August 2002

Interview with an Old Man - 8/2/2002







Joining me today for "Thoughts on your Birthday" in the studio is Mr Limitlim. He was born in 1974, way back then ... and we're pleased that we could chat
TOYB: Welcome to the show ... err mr limit ...
LMT: My pleasure.
TOYB: So what's it like turning 28 today?
LMT: Well, I'd like to begin with a little analogy about difference. Look out there, see the stars? How far away do you think they are? A million light years away? Ten million? A billion perhaps? The fact is a million and a billion are only vague numerical catergories that we read about and use. Realistically speaking you can't really tell the difference, at least not in the same way you can tell the difference between one and ten or ten and a hundred.
TOYB: So you mean difference isn't about the numbers?
LMT: Not quite. It more that we take difference for granted. We assume we know or at least can adequately map difference. Perceptually at least, we say that's different without quite knowing how it is different.
TOYB: So you're saying that difference has to be pinned down?
LMT: Yeah in the sense but not in the sense that it is an absolute thing. You're only different if you compare things. Difference itself, how do you pin that down? But we need frameworks to talk about difference.
TOYB: So how is this all related to you turning 28 today
LMT: It's about difference isn't it, age? How different are you today from yesterday? The change is imperceptable. But in terms of a nominal value there's a sudden leap. So we're talking about how different descriptions of change fragment the sense that this is an individual. I guess I don't like the fact that I'm growing old. Maybe that's why I'd rather it creep by.
TOYB: Right. Thanks for being on the show.







vindictive - 8/5/2002







What would you do for a million dollars worth of fame? To hear the TV stations playing your name? What would you do for money enough to study the world over and over? Prayers chanted and incantations rising to greet you every morning - for this what would you do? Perhaps it doesn't mean much when you're ordinary and living a squared existence. Perhaps when this room caves in and through the debris they find a figure dusty from writing with a manuscript pen, they won't want to whisper anymore.

I get sick in my stomach just trying to keep away. The waves of nausea remind me what's at stake in this life. Once, crawling out of bed and tracing my fingers on the glass, I carved out of condensation's palette a signature. But it was borrowed, a queer smiling face without any significance except that everybody knew it. Those were trying days when getting out of bed and sliding to the window was a wonderful achievement. Then, as now I remember it, the cold floor was scant relief from the immobility I felt when my joints reacted against lying, drugged, hours on end. When all the wrong people sought you out. You wanted friends, lovers, certain family faces to surround you in an Om of undying love. You wanted Kerouac to know you, to write to the rhythm of your wheezing chest. The Holy Goof to show you transcendence within the cold clinical walls.

And seated on the bed to make you happy. Rising like a child pyjamas clad. What would you give if innocence could once again hum and whistle and be glad? Curling up ball-like waiting to recoil. Moments of relief perhaps.

"Sing sing ..."

Regression is painful when the memories evoked are embarassing preludes to the humiliation you must face. I think back on the embarassment of writing reams of poetry only to look back and cringe at the thought that I thought it was readable. Drugged up high on anti-depressants, one catches a glimpse of the over-confidence one should possess but never will. Cleaned out, full of odd regrets for the strangest part of love is the will. Sorry has a painful ring to it. A thousand times sorry. The table tennis game tick tocks in the sanitised hallway. Today, they get to go home. Today, the tick tock becomes the seconds stretching over this hardened hour of consciousness. Unsure of the time, I make a phone call to find out. The lines don't go out from here. They ring the Nurses' Station. To get to me, you need to press the buzzer once, then wait. If you can spell my name correctly, they'll let you in. But remember, dialect names are important when sanity is the thinly veiled difference between you and I.

But they let the wrong people in. Once, as I lay there, cushioned on chocolate, three broad shouldered officers walked in. Attempting to speak to me I guess. I roll away. Embarassment then vengeance. No wrong - none of your fault. If talking exonerates, why should I speak? Response is the act of cancelling a memory. What needs re-writing we can do later. Now, pay. My only defence becomes the paranoid insistence that you're here to get me. I do not come near to your apology. Remain haunted by my vindictiveness. Remain unforgiven in your memory.

You cannot be depressed. You have a life. You have a family. You have a memo from the dr. that says they will not pay you for the days you are sad. You cannot be depressed, clinically or no, because God says so.









Hurrah Hurrah - 8/8/2002







When we stand up for Singapore, tell the nation we will count the cost, believe that we will get there, proudly shout Majulah Singapura, remember:

LIM CHIN SIONG

Lim was a founder member of the PAP in 1954. In 1955 he stood for election to the Legislative Assembly Election in Bukit Timah constituency and, at the age of 22, became the youngest assemblyman in Singapore history.

In 1961, when Lee Kuan Yew was campaigning for merger with the Federation of Malaya, Lim voiced his opposition in a reflection of the deep differences between the stances of the mainly English-educated leadership and the Chinese-educated radical wing of the PAP. In June that year Lim was among those
expelled from the PAP. This group then formed the Barisan Sosialis, a party of which Lim became the first secretary-general. In 1963 Lim and several others were rounded up and detained by internal security forces moving to forestall subversion against Merger(Operation Coldstore).

The British Commissioner in Singapore, the Earl of Selkirk, and his deputy, Philip Moore, had argued that such arrests would not only be undemocratic and unfair, but also failed to take into account that Lim and his party had been engaged in constitutional struggle.

The Commissioner's arguments for democracy and fair play were quite extraordinary and out of line with London's official thinking, but were eventually rejected by superior officials in London, especially the British Secretary of State.

The mood at the time of Lim's arrest during Operation Cold Store has been likened to "white terror", vividly described in a dedicatory poem by Tan Jing Quee, a former trade unionist who is now a lawyer and who himself was later detained on charges of being involved in communist united front activities:

On the second day of February thunder raged through frightened streets lightning blighted all lamps

Remember
C V DEVAN NAIR

IN the Singapore of the early 1980s, Lee Kuan Yew was the captain and Devan Nair his loyal lieutenant. Mr Lee, independence leader, then prime minister and now senior minister of the tiny Southeast Asian city-state, laid down the law. Mr Nair followed it. As head of the national trade union congress, then president of Singapore, he loyally parroted the "LKY" line on the importance of social order, the dangers of Western-style democracy and the evils of littering.

Then, in 1985, came a shocking break. Mr Lee told Singapore's parliament that Mr Nair had resigned because he was an alcoholic, a charge Mr Nair now calls a baseless slur. Three years later, he left Singapore for good after publicly quarrelling with Mr Lee over the arrest of a well-known government critic. Then he dropped from sight.

Mr Nair got to know his "captain" when the two were fighting to free Singapore from British colonial rule in the 1950s. A teacher whose father emigrated from India, Mr Nair taught Shakespeare while he was a member of the Anti-British League, an irony he still savours. When the British threw him in jail as a subversive, holding him for a total of five years, Mr Lee was his lawyer.

The two remained close after Singapore won its freedom from Britain. Together, they fought off an attempted communist takeover, weathered Singapore's ejection from the neighbouring federation of Malaysia and transformed their country from a run-down sea port to an economic dynamo bristling with skyscrapers. "I supported him because he was an eloquent champion of the dreams I had for Singapore," Mr Nair says.

Being president, he says now, was "the silliest job in the world. All you had to do was cut ribbons." His frustration grew.

But before he could speak out, Mr Nair found himself at the centre of a rumour-mongering campaign that labelled him a drinker and womanizer. He says he was neither, and he suspects that Mr Lee had government doctors slip him hallucinatory drugs to make him appear befuddled. "Lee Kuan Yew decided: This man is going to be a threat, so I'd better begin a total demolishment of his character. He's very good at that."

Mr Nair is not bitter. He gives Mr Lee credit for making Singapore a wealthy, stable place, an accomplishment in which he is proud to have shared. But how much greater that accomplishment would be if Singapore were a wealthy stable democracy. To him, Singapore today is a soulless place whose only ideology is materialism. Whether he could have changed that, Mr Nair wishes now he had spoken up earlier.

Remember
CHIA THYE POH

Chia Thye Poh was 26-years-old and a university lecturer when he was arrested in 1966. His crime - joining a breakaway faction of the ruling People's Action Party. He was accused of being a communist and detained without trial under Singapore's tough internal security laws.

In 1989, he was released from prison and confined to a fortress on the island of Sentosa, south of Singapore. He was eventually allowed to return to the mainland and even take a one-year scholarship to Germany, but his movements were limited.

Now, Singapore has agreed to lift all restrictions on Chia Thye Poh because it says he's no longer considered a threat to Singapore society.

However, asked what his political beliefs are today, he is unrelenting. "I feel there should be a fair, just, democratic society. Down-trodden people, low-income people should be helped."

Asked whether he holds any grudges against Singapore's Senior Minister and former veteran prime minister Mr Lee and his People's Action Party which has held an iron grip on power in Singapore since independence in 1957, Mr Chia said: "I have no personal grudge against anybody.

"My main concern is the policy [of detention without trial], because if the policy is not fair, many people will suffer."















Trip Through the Wires - 8/15/2002







Thursdays were difficult to get through. The promise of the weekend lingered tantalisingly out of reach, in the morning at least. The plodding of feet up the stair-well made it difficult to hope that the day would pass quickly and the wooden banister was poor support. Still work had to be done and scripts had to be marked.

He shovelled his great bulk into the staffroom where no one was yet stirring. After a while, heads started popping up from the table tops. One two then the whole place was abuzz with the roar of a swarming army gathering for war.

But this Thursday was especially difficult. First the morning had already brought bad reports. Student misbehaviour again. A list of names that had skipped classes, served to him by the Discipline Mistress. Yes he would have to inform them to speak to her. He felt a little awkward and stumbled through the laughing faces of the crowd after he had pointed them out. Oblivious about what this meant, they continued laughing. Then, later one, slouching toward the canteen for his customary cup of coffee, he saw a group of his kids being reprimanded in the centre of the Square. Perhaps for their uniform he sighed. And stumbled on.

What matters? What's important? What changes the world?

When he was younger he believed that music could change the world. That the Blues would make people cry their prejudice and hate away, that Rock and Roll would energise everyone into a frenzy of setting things right and that Dylan would show the way with his wisdom. Nowadays what did THEY believe? Did they believe that Evil could not triumph? Did THEY hope that they would crusade for truth? Did THEY dream of more for everyone and less of less for less? No.

They believed that dreams should be dreamt on tassled cushion, velveteen and fluffy. They believed that the future was one that held the promise of luxury and money. Change? Yes, please change the rules so we can all sleep in late, have a day off and procrastinate. Revolution? Yes, make sure I can get away with a casual show of emotion.

Their dreams were of holidays and lovers, of camps full of noise. Of skirts that made them look attractive and hair-cuts that were stylish. Music is just a phase, poetry just a fad. When you've had enough, when you've drunk your full, don't bother to wallow in the vomit you fool.

Actually it was as simple as not wanting to go for class, as simple as being lazy. Why charge it with all this existential angst? Why think about the shallowness of all the reasons and the fact that this is even worse than not having a cause?

Perhaps you wish that what you see could be turned in a direction. That the daring and nonchalance actually meant something. That they weren't just imperfect cogs in the machine but that they were precious stones waiting. Perhaps perhaps.

Look out. Here they go again.

They say ev'rything can be replaced,
Yet ev'ry distance is not near.
So I remember ev'ry face
Of ev'ry man who put me here.
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east.
Any day now, any day now,
I shall be released.

They say ev'ry man needs protection,
They say ev'ry man must fall.
Yet I swear I see my reflection
Some place so high above this wall.
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east.
Any day now, any day now,
I shall be released.

Standing next to me in this lonely crowd,
Is a man who swears he's not to blame.
All day long I hear him shout so loud,
Crying out that he was framed.
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east.
Any day now, any day now,
I shall be released. - Bob Dylan









Of Leaving and Loss - 8/21/2002







Dealing with the prospect of someone close to you going off far away for a certain significant amount of time is difficult. After all, the Two of you have become One and physical closeness does make things a lot more comfortable and tangible. All the abstract notions of caring for someone at a distance fall away after you've been married for some time. But then I guess finding that distance is now going to the governing reality of our lives, these abstractions, these vagaries now figure prominently.

Have never dabbled much with love poetry. I suppose this is the closest I'll come to it.

The thought of you
instead of listing words that try
to pin ygu down i'll be the first one to admit how
difficult it is, this thought of you.


Perhaps it's like a poem filled with references
that you had to read up on to understand
resulting from emotions that have to be experienced to be
articulated. This thought of you - unrhymed,
seeking a conclusion, weaving its way
through the density of assumption
ending often only in an intepretation
this thought of you

perhaps this thought of you is like
the intricacy of a cell drawing-
magnified precision. Made clearer when simplified into vacuoles ,
nucleai and mitochondric strands-
but unable to capture every detail or each moment.
Cells breathe multiply unstable but become caught in time when drawn:
a schematic by which you're
remembered but left unfulfilled, this thought of you.

so instead of listing words that try to pin you down
i'll be the first to constantly remember,
provoke, laugh cry and sigh fondly at


this thought of you.







Got to Go - 8/23/2002







Is morning now. Saturday morning. Have to have Tea with some MOE Director. Bloody irritating. At first thought that it would be a big crowd. And I could just turn up for food. But the mailing list was very short. And people have told me it's a small group. MOE's way of pretending they track their scholars. Rubbish. Wanted to not go. But although it's an invitation. You need to give your reason. Through your Principal. ie you have to go. Will puke at people scrambling for air time with the Director. Will puke at my inability to say what I really feel because am too socialised and too polite to criticise people to their face. Puke Puke Puke. Sound like Holden Caulfield. And then will come back and feel terrible that I've sold out. That I drank their tea and nibbled their sandwiches and nodded submissively at their comments without raising my voice or shouting them down. Puke. So how will it go?









How it Went - 8/24/2002







This takes off from the previous one. I guess I knew Tea with the Director was going to be a boring affair. So I tried to make it more interesting by making observations that might perhaps be entertaining for this page. However, the whole affair got me depressed. On several counts:

1. The other people having Tea with the Director are like me - ie teachers who have taught for 2 years, who were on some kind of MOE or PSC scholarship

2. I thus assumed that these were teachers who were enthusiastic, ON about their students, loving caring blah blah.

3. I'm pretty sure they are. They seem nice enough and all that but here's the catch.

4. With the Director, most of them turned into politically correct yes-men. The "issues" that they brought up were just mundane and repetitive regurgitations of policies that we've heard about for the last several years. That got me depressed.

Anyway - some other observations:

1. The circular we got said to come in work attire. That to me meant a shirt and trousers. So I wore my checkered blue shirt and pants. But I guess some teachers take their job seriously. The guys came with ties and briefcases. And some of the female teachers - were wearing jackets / suits! Even the Director commented when he first got in - "Wah so formal ..." What does all this say to me? Bloody trying to impress.

2. We had name tags with numbers on them. And the eleven of us had to sit in numerical order! And this after the injunction to "just be yourselves, relax" ... irony

3. The whole affair laster 3 hours! Yes, 3 whole hours of repetitive droning. I can't believe teachers are that a. DUMB, b. UNAWARE, c. desperate to IMPRESS. Why Dumb? They were asking stupid questions about what the Ministry does, how to get a transfer, how teachers are assesed - information that is all available on the Net. Why Unaware? They kept going on and on when it was obvious that no one else was interested in what they were talking about. And lastly - the worst - everyone had an opinion on every topic. So you would get these awfully stereotypical comments that were always "balanced" by "I know that MOE has its constraints" or "I probably don't have the bigger picture ..." And when it was running late, some idiots kept bringing up more "issues". Look - nothing's gonna be done about your "issues" cause MOE's got a feedback on these things already. Given that, why bother to try to show the Director that you're "in tune" with things.

My part in all this.

I was good. I just shut up. I was the only one of the eleven that just didn't say anything. I made my observations, played with my palm pilot. Shifted uncomfortably in my chair. Closed my eyes when the conversation got awfully boring. Stared at the shoes of the female teachers. Rolled my eyes and tried not to shake my head at the stupidity of some of the comments.

Oh yes. I believe I made a most significant contribution to the proceedings. After a while I really had to go to the loo - so I excused myself -

And what do you know - as I walk out of the room, several others come running after. Later, some others also go to the loo. Bloody sycophants - kept the conversation going and had no guts to even go to excuse themselves to go to the loo!

And sadly, I realised that I'm probably in the minority. I'll never work in MOE HQ because I never want to turn into bureaucratic yes-man. The rest of the room want to get postings to MOE HQ quite eagerly (it was no secret why - the Director explained that MOE HQ was where you got to know the important people that could help your career). They made silly statements like - "I want to work in HQ in the Dept that can help change the mindsets of people ..."

Came back and told Ms Tan about the whole thing. I guess she's right to say that I'm an arrogant snob about these things. That I need to see that other people have their ideas and believe in them sincerely (Doesn't that make things worse ...?) Well, at least I know that the MOE is in "good hands" with all these young enthu teachers that want to change the world by issuing memos ... That gets me depressed as well. I treasure the position of marginality. But people think that it's really fake. That it's put on. That I'm just an angry rebel without a cause. So I feel compromised as well. That I just sat there and shut up. (I had promised Ms Tan I wouldn't do anything stupid - given that she's going off to New York for a year next week - like be sarcastic ... they probably wouldn't have caught it anyway ...) So I'm rather depressed about my pointless cynicism as it seems. Ah well - at least I have my books ...

By the Way - the food wasn't even good.

"so of his gentleness
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me
From mine own library with volumes that
I prized above my dukedom." Prospero, The Tempest









Now that you're going - 8/26/2002







I suppose realisation dawns upon even those of us who would rather live their lives in obscure oblivion. The fact that you're going has come upon me slowly. This last weekend with all the arangements, the finalising of details and the numerous meetings with friends, colleagues and students that you've had to attend has crystallised that sense that you won't be here very much longer. In the beginning, I guess it was easy to shrug it off. After all it wasn't as if you were going off to war with a wooden sword to die for a cause that didn't exist. You are, after all, going to study at one of the best universities in the world, and even if you will be gone, it will only be for slightly over a year.

But I think I've taken for granted the fact that you've been around for the last two years. The fact that I fall asleep with you beside me and wake up gazing on your form softly breathing. I've gotten used to watching you care for and love those around you, be they animals loved ones or friends. I've taken for granted the old age we will spend together, quietly reading out passages that thrill our hearts and tickle our minds. And a year apart just doesn't seem to be what I've come to expect.

I guess this gives me the license to mooch around for the whole of this week. The corridors I walk down early in the morning are especially quiet and the bus ride home doesn't give me much to look forward to. Of course I'll bury myself in work but even words on a page are resoundingly silent when you speak to them. Of course I'll learn to talk to myself but the monotony of hearing my own voice will drive me mad.

Now that you're going, I tell myself that the best part of silence is the firmness of the echos and the prospect of hearing you afresh. Now that you're going, I'm learning to get used to these silences that dwell in my head.







Luggage - 8/27/2002







I'll be left with the cats I suppose
You can't pack them in. I'm sure they'll miao loudly
and the machines will stop in their tracks.
And they'll wonder why your bags
whimper and why scratching noises
creep from the insides of your cases.

I'll be left with the cats I suppose
And remember how they used to irritate you endlessly
as you tried to grade papers
By crawling onto the piles
and purring into the words.
How they'd nudge your hand,
Poised to give a mark,
with the impatient brushes
of feline insistence.

I'll be left with the cats I suppose
Mittens and Duke
Crippled and orphaned reminders
Of how completeness should be cherished,
never assumed.







Hellos and Goodbyes - 8/30/2002







Today was most interesting. Started out with action in school. The Banner - I guess will go down in history in several different ways. Very touched by the effort put in by the class in painting the banner. I guess it's not everyday you see your name writ large. Unfortunately, it became the Banner Incident. Almost like an episode in a sit com - the One with the Banner. It's interesting how the sincere and direct (read as "creative" and "original" or "non-conformist" and "rebellious") energies that lie outside formal structures get muddied by the "larger perspective". Ah well - sensitive issues all round. But I must say - 02A12 was very sweet and made an otherwise difficult day much brighter. I dare say I was quite proud of them! Anyway - am thinking about where to keep / hang the banner - it's really quite a beauty - ok - better not go on - better stop my ego from speaking ... But I suppose that it's my own experience with how stifling systems are that causes this kind of, well, appreciation for these special acts. But I am also aware of the dangers of banging your head against the wall, and for the sake of the class, hope that there will be no adverse ramifications - but that's the future - the memory of today - I'm still savouring ...

So that was quite a way to say Hello to the New Day.

Goodbyes - said goodbye to Ms Tan today. Well, wasn't the only one at the Airport. Her girls came as well. I must say the girls really took Ms Tan's going rather badly. They were crying and sobbing etc. But I suppose, saying goodbye is hard to do, even if it is only for a period. We'd actually talked about it. Ms Tan warned me that if I merely shook her hand and said, "all the best", she would not be pleased (did that once when I had to go off for a short trip some time in the distant past - quite funny ...) Anyway - we talked about how difficult saying goodbye would be - wondering if we would cry etc. But I guess it was alright today. Ms Tan cried a little - I teared a little - so did our parents. I suppose we need to remind ourselves that in the larger scheme of thiings - this is really but for a short while - that we'll see each other during Holidays, that technology makes it impossible to not keep in touch and that God will keep us both by his grace.

Ah - hellos and goodbyes !

July 2002

Wu SHu - 7/4/2002







New experience being a teacher in a proper CCA. I think it's a little awkward given that I like informal arrangements and working with small groups of people. Anyway ... Followed the WuShu people to MOE for a short presentation. It was one of thoses MOE Campaigns and as it turns out it was merely a small scale thing for the staff of the MOE building. The Auditorium was nice though. Anyway, the WuShu pple did a fine job. NOt that O'd know but from an untrained eye they looked somewhat impressive - though there were moments where the co-ord was a little wonky - but I guess it was deliberate ... ?

Anyway ... I guess it'll take some time to find out more about WuShu ... I mean it's a world apart from what I'm normally interested in and I guess that adds to the learning process. But it's very much self-run. The kids have lots of initiative I guess and teachers just need to help out with some arrangements etc ...

Ah well - almost two weeks in the new place. And I've already gotten news od the power struggles, the dangerous people, the in-fighting, the clamouring, the insider reporting ... sigh ... what's new ...









2 Ceremonies - 7/6/2002







Had to attend a wedding just yesterday. Quite the standard fare I suppose with all the usual things said. Except that this couple had had a tremendously tumulteous relationship and even in the weeks leading up to the wedding there was much talk about calling the whole thing off, dramatic scenes of crying in the rain and pounding on doors and begging for forgiveness. Sigh, all this from highly intelligent and educated individuals who are deemed success stories of the system. So in the end in spite of all the sticky situations the ceremony goes through and one wonders if it's really a matter of saving face cause all the invites have been sent out and the arrangements have been made. This brings the phrase "marriage of convenience" to a new low. Sigh.

Anyway - played piano for a song item during the ceremony so I guess I'm implicated in ratifying the marriage that shouldn't be.

And after that I had to haul myself down to the National Stadium for the SYF opening ceremony! Which was a joke because I was in long sleeves etc and had to sit in the balzing sun. It was also a joke because there wasn't much taking care of the kids to do anyway. But I got the arrow late on Thurs and wasn't given a choice. I'm sure the person that arrowed me was acting on instructions from the higher ups so I decided not to make things difficult and since he said I could go for the wedding and then turn up later at the Stadium (emphasising ironically how silly the whole affair was) I decided that I shouldn't wriggle out of this one.

Anyway I think my cynicism about the System is reaching a new low. I actually took advantage of my knowledge of how poorly organised these affairs are to get in without queueing. When I got there, it was major crowded and I knew it would take me a really long time to get into the stadium if I followed the route allocated to schools and teachers accompanying. So I was naughty and went to the gate for VIPs and ticket holders and pretended that I was from "one of the Ministries", and that I had been given a ticket but had forgotten to bring it. I suppose the long sleeves and proper English helped my cover. Luckily I managed to catch a glimpse of some of the real tickets and got the colour right as well ... ("yes, I was given a purple ticket. No, not the orange ones" ... Those were for the VIPs and they actually had a name list that they could check through ... another spot as I was strategising my storming of the gate). Then I had to appear nonchalent about the whole thing. "If it's too much of a hassle for you to check I'll just go off ..." Anyway, the NPCC Cadets were nice enough to get their supervisor (who just seemed to be an older NPCC person ...) who let me in anyhow. He even showed me the way. I suppose they rationalised that no one in his right mind would actually want to sneak into the SYF Opening Ceremony (given how silly the whole affair was) and that I HAD to be there and wasn't really enthusiastic about it and so ...

After that I managed to locate where the college kids were sitting, made sure the other teachers saw my face and knew that I had arrived, and sat in the sweltering heat for several hours.

Good thing there were some people I knew. Esp. SW! Poor thing had to listen to me grouse about stuff for two hours ... Anyway some of the boys were very sweet and even offered me "Keropok" ... ho hum ... easily pacified.

Anyway, right at the end, everyone was leaving early so as to avoid the crowd. We were just moving off when the band struck up the National Anthem. And I was caught. For all my cynical blabbering, I didn't have the guts to just walk out of the Stadium at the msot opportune moment, when everyone else was standing still. Ah well - still a creature bound by social norms I guess.

Anyway - then had to rush down for wedding dinner. At a table where I didn't really know anyone (all Ms Tan's JC classmates - many doctors ... Did manage to eavesdrop about the Slim Ten controversy, how political postings for specialisations are though ... ) Drank many glasses of white wine ... and was decent enough not to mark Blcok Test scripts.









Could you read my mind - 7/12/2002







A Fortune teller once told me
that the cards are cards of trickery
That once the Queen of Spades is broken
No future will ever get spoken-

If time were all we had left
and stories were spun in rhyme
would it all be worth it dear
if you could read my mind?

A Soldier of Fortune once insisted
that money was all that persisted
Once you're dead and counted lost
Buying memory is the cost.

If time were all we had left
and stories were spun in rhyme
would it all be worth it dear
if you could read my mind?

A Maid of Honour tried to hint
at the subtle but inextricable link
between man and wife, wife and man
a veritable sleight of hand -

If time were all we had left
and stories were spun in rhyme
would it all be worth it dear
if you could read my mind?

I remember a poet of note
Once of a Bridge he wrote
A myth fractured and broken
A story left unspoken.

If time were all we had left
and stories were spun in rhyme
would it all be worth it dear
if you could read my mind?









Growing Up Too Quickly - 7/19/2002







The jangling windows urged him forward as he stood cotton tailed on the top deck of the old 154. This bus-route was as old as his memories of his first day at school. "Take the 154 then change to any bus." This jangling was familiar. Only the beeping of the automated fare charge system was different. The cool blue machines, well-positioned guards against every bus passengers right to try to beat the system. He'd been riding this bus since he'd won the right to go to school on own his own. It was just Saturdays at first but gradually, every morning began with a wait for the 154. Not many friends he had on this bus-ride. A very clever boy used to take the bus home with him. But that stopped after Primary Six because the clever boy went to another school.

So all through Secondary school, he rode the bus slone. Sometimes there were the occasionaly short term companions, not in the sense that he actually spoke to any of them, for he was far too shy. But he liked to imagine conversations, especially with the girls whose faces reappeared each day. But no one had ridden the bus for as many years as he had. By the time he was sixteen, he'd taken the route for ten years.

But he changed schools. There was a college on the route, in fact two. But he worked out that loyalty to a bus-route and famliarity with the view was not a good enough reason to go to those schools. So he took a different bus. Sometimes it was the 198 and sometimes it was the 165. But no bus ever replaced the 154.

And so now, returning to that old route, no longer student but teacher, falling asleep after the bend down that stretch before the Poly kids get on, waking up to see the Interchange drift by and walking home alone along that drain: that does bring back memories.







The Name Game - 7/23/2002







If I forget my name
Persuade me of who I am
Lest I live without a life
If I forget my name.

When the flowers finally wither
Taste again with each breath
the scent filled room
when the flowers finally wither.

Once you're far away
Remember nearness and warmth
settling upon our flesh
once you're far away.

When lovesongs lose their tune
Sing out newness
known by you alone
when lovesongs lose their tune.

Once photographs fade
Draw upon my memory
with the lines of my own blood
once photographs fade.

If I forget your name
Remind me of the secret
fears that once I possessed
if I forget your name.

If I forget my name
Remind me of who I live as
In your heart of hearts
if I forget my name.









sigh - 7/24/2002







it's the middle of the week and i'm not looking for ward to the rest of it. sure the end is near and we're already at the middle of term. sure there are things to be happy about and surprised to know about. sure there are blessings to count but

i don't really like doing stuff that's expected of me. it's the same old story. you've got to care forthe kids which means you have to report them when they're late for school and you need to keep bugging them about homework and you need to inform parents when their children have been skipping school. and i can't do it properly. i spend more time worrying about how to do all this, more than i do worrying about lessons and thinking up intelligent things to say. it's a waste of time. but it's supposed to be the care for them so you have to do these things to make them learn. but i don't like it. a perfect world would be if i could sit down with them talk with them then they would get to share their angst and think things out for themselves. then the responsibility would be theirs and the consequences theirs. but every one feels the guilt. so what if a kid decides that school isn't important to him or her? at 17 don't you have the right to choose? can't you flunk out or lose the right to school because you're disinterested? maybe that's the best way? instead of everyone else (parents, teachers, the minstry, schools) feeling guilty that we haven't instilled in them the love for learning and that we don't have very much to offer except pats on the head for conformity. so what. we teach them about fear and what it's like to live differently. system will screw you. a massive transferrance of guilt. it all circulates doesn't it.

we want the best for them. we want them to grow up to be responsible. but what are we? what do we have to offer? are we a sorry excuse for them to take after?

it's the little things that get me i guess. the little things that gnaw at the fringes of my mind like the bangs from the bad haircut i own.

there's so much to discover out there folks why are we allowing the system to get us?

"Life has become the ideology of its own absence." Theodore Adorno







Phases - 7/27/2002







Was nice to return to the ol school and see some familiar faces today. I guess not having to worry about the particularities of a place allows you the luxury of saying "Hello!" excitedly to people you haven't seen for a while. But then again, there was a sense of relief I guess when you saw the worn and sad looks around you. There's always a way out isn't there.

Very proud of all the people that I taught and were awarded prizes. They all looked grown up and confident in their JC uniforms and blazers ... there were notable exceptions of course, some pretending not to know that they should have borrowed a blazer for Speech Day and being too cheap to get a nice pair of formal shoes ... but hey at least there was a sense of occasion! Sadly I think some people that didnt' get awards didn't receive too warm a welcome. Ah well - perhaps they should have been more proper in their decorum? Maybe the sense of (or lack of belonging) stems from that as well. It's the value we place on who people are and not what they seem to be isn't . But this is all cryptic.

Other highlights of the weekend:

Went for lunch with some kids from my new form class. Well I say new cause it's only been 5 weeks. But I must say they're a very interesting and lively bunch with lots of opinions, stories and ideas. The future seems full of promise ...

Managed to finish the bulk of the assignments due next week. Need to do more re-writing. Tremendously stilted prose after not writing academic papers for so long. Anyhow, I can always blame the extensive writing on this page as the cause ...

The MAN is back from Australia! Was talking to him on the phone just a while ago - and even he knew about this page - through a friend and her friends ... wow. Anyway - he's gonna be pragmatic and make money. Sigh - where's the cause for Lit? But I guess deep down he's still committed as ever to words and ideas but has just found a better way to transform those things into cash. But it does make one wonder. If words and ideas are made money, assigned an arbitrary value, are denigrated to the level of "things" , are words and ideas still essentially the same? But then again - I'm being caught in neo-conservatism isn't it ... privileging the Word over the Flesh. Who says that words get degraded when they are monified? It's just a snobbish illusion that I'm clinging onto. Words are things and the measure of thingness in a capitalist world, is that strange world of signs represented by the dollar bill and the credit card. Again, representations of value but at different removes. The bill - has value because it's legislated and symbolically agreed upon. The card - because of an assumption of money potential, the expectation of being paid, the cursive sweep (rather than the block print) of one's signature. Nice talking to him again. Well be hanging out hopefully though he has to finish up NS. Maybe one other person to talk Lit with ... hopefully.

So there. That's the weekend so far. Not bad. And we're already half-way into term.







Prose - 7/29/2002







Sleeping on the Bus today I received a phone call from these on-line florists that I had made an order for Ms Tan with.

"Just checking your order ..."
"Yes ..."
"Your message really so long issit ... cannot cut ?"
"Yes ... it's a poem"
"Ok lor no choice ..."
"Yes"
"Just checking who do you want the TO and FROM to be ..."
"Just leave it blank."
"You sure the other party knows who you are ..."
"Yes"
"Ok thanks."
Click.
"And even if she doesn't ...


Even Romance gets industrialised systemised. Ah - too bad my fault I used the Net.

My resolve is to get Ms Tan a bouquet every week until she leaves ... this week will be the third one. Really burn hole in pocket kinda Ex but hey one of those once in lifetime sequences.

Finally finished the essay. Going to submit it tommorrow and hope it all gets safely to the UK in one week and in one piece. Worried that I've got to re-submit because of lousy standards though. Anyway they'll prob make me re-submit because I went way over the word limit for the long essay. Thought I read 5000 words. Then after writing the thing I check and see 4000 words with a 10% tolerance. Die. 1124 over the limit. And this was with major summary work already. They claim it's academic discipline. But I figure it's just that ang mohs are too lazy to read extra. Ah well - cross my fingers and hope they won't bug me about it.







Homage - 7/31/2002







Maybe it's the morning before the sun up
Walking over the head bridge where
the dusty bus wheels run to a stop and
I beep down steps and stumble up new ones running
circuits through my neurons twitching spine movements
maybe it's the loneliness of ten minutes before air-con breath
greets you again, and you know
that the best minds of your generation
are still asleep with pooh bear in the great
land of nod.
maybe it's the knowledge that somewhere wide world somewhere else
you're out there
perhaps not dreaming but riffing as you would
Perhaps rolling with those meticulous fingers
Ooo not only for poems were they detailed machines
not only for hand=written=spaced=clean
peices that were white white all is white lectures
Oooo those detailed fingers would swiftly roll
paper and weed
the noxious weed
into rough drafts while we spoke.


Perhaps its remembering your lilt by the drooping sun
those afternoons
Curly unkempt you struck a match hair with
the ease of a window wiper falling from grace
opening the glass tank
letting the smoke drift out

And I get vaguely nostalgic about who you were
And try to find you in this damn wide world.
Like a lost connection try to find some trace of you.
Like a fish caught downstream trying to find some silver
stream to catch a glimpse
of you.
so morning comes and
I search the whole damn world
like a chain of links in search of you
I capture your name but there are several more
and still I'm looking for you.

once as a joke they said that
"the truth is adair"
if you got the pun
you didn't bother
because truth is not truth in this land
But you slid down inside your alphabetical shelves
and newspapers and mags and unpublished decisions spewed forth
So all this road is dreaming and
all this road is going
further from 1996 than a ball would roll wouldn't it
Looking for you I find others
translations of A void
Brit film critics
but mottram too
and sub voicive poetry
that I've never heard you read
and I know that the moments
of silent thought
are further now
because in the whole damn world
you live like a mystery out of reach.
One wonders if you even own an
e-mail address
That would certainly breach
your privacy ...

So early mornings are bad in a way
cause I search the whole damn world
for the truth that
you resisted
operated upon
for the breath of the line
that these kids behind me chattering
will never know of
the space-time line
drawing circles
mazy ringlets
Desire finds its own energy.
sacrifice it's own justification.
And in the whole damn world
I can't even get a whisper.

if anyone knows how to contact Dr Gilbert Adair - please let me know ...

June 2002

hey - 6/3/2002







check out the front page of my diary. just got a digital cam - courtesy of ms tan for the 2nd anniversary ... (i was predictable and got her a rock ...) but realised that the images produced from that gift open up possibilities ...

was twiddling around with frontpage and then copying the code here but it didn't translate very well ... if any one has a way of translating frontpage tables (in html)here - that would be nice ... tables seem to mess everything up ...







Angel of Silence - 6/7/2002







Why do you each waking hour
Haunt these corridors
Of words when the only sound you bring
You make by fluttering your wings?
Your bright eyes want a whisper
to smooth their angry glare
A calm sentence will order
The curls of your golden hair.


Angel of Silence
Why do you predict
Each pause and elipsis
With the pulse of your heart beat?

Angel of Silence -
Or does not that name ring true?
Am I really, merely, you.

alone with ms tan away i guess i get a little more quiet. no need to talk. just shuffle my thoughts along and like a pack of cards hope you get lucky and manage to pick out a good one. it's the hols. teachers talk too much during term time. we go quiet during the hols.







when - 6/8/2002







the night is humid and warm and mittens the cat can't sleep, she curls up in front of the blinking lights of the computer monitor and purrs her approval. The clackety punches of keys distract her momentarily but she nuzzles down onto the small space that is right in front of the screen. Facing it, she glares into a world of colour attempting to make out meaning from the sounds and the words buzzing on the screen. Occasionany, she flicks her ears because she hears the electronic noise making sense to her. But that was a different time, when cats could compute.

Distant - too distant is that memory. When C++ flowed from her paws and she could java with the best of them. Anyway, what's the point of knowing how to do the computer jive when you're one leg short.

She turns her head to check that the vague shape typing knows what its saying. Stading up to obscure the screen, she licks fur coat, pruning approval.

She settles down again, back to the screen now, nonchalent. Into the humid night, into the whirring fan, into the flashing lights of the computer screen, she allows her mind to wander, remembering at the edges of her mind of when she knew more.









Rambling Rose - 6/9/2002







- you know you should only watch England play when Back-ham is playing you know with him in the team then they play with an energy that is worth -

- you know, check out the definition on my arms. Check it out - good definition. See the point where the lines meet. There's a channel - a groove, you actually can -

- you know, babies recieve all sort of stimulii and process them from a very young age. I wouldn't be surprised if she was able to recognise all that she's seen because of the sheer amount of -

-you know the weather here right now is really cold. They just went made when England scored that goal against Argentina. Lots of crazy behaviour. Miss -

-you know it's my body shape. Born like this. You can't balme me. But check out the definition on those arms. I don't pose for nothing. Just need to get rid off -

-you know - I think she shitted. No such word? Ok I think she defecated harh harh harh I know because I think I heard it and I think I felt it her bottom sort of goes -

-you know I haven't written a long sentence, one that has all its parts in propoer place, normalised accurately with connectors and conjunctions relating to one another in clockwork fashion, a sentence that doesn't so much repeat itself as knows itself, its rhythms pulses and intricacies, its logical loopholes and fallacise, its marvellous potential and possibilities - I haven't written one like that correctly for a long time-

Rambling Rose
I don't suppose
This ramble was longer
than the Garden hose
Rambling Rose
I do propose
That you talk through your mouth
And not your nose.







The Suit - 6/12/2002







Watched a French play last night and I won't even pretend that I remember the name. But it was brilliant. The characters spoke of themselves as if they were narrating a story - in third person - and the minimalist setting was so effective in conveying the emotional tension and psychological perversion that manifests itself in the most mundane of activities. A single bed. Two clothes frames. Three chairs. And a suit.

One wonders about how these actors can shed theri inhibitions and put on display human emotion. I tend to think that writing is a less confrontational way of discussing your emotion. But the play was largely in third person - so that may have been a distancing strategy. I don't think I ever got into plays or acting - though being immensely interested in these things when I was very young precisely because of the fear of putting emotion on display. It haunts you doesn't it to think of an entire theatre of strangers participating in a real-time discourse of how a character is. Maybe other kinds of Bretchtian- Political or even abstract symbolic drama would have been a better idea. But I never had the time to get into those things. Anyway those things only became prominent much later on.

Spent the rest of the evening watching this documentary on THE BAND. Essentially know them from the backing up work they did for Bob Dylan. But it was like their farewell concert (1976) and they had just about everyone from the singer-songwriter community performing with them. Raw stuff - guitars jarring and all. Martin Scorcese made the docu. But seeing all these guys in outdated suits and flare pants and funny hats one wonders about being outdated. It's strange - maybe I grew up in such a frivolous time - the 80s - with all that POP stuff the alternative being HEAVY METAL (which was quite a farce also) that I deliberately turned to an earlier time of music.

My Back Pages - Bob Dylan

Crimson flames tied through my ears
Rollin' high and mighty traps
Pounced with fire on flaming roads
Using ideas as my maps
"We'll meet on edges, soon," said I
Proud 'neath heated brow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth
"Rip down all hate," I screamed
Lies that life is black and white

Spoke from my skull. I dreamed
Romantic facts of musketeers
Foundationed deep, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

Girls' faces formed the forward path
From phony jealousy
To memorizing politics
Of ancient history

Flung down by corpse evangelists
Unthought of, though, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

A self-ordained professor's tongue
Too serious to fool

Spouted out that liberty
Is just equality in school
"Equality," I spoke the word
As if a wedding vow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

In a soldier's stance, I aimed my hand
At the mongrel dogs who teach
Fearing not that I'd become my enemy
In the instant that I preach
My pathway led by confusion boats
Mutiny from stern to bow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats
Too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinking
I had something to protect
Good and bad, I define these terms
Quite clear, no doubt, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.



Indeed a song that grows up with you. Ah but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now.











Bad Analogies - 6/14/2002







Portugal NOT qualifying for the next round of the World Cup is like ... someone with an IQ of 180 not making it to a LOCAL Univ because he got D7 for Mother Tongue

Korea beating Portugal is like people with very little flair or talent or interest doing very well in their exams because they studied really really hard.

Portugal getting pissed and frustrated is like being very enthusiasitic in class, doing extra reading, talking passionately about work and then seeing an exam question that is irrelevant to what you studied.

Korea having an army of fans is like the support many parents give to their kids - extra tuition, ferry them to classes, nag and shout and threaten just so they make it to the next level.

Portugal getting TWO red cards is like the System being biased and jealous of talented individuals, trying to take away innate advantages.

Korea getting away with fouls is like the way the System reacts to noisy boisterous unsupportive parents / guardians - it just gives in.

The Argentinian referee is like a teacher / ministry official who didn't make it in life and wants to make sure talented people suffer along with him.

Sigh - why Portugal? They shouldn't have lost to the US in the first match and today a couple os bad calls against them. Don't normally support particular soccer teams and my reasons for supporting Portugal are totally sentimental and frivolous. The players have really cool sounding names. Also, we (Ms Tan and I) watched the Euro 2000 matches during our honeymoon in the UK and liked Portugal very much - esp. Figo, who in Ms Tan's words - should be supported because his name sounds like a dog's ...







What I've been up to ... - 6/19/2002







I've been writing an essay! Posting this here so that more than two people (me and my tutor) get to read this - not that it's of much interest to the rest of the world ...



Activity 7 : Phrasal Verbs in Learner Materials



The Question:

You may wish to consider the entries for phrasal verbs in learners' dictionaries to see how clear and comprehensive is the advice given. In addition, or alternatively, you may consider how a text-book that you use treats phrasal verbs. How useful is the guidance for learners.



The Answer:

Issue one:



How important is it for the learner to understand what a phrasal verb is exactly?

Various descriptions of Phrasal Verbs (offered in Section 6 of Unit 4) suggest that it is a language unit that can be clearly defined. Indeed, these descriptors might be applied as tests to distinguish Phrasal Verbs from the Verb plus preposition combination.

However, dictionaries and textbooks do not seem to provide clear guidelines as to the difference.

For example, the Oxford Advanced Learners' Dictionary (ALD) has a section on Phrasal Verbs. The brief explanation on what makes a phrasal ver is as follows:

Phrasal verbs (sometimes called multi-word verbs) are verbs which consist of two, or sometimes three, words. The first word is a verb and it is followed by an adverb (turn down) or a preposition (eat into) or both (put up with). These adverbs or prepositions are sometimes called particles. (A-2)

What the explanation fails to do is to give a strict definition of Phrasal verbs as opposed to a verb plus preposition combination. The definition given by the dictionary seems to subsume both under the generic category of Phrasal verbs.

Advice is given as to separable and inseparable phrasal verbs. (To elaborate)

A less technical definition is offered in the "Preface" of English in Context: Phrasal Verbs (EC), a reference book used by pupils.

Phrasal verbs consist of a verb followed by a preposition, a verb followed by an adverb, or a verb followed by both an adverb and a preposition. They do not look difficult, but they can cause major problems for those learning English.

The meaning of a phrasal verb is not necessarily simply the literal meaning of the verb and adverb or preposition put together¬Ö. Sometimes an object can come between the verb and preposition and sometimes it cannot. Sometimes the position of the object depends on whether the object is a noun or pronoun. The best way to master this aspect of phrasal verbs is to see them in context, as they are in the book. (Emphasis mine)

The description offered raises several issues. First of all, it is precisely because an "all inclusive" definition of a Phrasal Verb is used, there has to be an acknowledgement that rules for using this version of the Phrasal Verb become difficult to predict. The statements beginning "sometimes ¬Ö" are less than helpful and rather serve to confuse the learner. Secondly, the author of the guide seems to predicate the basis of her approach (teaching phrasal verbs "in context") on this confusion: "The best way to master this aspect of phrasal verbs is to see them in context, as they are in the book." Thus, the differentiation between Phrasal Verbs and the Verb plus preposition combination, while difficult (or at least tedious) to explain in terms of grammar, is deferred to an explanation via context. The underlying assumption is that learning Phrasal Verbs as they are used is a more practical approach than beginning by laying out clear grammatical guidelines.

Added to this is the additional (and non-structural) claim that "they do not look difficult, but they can cause major problems" and explanation that the meaning of a Phrasal Verb "is not necessarily simply the literal meaning of the verb and adverb or preposition put together". This serves to reinforce the notion that a mere structural appreciation of Phrasal Verbs is insufficient in learning how to use them. Yet the alternative offered, studying them in context, aims to solve "this aspect of phrasal verbs", ie the grammatical / structural confusion. Further, "context" being highly influenced by a particular culture and function, does not provide a stable framework for learning through imitation or modelling.

Consequently, these general introductions to Phrasal Verbs indicate the assumption that pupils may not necessarily need to be conversant with precise structural descriptions of what Phrasal Verbs are in order to accurately and effectively use them. However, there is also a concession to the fact that in not laying out clear structural guidelines, the subsequent learning









essay part two - 6/19/2002







Part Two:

Two examples.

"Lag behind"

"Lag behind" is considered a phrasal verb by EC. Interestingly enough, it is not defined as such by either the Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English (LCE) and the ALD.

The advice given by EC focuses on meanings that only relate to the relative speeds of physical movement. The model sentences provided as examples reinforce this idea. However, when the LCE defines "lag" it provides an additional sense of "develop[ing] more slowly than others (790). What is not made clear in the LCE is whether "lag behind" may be used in a non-physical sense as the example offered only focuses on the physical. Thus, the learner may be faced with the ambiguity of whether or not to transfer the idea of slow development to "lag behind".

The ALD seems to offer the most comprehensive grammatical advice. It gives two descriptions of "lag behind", first describing it as a [verb + prepositional phrase] and then as [verb + particle]. The ALD indirectly gives evidence for "lag behind" not being a phrasal verb by demonstrating how an insertion may be made between the verb and particle:

Prices are rising sharply, while incomes are lagging far behind. (680)

In summary, while "lag behind" is considered by the textbook to be a phrasal verb, both dictionaries do not agree. However, only the Oxford provides seems to provide alternative descriptions of "lag behind". The LCE seems to place accurate grammatical descriptions as less important than giving examples of the phrase in use. From a pedagogical point of view, while the Oxford shows how an insertion may be made, it may actually confuse a learner with its grammatical descriptions. In using dictionaries for advice, learners thus have to be taught what to pick out as important, in order not to get caught in detail that may act to confuse and inhibit a learner's confidence to use an expression.



Summon up:

The next expression considered, "summoned up" reveals even more disagreement amongst the various sources of authority. Again, the ALD is the most comprehensive grammatically. It considers "summon up" from two points of view, first as a [verb + noun/noun phrase] and also as a phrasal verb. The ALD tries to locate this difference by showing that in the first instance, "up" is often used but is optional. It also makes a distinction between the two meanings:

"Summon something (up)" [verb +noun/ noun phrase] – to make a particular quality come as if from deep inside oneself in an attempt to so something. I had to summon (up) all my courage to face him.

"Summon something up" [Phrasal Verb] – to make a feeling, an idea, a memory, etc come into the mind: to evoke something: a smell which summons up memories of my childhood. (1197)

The difficulty for the learner on encountering the entries above is to clearly see the difference in terms of meaning in the two definitions. The second definition seems to focus on an external stimulus which causes feelings to come into the mind while the first one focuses on qualities "deep inside" the self. But this difference is never made explicit in either entry. Further, there is the implication that the difference in meaning leads to a differentiated grammatical characterisation. This is so as both examples tag a noun phrase after "summon up". The decision to classify one as [verb + noun/noun phrase] and the other as phrasal verb seems arbitrary.

Applying the rules laid out in Section 6 of Unit 4, we find that "summon up" cannot be separated by an adverb and cannot be broken up by moving the part of the sentence:

*I had to summon quickly up all my courage to face him.

*Up all my courage, I had to summon.

On the other hand, summon up can never stand alone:

*The smell summoned up.

The LCE is more direct in characterising "summon up". It's examples indicate that "up" is optional all the time and that "summon up" as a phrasal verb does not exist. However, it's definition does not capture the nuance of the ALD's second definition and leaves the learner with the impression that to "summon up" must involve "making a great effort" (1444). The textbook, EC, is similar to the LCE here but does not emphasise the effort involved:

Summon up : to try to get together enough (of something, such as enthusiasm, energy, etc) to do something. (33)

Some conclusions

Grammatical categories are not considered as crucial in advising on the use of a phrasal verb. This may result from a lack of clear consensus as to what constitutes a phrasal verb and the recognition that even if a student knew the various rules that identify a phrasal verb as such, this might not have a bearing on accurate usage.

Secondly, by comparing different sources of authority, this essay has highlighted that the learner would certainly find it difficult to pin down (conceptually at least) clear semantic principles by which phrasal verbs may operate. Because the advice given in each source emphasises a different aspect of the phrasal verb, clarity may be compromised.

Thirdly, with regards to the issue of comprehensiveness, if a learner were to encounter a phrasal verb and then fail to find it characterised appropriately in one source and then turn to another, the lack of agreement might lead to confusion. By extension, even if a range of possible usages were offered by a single dictionary, not enough goes on to make clear the distinction between different possible usages. This is precisely what happens in the example of the ALD's definition of "lag behind".

you made it! That's what some teachers do with their time - that and read comics ...









Day First Day - 6/24/2002







A million Billion thoughts from home
Waiting for the morning to come (or is it dawn ...)
Why are these thoughts so strange, thoughts of a new school?
So weird? So filled with quirky unexpected worry
that they rob you of sleep.
Where will the classrooms be?
Who will I greet? Where do the teachers meet?
All these thoughts have been there
But are conquered (momentarily) by potato chips
at four am.

And my new table.
Finally, my new table.
Is it there to keep noisy chilren away?
To hide things that creep in dark places?
Things you don't like to MARK?
First day - and already a stack of essays - waiting to
Eat me up ...
What does an essy look like?
Sounds large and dirty.
They make them out of ink.
Whole creatures made out of ink. Imagine.

I do not pretend I am completely at home
Or at ease. Familiar faces - they come in useful
They set you at ease when there's no one else you know.
Set you at ease when teachers are mean.
Tea-cher. Hey, that's me.







Tried Tiredness - 6/29/2002







Tried tiredness on and found the fit too tight
Her creases complicating my skin.
Tried Shrugging her off
But tiredness clung on like the year-old
stench of unwashed jeans.
Tried passing her on
To the street where
I frowned at people passing.
She quickly multiplied
And drugged each glance.

Now tiredness
Rests on my shoulders
Like she's always been there.
People see her first
Not me.


The drab colours of the fabric
strangely catch everyone's
attention.

Mumble mumble some more please.

Consider the dew drop and the bead of persperation. Drip drop splot splat you're dripping sweat on my cat. You're spinning dew before the day is due. Consider the dew drop and the bead of persperation.

May 2002

Poem in Several Scraps - 5/4/2002







"Before you hand in the script
Make sure you have
your name and index number
Written on it."

After 20 minutes
Sighing becomes less frequent.
Initially we objected to breath
Forming moisture on each
Other's faces.
Now it's welcomed.
Packed close like this, refrigeration
Does little to keep life in.

But we make do
a little grunt distracts
As does the trickling
of the next person's liquid warmth
Down his legs, steaming the carriage floor.

Death rattles by
Going the other direction
Carcasses - streaked marble
With blood.

"This way to the Promised Land"
If we keep warm enough.
Packed in close like this
B.O. and halitosis are salvation.

An hour later.
He sits with whip in hand - black ink
Scribbles are power
Forcing space on either side
He struts down the rows to make
Sure they clean up after they
Defecate.

Pens fly over creased paper!

No better than creatures! He moans
To himself as he shoves
A glance at the pattering feet
Retreating into even less space
As he makes his rounds.
No better than creatures!

"What's that rattling by?"
On the concrete it's hard to hear
Jangling steel carriages
Unless you're listening out
For echoes.
Stripes ornate as designer signatures
Random traces -
Streaks where veins
Arteriods, corpuscular twitches
Run.

Just under half an hour to go.
And his heart set on business yet
To be settled.
"Just sign here - right on the dotted line."
In his mind, a deal that can't be be clearly brokered.
"Right here on the dotted line."

Screams, piss, packed in steel carriages
"What's that going in the other direction?"
He scribbles away power
His name in red streaks
A bloodline etched in marble.

-2/3 May 2002

And do you know what it was invented for, and what it is still largely used for there? The control of slaves. If you can write down a woman's name or a man's name, you can write down all sorts of things next to that name, the amount of work they do, the time it takes for them to do it, about their methods, about their attitudes and you can then compare all this very carefully with what you have written about others. If you do this you can maneuver your own dealings with them in ways that will soon control them; and very soon you will have the control over your fellows that is slavery. Civilised people are very careful about who they let write down their names, and who they do not. Since we, here, do not aspire towards civilisation it is best that we halt the entire process.

From The Tale of Old Venn, Samuel R. Delany.











Of Fireflies and mice - 5/7/2002







"Poetry then, is the production of meaning operating through the machines of breath and time. Forcing its way like a fist through the air, it makes the air energy, combining thought and word, transforming relations into a vast energy field of desire."

the night before
The thoughts come quietly sometimes
like a lullaby just as you drift off to sleep
rudely sometimes
a shout jarring waking you up from
dreams

the soliloquy
"who am i and why".
- it never leaves does it?
The fear i think -
is of slipping
into insignificance.

auditions
Just as sure as
once we were told
we would be all things
and you were certain
of what could be achieved

watching a rehearsal from
the wings
so now its shadow-
the fear haunts-
recurring at the edge
of vision

curtains up. Alone.
and the only sense of
all that's possible
all that's yet to be
fulfilled
remains the shapeless
indecision that rehearses
itself in sudden waking
that struts the stage
as prologue to
a dream

If we wrote poems instead of having to speak to one another what would relations and communication be like? The slowing down of the thought process, the deliberation involved, the lack of spontenity and yet the ability to replay each word in your mind. We often think of poetry as an exalted moment of epiphanic revelation: to see eternity in a grain of sand stuff. But what if poetry truely (in Wordsworth's concept - ironically ) spoke the language of the common man, a mode of transmission with fields more open than oracy would perhaps be made available. In these times, when speed via the internet / mobile phones and SMSes have made communication linear and systemised, surely poetry is an alternate machine to open up communicative fields ...

In direction I find intent. In distraction, content
fr T. MickLeson Terms of a New Literary Language















Last Rites - 5/17/2002







Things are finally confirmed about the move to a JC and I'm quite pleased and excited about getting a chance to do something different. I suppose I've never really felt at home in RV in the first place so leaving isn't that difficult. And the fact is, after 2 years one senses that it's good to try a different environment. Obviously a JC environment is going to be different and will take some adjusting to. But I actually think that I'm more suited for that kind of environment.

Anyway I was just thinking about the length of time people stay in one job, or at least one environment. To just be in the same milleu year after year and to interact with the same small circle of collegues may give a sense of belonging and security to some I suppose but I guess too much of it does cause repetitiveness to set in. There's something to be said about being loyal to a single institution of course, but I guess that's for people who really believe in the institution are willing to give up the possibility of the new and the different for the thrill of seeing how a place can be developed and be built upon year after year.

Anyhow this will be the last week in a place where I've spent at least two years - not always fruitfully and not always with joy - and so it would I suppose be justified if I wrote a series of entries about the place and my sense of leaving it.

Again - something new - I don't think I've ever planned a series of entries that will work through a process or will thread through a week. Ah well, it's always worth a try.

Rubbish

The reality of leaving a place after 2 years is the amount of rubbish that gets accumulated. Not rubbish in the literal sense of the word but the piles of papers! The extra worksheets! The numerous books that I just brought in and never took home! The stack of CDs! So I started today to clear it all. Packed them into many boxes. But that's only the beginning. Not being a very organised person, I've just been chucking all the extras, "this and that" in the dark space beneath my desk. And my has the pile grown. Sigh. Wondering what to do. Probably to the recycling bin. Returned my numerous books to the resource room as well. And the CDs that I've brought from home! It's quite amazing I think I've got well over 20 CDs and VCDs stashed all over my desk. And the files and the notes. The books as well. I wonder how I'm going to cart it all home. Must make sure I leave the place pristine. And I haven't even started on the stuff on my table top, drawer or cupboard.









And so the sickle turns - 5/18/2002







More Clearing Up

Today I started in earnest to throw away things. So many sheets of paper accumulated! Anyway was good and actually sorted everything out. I threw most of the stuff away into the recycling bin in the TRC but kept all the papers that were only printed on one side for use as scrap / rough paper. At least that makes up for the amount of paper I'm throwing away.

It's nostalgic I guess, throwing away things. Actually found compos from 3M 2000! I think they were late work or corrections or something. Also found all my drafts for the testimonials I wrote for 4K last year - so the clearing up process was quite a nice walk down "amesia lane". Amazingly I realised that I've kept every issue of TIME and Newsweek for the apst two years - which adds up to quite a number of issues. I'm defoinitely not throwing those away though.

What do you feel about it?

You know someone left a note about my not talking about my emotions and not developing the character caught in this process of change or movement. I guess it's true that I don't want to get all mushy-ushy about things. I think I've always been quite reticent about sharing my emotions in a very plain and obvious manner, precisely because of the knowledge that emotions are complex things. But I'm quite sure about the fact that the mechanical nature of sorting through things does in fact make blunt the sharpness of emotion. I think part of the distance from emotion has to do with the fact that I've planned this move from the very first days that I was in RV.

It takes a historical turn

Even before I was posted to RV, I had managed to join an Independent school. It was all quite dramatic cause I hadn't called or scouted around. One day in Apr 2000 I got a call in the school where I was a trainee and was invited to "come for an interview". Anyway just a few days before the official postings were out I actually had resigned from MOE and had "joined" the Indie School. But as things worked out, in that one week before I had to report at my "new school", MOE refused to let me join the Indie school. As such I had to come to RV.

But of course the story didn't end there, cause even as a trainee I already had made contact with the GEP branch and was hoping to perhaps teach there. As it worked out, they couldn't take me in in May 2000 but could in Jan 2001. And so, there was that possibility even after I had been posted to RV. But being naive in the diplomatic game, through a series of rash, silly and perhaps foolish moves (plus demands) I lost that opportunity as well.

Since then, I flirted with the idea of joining other Indie schools, other institutions and was continually on the look out for something different. But it's been a double edged sword. While there's always promise initially, as things develop, one realises that other schools and institutions are also very wary about things and the kinds of games MOE plays. As such most of these forays never went beyond a few e-mails.

I suppose it's a double edged sword also in the sense that the powers that be in RV have always doubted my loyalty to the school - the fact was they knew I was always thinking up alternatives. I don't know - I guess from their perspective they saw it as never being able to fully settle down, and therefore never being able to "give my best" to the school.

But I always maintained that just because I consider alternatives, it doesn't mean that I can't give of my best. I suspect it's more of understanding what "your best" means versus "my best". I guess I've never been fully able to support what one would term "the culture of RV" - as that would take a longer term commitment. And yet, perhaps this restlessness has become a convenient excuse for my non-support of "RV culture" - what is it anyway - perhaps it hides deeper motivations for my non-support of it.

Anyway I guess the breakthrough came when I managed to do some forward planning and get a spot in a JC (though not this one that I'm going to...) and managed to arrange things so that the transition would be easier.

But I think I'm pretty sure about one thing. Looking through the stuff - the notes, the essays, the confi files, the testimonials - I'm pretty sure that in spite of my restlessness, I've never short-changed the kids. That to me is important. In fact it's precisely because I never saw myself as a long-term brick in the wall, that I perhaps was willing to go just a little bit further in wondering about the way things are, and whether things have to remain status quo, and of course constanly shared this with the kids. And even if that doesn't bear immediate fruit - perhaps some day it will.







Make My Day - 5/20/2002







First off, I must say that the notes left by many of those who have been following the series (this entry being the third) have been very sweet and very encouraging. Not that we do what we do in order to receive the ratification of our students but it's always nice to leave something positive behind I guess.

They are also especially helpful as it's been a rough day, one which destroyed any lingering redemptive illusion that this leaving would at least be pleasant.

It had to do with being squeezed to do stuff that was both insignificant and long irrelevant on top of a whole silly Assessment exercise. To go into specifics would just be silly but it's the ressurection of what to me was 1. an already dead-end project and 2. an irrelevant survey. To be highly responsible would be to say - yes yes I'll grit my teeth and push it through - but the fact of the matter is that when I handed one of the projects in for vetting last year, it was just sat on and now over a year later, it's resurrected and "make sure you redo the thing before you leave" - give me a break, the project didn't even see the light of day in the first place and is now entirely irrelevant (it being a web-site), I'll have to overhaul it. SO I was most unhappy about it. The survey - well that was typical me really - conducted the creative writing workshop last year and didn't do a survey of it. And now it's back to haunt me. To me, a survey asking a list of questions is just too artificial a measure of the impact of anything and so I've resisted doing one. But apparently they're not letting me go in peace until I've done a survey. Which is entirely stupid because so much time has lapsed since then. But, if I wanted to be professional and mature about it - it's all due to my lacksidaisical attitude and lack of commitment to "see a job through". Irritated.

On top of that I've got to write up these horrid forms which are supposed to reflect my "competency" levels and the goals I've set and achieved. And here's the catch- they're not even for real ! it's a pilot programme they're trying out. Of course all teachers have to do this so I shouldn't be complaining. It's just that I suck big time at writing down either the obvious or the pretentious.

But all is not lost. I guess some of the emotion with regard to leaving is creeping in. I find it rather difficult to speak of it to the kids that want to know about it. Difficult I think because there's a sense of "why are you leaving us in the lurch" - which I must hasten to add is not the intention at all, plus they may get someone who is a better and more effective teacher than trundling ol' me (I hear a roar of approval from the left hand side of my form class ... near the back ...heh heh). And yet I'm pretty sure that it's important for the kids to learn that their success - whether in learning or being human - has much less to do with who's there cheering them on, but more to do with their desire and willingness to put their shoulders to the wheel. I think there is anxiety about what or who they're new teacher will be like but I'm sure there's also an element of excitement and that they'll come to benefit from that person as well.

Actually I've learnt something in the process that's rather interesting also. The ability to let go of a class, a project, an ambition or a even a plan, means that you've come to acknowledge that you're not indispensible. That's a humbling thought I think for many of us. To know that somebody else could very well take your place and do just as gooda job, or even better. The fact is that unless I come to that place of recognising that, I'll always be occupying a shadow - hoping to be what I'm really not and never developing into, well, someone else. The myth of permanance so pervades our psyche that the temporal and shifting nature of much of existence is often obliterated. To quote from Melville: "and I myself were a shuttle mechanically weaving" moving from point to point via infinitesimal distances, a dy/dx of nervous energy recurring.

Ah well to cheer myself up I went to watch Star Wars alone at JEC. Was rather entertaining despite all the bad press it's been getting. That Anakin guy and me many similarities in terms of being angry with things and impulsive - just hope I don't get into heavy breathing. Anyway what struck me was how read from a Marxist / Materialist perspective, it dramatises the movement from a feudal society (ie JEDI) to a more mechanistic and materialistic one (ie Droids and money-fed clones). The irony of course is that the liberation from the feudal elite allows the stepping up of a kind of totalitarian power. So that's where the Marxist frame doesnt' fit. The material conditions seem to democratise things (now you don't need a light saber to be powerful) but also leads the order to be susceptible to totalitarian influence. It does therefore set up a situation where conflicting theories of power co-exist, each feeding off the deficencies of the other. But of course the story packages all this under the dark side of the force in a conspiracy theory that would make JFK shudder. The ideological mystification is therefore this notion of the Force which is fallen upon when the material conditions seem to defy analysis and lead to contradictions. So, in spite of the numerous allegations that the conversation was stilted (hey - these aren't meant to be people, but archetypes), that the effects were overdone (the predominance of the technical thus lends itself to a materialist reading) and that the story line is too slow (a comment reflective of our fetishisation of linearly directed plot - again a cultural assumption in part contributed to by the first trilogy and now raged against by this offering - the dominant symbol of movement in the movie, the space craft are hardly linearly designed - the opening sequence is indeed a confounding of linear movement) I think the movie was worth watching.

After a difficult day.







One More - 5/23/2002







If I lived my life one moment at a time, what would that life be?
An endless sequence of plastic images circulating round my mind.
If I lived my life one moment at a time.

If I only dreamt one dream at a time, what would that dream be?
A mark left only in the hazy whisper of memory,
if I dreamt one dream at a time.

If I only sang, one song at a time, how would its melody sound?
The hum of monotony, consistent but never profound,
if I sang one song at a time.

If I read only a single page, what would its message read?
The cold unfeeling image of scattered fragments,
if I read only a single page.

So I will whirl through moments - past present future,
dreaming torrents that carve dreams in hearts.
I will sing songs ceaselessly and read out words carelessly.

Because if I only dared to live one moment,
to dream one dream,
to sing a single song and
read a single page -
What would that life be?

That probably sums up how I'm feeling at this juncture of the leaving. Now, I am aware that writing like this makes the fact artificial and somewhat contrived. But to give shape to events is the artist's perogative and so excuse these musings.

...those i've taught before ...

Hmmm how does one write about kids that you've taught for about half a year and who express a certain sense of gratitude and thanks? I suppose I'd like to thank them as well for teaching me a lot about what teaching means. I've had many ideas about an ideal classroom and ideal responses. But I've come to realise that even the best thought out of things can't work unless some sort of contact is made. And so I think that's something I can thank the kids for - for showing me this. I also think that this particular bunch of kids have lots of potential. Not merely to do well. I say merely cause it's just a by-product. we've made academic excellence a structural assumption - it isn't. It's the learning, the inquisitiveness, the daring to be someone different from what you already are that makes potential. I've enjoyed reading their work (cause many don't say much) and have never failed to be impressed with some of the insights and ideas. I suppose that's one o fthe priviledges of being an EL teacher, you catch a glimpse of an inner life. That's something I'll miss esp. with GP. I think this fusion of work and who we are is a remarkable thing. If we saw each piece we wrote as an extension, a crafting of ourselves, an aspect uncovered, then each piece would be a new world.

So some parting messages I guess are in order:
You've all been very positive about learning. More often than not, you all were conscientious and wanted to learn. Focus on that and let that become more and more a part of you.
I know that there were times that I went off onto what might have seemed tangential - but I do hope it'll make sense in the bigger picture.
I'm sure I'll miss the moments of silliness also. Not that I approved of them all the time but they did liven up the lesson. I guess there were those moments where I didn't know whether to laugh or scold, and that made teaching you all memorable.
And last of all I guess - I sincerely hope you'll fulfil your potential in every way you can. Never let someone rob you of your voice, your style, your passion. Be open to what people (esp teachers!) have to say, and allow your talents and beliefs to be crafted. But never lose sight of that precious thing that is YOU.







Something Stupid - 5/26/2002







Have looked through the entries of the recent past and realised that of late everything I write seems to take life so seriously. There's been a change in tone to a sense of dread and ominous foreboding, a sense of what is lost and never attained as well. I think some of the earlier entries were much happier - as if there was a lot more to laugh about - especially about myself.

Anyway - to all the nice people that have left nice notes - thanks a million. You know, as much as I'm excited to try something and some place different, there's a nagging sense of anxiety as well. I haven't taught in a JC before and wonder if I'm going to be up to it. I suppose it's important that I try and give myself the challenge and so these notes that give a vote of confidence do go a long way. In spite of appearances, I guess we all struggle with our sense of whether we're up to mark and this sometimes holds us back in the familiar.

Anyway i won't try force a funny entry to make things lighter. But I think a comment on collegues from the school I'm leaving is in order.

I think one of the things that I've never really adapted well to was the staffroom in the school. Ok. This was mainly my fault cause I found it more interesting to hang around in the canteen with the sec 3/4s (2000/2001). But just about this year with everyone suddenly leaving I really found myself at a loss - who do you talk to?

Interestingly enough,I had always got along well with OTC. For several reasons I guess. First - she was friendly from the start. I remember from one of the early days when I was still miserable about being in the school, and was busy laying out magazines at 630 in the morning. She was around and started chatting. Second, she knows quite a lot about art and culture (which is probably surprising to a lot of people) and was the only person I could talk to about Modernism, Post-structuralism etc ... Also, she was always around, hanging around late so we also talked quite a fair bit. Which to me is a real uncanny situation. Cause I think externally we're like worlds apart. She's loud, noisy, without inhibitions and an old girl; while I'm quiet (most of the time) and apologetic. But we got along fine.

Another nice colleague, Mr C. Also because of the magazines. He puts out the TIME and I do the Newsweek and we got to talking that way. Especially last year right around the elections. He had many stories to tell and interesting opinions I guess that not many people were interested in. But I was I guess. He's been really nice, teaching me the tricks of the trade and making me feel more comfortable with the older guys on the staff. I think the more senior members of staff will always feel a little uneasy around younger members of staff unless there are bridges, personalities that can bridge that divide and I'm glad for Mr C for that.

Sadly, there have been friends that used to talk with me a lot but don't anymore. At the beginning I guess people saw me in a certain mould - go-getter / ideas person/ young, enthusiastic, energetic / supporter of school policies - and the corresponding people would hang around with me. But as time whittled away that perception I guess I was no longer worth while to talk to. Which makes things all very mercenary doesn't it? But I kinda understand that cause everyone's so mega busy - it's not worth your while to just sit around and talk.

You know, when I was in Sec 4 I was nominated by my school for some AIA achievement award. This was mainly because I was rather active in community service in sec 3/4 (this was way before the days of CIP and we did it ... well because we cared ...) Anyway: I guess after trying things out for two years, I realised I wanted a change. And so at the interview they asked me about my commitment to these kinds of things. And I think I was too brutally honest. I told them that I'd much rather hang around the canteen and talk to people. Which is an answer that doesn't bring you very far in these interviews. Anyway - I guess the same kind of realisation hit me after a while in school. There are some things that you just want to do and be active in for a season and after that it's time for a change.

Anyway - have made some plans for the June Hols:

1. Ms Tan will be away on some thinking conference in June. So I'll be all alone. Sob Sob. Actually not all bad cause it does mean I can watch the World Cup without incurring her disdain.

2. Must definitely finish writing up some of my assignments for the Masters Course. Have only written up 2 credits worth of work and still have three more credits of short assignments. PLus the long essay. And all this is only for the first module!

3. Must study to be a GP tutor! Will accumulate material and study it. Not so much concerned about the logic and arguments. But really with the simplification and the techniques needed for Compre.

4. Must read up more theory - Delueze and Guatarri - was in Borders and they have a nice new shipment of D&G books! Must read more Dollimore as well ...

5. Must read comics! These are the latest thing to catch my interest. I suppose having spending power does encourage you to buy these graphic novels. Kino sells them at rather competitive prices ...

6. Of course - must watch my weight and build muscle. Still very flabby and not running fast enough ... fast enough for what ... hmmmm one wonders ....









BBQ - 5/28/2002







So sad - yesterday for the first time in my life in RV, there was an informal gathering of teachers for the sake of just - well - gathering. I suppose it was quite a nice way to say goodbue to some people cause it was the first time the staff really took some time off to meet in quite a large group. Of course departments and friends often meet, but I think last night was the first time we had quite a good response for this kind of BBQ gathering. Anyway hope it signals more relaxed and fun relationships between the teachers who are often over worked and pressured to the point that they don't even have time for themselves.

Did the fire for the BBQ and yes! it was another "AWAY" (one of the other memorable BBQ successes being 4B 2001's chalet BBQ) success. Usually feel more comfortable setting up BBQ fires at home where there's the familiarity of the wind direction, shelter, pit as well as the secret weapon (electric fan). Am actually quite pleased with my ability to start BBQ fires. YOu know - it takes skill and technique.

First it takes skill to arrange the charcoal strategically. For a large pit, you need four to five little mounds. These for the nuclei of the large fire. Now a lot of posers when it comes to starting fires refuse to use proper fire starters. They want to use leaves, paper, even kerosene. Don't be stupid. The point of the fire starter isn't merely to get a flame going - it's to get a sustained flame so that the charcoals get hot enough. Further, these other combustibles don't burn long enough to get the temperature hot enough to ignite the charcoal. The idea in arranging the little mounds is for the flames from the fire starter to lick the charcoal so that the charcoal itself gets hot.

A tip: the mounds should be arranged on the principle that the flame won't get blown out from being too exposed. At the same time, there needs to be enough circulation of air to keep the flames going.

Second stage. Just as the fire starters reach the end of their pitifully short life, the next stage of starting the fire is approached. Now here's the thing - if you started about five mounds all at the same time, they will all start going out about the same time. Experience has taught me that out of the the five, only three will be hot enough for the charcoal to catch. Leaving two mounds wasted. What thus can be done is to sprinkle more fire starter (crushed) over the mounds before they die out so the fire keeps going longer.

Here's where a fire makes it or leaves everyone frustrated with frozen food. You need to get the flame going by getting the charcoal to light up on its own. By this stage, some of the pieces of charcoal should be white hot. These are the pieces that are hot enough to burn on their own. The most traditional method is to fan it. But this has certain disadvantages, which I will first consider and then propose an alternative.

1. Slow fanning is a waste of time. Some people think that just waving a paper plate slowly constitutes fanning. Wrong. Slow fanning actually puts out the flame. Further, slow fanning is really the stereotypical picture that many people have of BBQ fires. Once you start slow fanning, people tend to want to "contribute" and you'll hear of chorus of volunteers going, "Let me fan, let me fan." Not only is this unproductive, it's a waste of paper plates. Which is itself another problem because really, paper plates are too flimsy to be of any use when fanning - plastic ones work better.

2. Fast fanning is better. But you need to know the angle of attack. Interestingly, it isn't from the side that causes this to work. It's from the top. However the disadvantages are evident. When you're at the mound stage of fire building, the separate mounds need differentiated treatment. Thus, while you fast fan one mound, an adjacent mound gets adversely affected. Plus a further mound may suffer from the draft. Further, fast fanning is really tiring. After one minute your arms ache. Also, you attract the wrong type of attention. All these macho wannabes come and say (after being of absolutely no help while you were toiling away getting your hands dirty arranging the charcoal), "Eh, let me fan." Then use the act of fanning to try to show off to the girls how strong they are. (Please)









BBQ part 2 - 5/28/2002







3. Blowing it. Now, I know that many people still think that this is a very stupid way of getting a fire started. But let me explain. I feel blowing a directed breath of air at a specfic charcoal mound is the most effectively way to get a fire going at this stage as it means that you provide the air to the point of the pit that needs it most. People think that its unhealthy (it is - the close proximity to the pit and the smoke getting into your eyes confirms irritation) plus unhygenic (it is to a certain extent - my hair smells of BBQ smoke because of the close contact for several days after a BBQ ...) But it's the most effective plus the most spectacular. Imagine a pit with hot coals but none lit up. Then the blower, in a concentrated breath, directs the air, coaxing the coals to light up, again and again, then, a moment's pause and suddenly the coals catch fire! It's a sight indeed! Plus: other benefits? Only those really interested in lighting the fire will come and try it out. The posers will immediately realise the amount of discomfort that the technique brings.

Next stage: once the mounds of fire are getting hot and burning quite well. the idea is to feed more charcoal to the mounds, such that the separate mounds will eventually be joined up by hot charcoal. At this stage, to spread the fire, any kind of fanning works. But my personal favourite is a quick blast from a mechanical fan. I remember in the days that people used to use hairdryers for the job. But if you're at home, a mechanical fan works just fine. But remember, there's no point getting the flame up for its own sake. You want the flame to spread the heat.

Lastly. Once there's a bed of hot charcoal, all burning on its own accord, the trick is to get the flame to die down. There's no point BBQing over a flame. You want the heat, not the fire. So let the flame die down a little (if you have a cover, use it) and then you'll be ready to cook food. Remember - oil from the food will cause the flame to leap up again - and so constant movement and turning of food is essential to keep it from getting burnt.

BTW - my comments are not reflective at all of the BBQ we had last night. There weren't any posers around. Everyone was just content to leave the fire starting to me ... and another teacher's fiance ... ah well ... I suppose it's always good to have someone around who actually likes to start BBQ fires.

Anyway the good thing about having a BBQ with all teachers is that the food is excellent. When the kids have a BBQ it's sometimes quite sub-standard. You'll have to be quite happy if they actually geta fire going. But last night was excellent. Everyone brought something interesting - even the fruit was specially packed and brought! High standards indeed.

Sadly, I didn't stay around very long. I guess part of it had to do with the fact that starting a fire is very tiring work and after doing that you don't really feel like eating. I ate like one sausage and three burnt satays but many pieces of pineapple ... Plus, I had to go quick cause yesterday marked two years since I've been married to Ms Tan! (which is another story in and of itself ...)







At Home - 5/31/2002







It did not take much to make him happy. Just leaving him alone in familiar surroundings was enough for him to well up with gratitude. After all he had not had a free day since the holidays had begun. So this day he woke up lazily, at eight in the morning. He mumbled, "Good morning" and went to read the newspapers. Then he realised that he had not exercised for a whole twelve hours. He shrugged on a work-out T shirt and took to skipping sets. Pyramids. 100, 200, 300, 400, 300, 200, 100. Steps upward then down. Then weights. Weights not too heavy. Weights not pyramids but balanced weights.

He was grateful for the fact that the morning was his. He drank a coffee.

Made by himself, not ordered. He stretched out and read a comic. Then the phone rang and tuition called. He took a quick shower. 3 hours helping a friend with GP. Ok.

It did not take make to make him happy - just some time alone.

Teach

Teach : - 2/5/2002

Mold the Future of our Nation
Change lives
Show that you've got what it takes
My Commitment, Our Future.
Teach: Spend three hours learning how to fill in forms.
That's what we did during staff meeting today. Yup, we learnt how to fill in the new compentency forms. Piloting the new teacher assessment process, the school has to compress what normally takes place in one year within a five month period. Further, this assessment is juts for fun, to model what the REAL assessment will really be like and to get feedback. Still, forms are forms and no matter what, forms have to get filled. So while we were taught how to fill in a whole stack of forms that are supposed to represent our aims for the year, our golas and our achieved results, I was happily day-dreaming. And also assigning marks to work (Sat in the back row where even if the important people saw my "ostentatious indifference", they wouldn't be able to make disapproving eye-contact.
Now - in case you're wondering and thinking to yourself - you hypocrite - you expect your students to pay attention to your classes and yet you can't be bothered when someone else is showing stuff, let me expound.
1. Instead of just dismissing it with "they pay to come to school" and "I get paid to come to school", I shall say that the roles a teacher and a student have in life are very different.
2. I'm old enough to vote. IE it's my life and I do suffer the consequences of not paying attention. I won't be able to look impressive on the Work Review and it'll directly affect my career. On the other hand, kids not paying attention in class means I have to explain it again, I have to mark lousy scripts, parents have to be very troubled and worried, their friends will be distressed ... you get what I mean.
3. Forms are forms are forms. How hard can it be to read the instructions and fill in forms? I'm pretty sure I can navigate the forms (if I choose to) independent of the briefing: sadly students can't. And so they need to listen in class to model thought as they're not confident enough to think clearly for themselves.
Three arguments should be fine.
How Quantum Theory is related to Form Filling
One of the "discoveries" of Quantum Theory was that in a quantum universe, because of the smallness of the particles and thus phenomena involved, even the most "objective" act of observation, affects the result. In this case, you ARE what you RECORD. You might be a fabulous teacher in a hundred ways, but the recording process only captures 14 that are valuable to the organisation. The organisation thus sees what it wants to see. It's set up like a science experiment that CAN'T fail, or rather, chooses its failures. As such, you no longer need to be a good teacher, you just need to know how to PHRASE what you do, in a manner that fits the required descriptions.
EG. Teacher picks up litter from the floor and throws it into the bin.
This is phenomena that can be ignored or can be reported as
I constantly model expected behaviours for my students. For example, I ensure that litter is picked up and thrown away, even if it means doing it myself.
Of course it's a silly example but it does not exagerate the kind of reporting that is possible.
You might think that someone who loves writing language and elaborating would love the exercise - but believe you me, I positively detest it. Just for the record, I will state that form filling is one of the main reasons I will leave MOE.
Having said that - a thought occurred to me during the day-dream: I'll fill in my work review this year, as a chain of rhyming couplets ... I might even try putting it as a Sonnet!
Goal for Sec 2 English is 2.5
Towards this goal I daily strive
By conducting Monday and Thursday remedials
And by checking student work via e-mail.
Heh heh - think I'll download that rhyme dictionary I saw recently ...