyway, this other singer, Ke You Lun or whatever, totally ripped off Jielun's Zui Hou De Zhan Yi for that first song he sang. Or rather, the first song he tried to sing. Like, OMG, what the hell was that? Talk about noise pollution. And he bloody cannot pronounce Chinese words; it was such a torture listening to him try to sing.

Alan Luo sucks too. Cyndi Wang is laughable, and nothing else. And 183 Club - what the fuck? Enough said.

And - no offence Mag - I thought that the verses of Lee Hom's Jian Dan De Yi Shou Ge (or something along those lines) sounded A LOT like Michael Jackson's Heal the World. Thankfully it lost the resemblance as it got to the chorus and his performance, along with Jielun's, were the only ones worth watching. Everything else was crap.

I didn't study at all. Somehow that doesn't surprise me.