Week 24: Food/Book Binge and Language as Power

Going on my second week in Saigon. The craziness of Tet faded into a routine--eating, sleeping, watching TV, repeat. I don't want to eat "thit kho tau" (pork simmered in coconut juice) for the rest of my life, and the idea of Vietnamese pork sausage has me feeling woozy. As much as I love Saigon, I'm itching to return to my books, colonial documents, and the perverted sense of Hanoi privacy. I need to work! Have posted pictures of a typical Tet meal at my aunt's house.

Went on a crazy book buying binge in Saigon. I've always loved browsing the used book stalls down Nguyen Thi Minh Khai Street, searching amongst the dusty tomes for nuggets of rare book goodness. I actually believe in serendipity when it comes to rare books. In most of these stores, the proprietors stuff the shelves from the ceiling to the floor in no particular order, rendering systematic scanning and searching absolutely impossible. Most of the time, I've found books for the only reason that my eye just happened to rest on that particular title at that particular time. Bought all these books by various Tu Luc Van Doan authors like Nhat Linh, Khai Hung, Hoang Dao, Thach Lam. Most of the novels dated before 1975, but I found a few first editions from the 1930s. However, the piece de la resistance of my book rampage was a complete set of Nhat Linh's Saigon newspaper, Van Hoa Ngay Nay, published in Saigon in the 1950s. Nicely bound, the set remained in great shape after half a century--no mold, no bookworm burrows, no missing pages, just a little yellowed. Finding it propelled me to higher levels of geeky bliss. Possession and acquisition never seemed so sweet.

My time in Saigon has me thinking about language. While at a live music club with my cousin Nhien (where I bought my first 5-dollar beer in Vietnam--INSANE...what is this world coming to?), I took a quick trip to the ladies room. While standing at the mirror adjusting my fabulous coiffure, a couple of scantily-clad Viet Kieu girls came in. I could tell from their trashy dress, overdyed hair (When will misguided people realize that blond hair makes Asian skin look completely washed out? Blech), and Shanaynay nails that they had only recently left the motherland. One can tell at first glance the various generations of overseas Vietnamese in the U.S. I divide them into three general waves of immigration: 1975-1986, 1986 to 1995, and 1995 to present. Those who came to the US in the first wave (like my parents, who immigrated in 1975) left for political and religious reasons. They actually had viable ideological reasons to leave their country, and hold strong views on "Vietnameseness". Second-Wave Viet Kieu Vietnamese who left in the immediate Doi Moi period have had a fewer years to adjust to life in the US, so they espouse less sophisticated/strident view of Vietnam, its culture and politics. And lastly, third-wave immigrants comprise the "nouveau riche" of Viet Kieu--that is, they come to the US for purely economic reasons. They embrace their American culture completely and without question, and never following any concept of the aesthetically pleasing. (A caveat: of course there are exceptions to this schematic.)

OK, so I digress. Where was I? Ah, yes, nearly-naked Viet Kieu girls. So judging from their dress and mannerisms, these girls fell into the category of "third wave" overseas Vietnamese. But the most striking thing was that these girls spoke to each other in a heavily accented, spotted with Vietnamese, broken English. I had to strain my ears to hear them. "Wehr ahr u? Du u hap a khan? I neet tu was my han." It seemed as if they wanted to set themselves apart as "foreigners," showing off the fact that they spoke English. Growing up American, I never thought of language as a status symbol, as a sign of power/difference. When I started spending long periods of time in Vietnam, I found that people treated me differently when I spoke English. Suddenly, my foreignness placed me in an entirely different social norms and criteria. Reminds me of Vu Trong Phung's reportage Ky Nghe Lay Tay (The Industry of Marrying Westerners), in which even badly-spoken French represented some level of social mobility in the colonial context. In a postcolonial context, political circumstances may have changed, but language as a sign of movement between geographical, national--and by default--economic paradigms still looms large. I think the trashy girls, in their own way, understood this dynamic--that's why they insisted on speaking English.

Anyways, enough about the nature of language and postcolonial dynamics. Went out on the town with my friends N, K and B. Fun times. I must admit, Saigon nightlife kicks Hanoi butt anyday. At this point in my life, going out should only be a treat after an enormous amount of work well done--never a lifestyle. Especially in such a stagnant late-night social scene such as Hanoi, a person would quickly tire of the limited nightlife choices (all two of them). Have posted pictures of B, K, and I at Lush, a fabulous new bar in Saigon.

R.I.P. Betty Friedan.

Week 23: Whodunit? A Tet Mystery

Went to Saigon this week to spend the Tet holiday with my aunt's family. While the idea of almost 2 weeks away from Hanoi really appeals to me, I am not excited about missing out on work. So in a burst of wishful thinking, I've brought a ton of work to do while in Saigon.

During my mad rush to get the hell out of Hanoi, a gaudy bouquet as big as a tire showed up at my house. No joke--the thing was HUGE. I had no clue who would send me flowers, and looking at the card did not help. The message on the card read, "Wishing Martina a happy Tet, and a new year filled with happiness, health, and prosperity. Signed, Nguyen Dang Khoa." What the...? Who the....? I don't know a Nguyen Dang Khoa! The business card that accompanied the note said that he was a lawyer. I dont' know any lawyers in Vietnam! I've never even been to the side of town where his office is. The flowers did not flatter me, they creeped me out. This guy--who I don't know--found out where I live. I don't think its romantic that he found out my address and sent me flowers; it freaks me out.

My friend M suggested that I call to say thank you and be polite, but I have decided to not call the number on the card. In situations like these, I strictly follow a "don't talk to strangers" policy. I don't think that I should reward creepiness with courtesy. I also know that if I don't react, sooner or later the creep will make himself known to me. I have a feeling that the person in question is the guy from the library (see week 16). Will keep you posted as the plot thickens.

Celebrated Tet in Saigon. As I expected, Tet was nothing short of mindnumbingly boring. Basically, I sat around and ate all day. On the first day of the lunar holiday, the entire family got together for a hufe family meal. At night, a constant stream of visitors would come bearing gifts for my aunt and uncle. Well-wishes told all around. All my cousins wished me "love and marriage in the new year." Even my 14-year-old nephew Paul wished that "May you be more beautiful by the day so you can catch a husband!" Geez, I wonder what kind of message they were sending me? OK, now I realize that for Vietnamese, a 27-year-old unmarried woman is a bit unusual, but come on! Must I feel guilty about my life choices?

During my stay, I fell in love with Saigon all over again. Saigon reigns superior over Hanoi in a lot of things--food (better and more of it), nightlife (better and more of it), and shopping (you get the idea). People are also more straightforward, friendly, and confident here. Even the atmosphere here seems less stifling, less oppressive. To me, Saigon represents a true metropolis, When I walk out on the street in Saigon, no one looks at me. Hallelujah--I am an urban nonentity! In contrast, Hanoi is too seeped in a kind of village mentality; sometimes it seems as if everyone is in my business. The constant, inquisitive, eyes watching--the first action of voyeurs searching for someone to judge.

Song currently playing on iPod: All My Exes Live in Texas (George Strait).

Hung out a lot with my 3-year-old nephew Gia Bao (in Vietnam, you refer to your cousin's child as niece/nephew, and the child calls you uncle/aunt). For some reason, they boy is completely obsessed with Singapore. He and I have this inside joke--whenever I call him "Bao Singapore, " he answers with "Aunt Martina Singapore." It makes absolutely no sense at all, but I find it amusing, watching him burst into laughter. After his bath, Bao ran up to me, wearing nothing but a t-shirt. Devilish smile on his adorable face, lifted his shirt, pointed to his wee wee, and said, "Singapore." He then erupted in peals of laughter on the floor. I think Freud was onto something when he talks about little boys and their phalluses. Oh, the innocence of infantile sexuality...

Perhaps the only amusing thing (outside of my Singporean nephew), was the Orange Fiasco. A distant relative of ours gave my aunt's family a huge 50 pound sack of oranges that might as well been thrown away. Its as if she did not want to waste her money to have the moldy oranges hauled away, so she just had my cousin Tu come over, and gave my aunt the oranges as a Tet gift. I don't know about most people, but when I usually give gifts of food, I make sure its something that I myself would consume. But the woman got her "just desserts" when she came over to wish my aunt a Happy Tet. We squeezed orange juice out of her gross oranges and served it to her! I asked her, "Auntie, isn't this juice delicious? You gave us the oranges!" Needless to say, she got embarassed, quickly excused herself, and went home. Have posted a picture of the nasty ass oranges (By the way, oranges are green here in VN.) My cousins and I now have an inside joke: "oranges" now refer to mean-spirited, cheap, and petty people.

I wanted to wish all my family and friends a Year of the Dog (Binh Tuat) filled with happiness, health, prosperity, and good luck. May your wishes come to fruitioni! And may you avoid all "oranges" in the coming year! Chuc Mung Nam Moi!!!

Love Always,
Martina

Week 22: Debunking the Expat Myth of a Tiny Hanoi

Got back to work this week. Actually started looking at documents in the archives--very exciting. I got goosebumps from looking at the yellowed pieces of paper and the squiggly, faded handwriting of Indochinese and French administrateurs long past. I wonder if Messrs. Justin Godart, Alexandre Varenne, and Paul Doumer ever knew that someone in the year 2006 would be looking at the reports they signed? Anyways, the most annoying part about all this is that Tet (lunar new year) is in a week. During Tet, everything shuts down for about a week in Hanoi. For people who didn't prepare ahead of time, they'll literally starve--Hanoi might as well be a ghost town. I mean, I just had a vacation over Christmas, now I'm ready to work! I don't want another vacation just yet. Argh.

Anyhow, I've always maintained that Tet is only fun for kids. After all, all kids have to do is wish their elders health, prosperity, and luck for the new year. And on top of that, they get lucky money for it! For grownups, not only is Tet expensive, but also time-consuming and tedious. To prepare for the new upcoming year, Vietnamese clean their houses from top to bottom, a ritual akin to that of "spring cleaning." Superstitions abound as well--my cousin swore off eating oranges and sweeping the house after Tet, as she believes that oranges make you suffer and one sweeps out money with the trash. Also, the first person who enters one's house the first day of the year will set the tone for the entire year. (Supposedly, according to my aunt, she had great business the year I entered her house. Me, a talisman for good luck and prosperity for everyone but myself!) At any rate, I am in that liminal space between childhood and adulthood. I am too old to be a kid, but I am still unmarried, which means I am not yet an adult with "responsibilities." Sigh. The vicissitudes of being a single 27-year-old woman during Tet.

The myth exists among expats that the Hanoi social scene is really small and incestuous. SO NOT TRUE. What these misguided expats don't know is that the myth itself is a product of expats who are either too lazy and/or too scared to actually live in Hanoi and get to know Hanoi people. I mean, the only reason why expats say that is because they only hang out with expats. And even then, they hang out with only a small portion of the expat community, as not all expats feel the need to frequent the damned Barracuda Bar every weekend (thank god). Expats of all occupations and ages live in Hanoi--NGO people, Embassy workers, academics, business types, English teachers, blah, blah, blah. In truth, Hanoi is immense--so many different circles to run in, even among the expat community. However, if one dares to engage with the local community, Hanoi becomes as varied and as large as any major metropolitan area.

Also, the Hanoi social scene seems small only because expats and Vietnamese party kids go out really late at night. In reality, the Vietnamese concept of "going out" differs greatly from Western notions. {A caveat: this is my own observations taken from hanging out with both Vietnamese and expats. Others might have different opinions.} Vietnamese prefer the extended "nhau" session. They gather a group of their friends, go out to a restaurant, order a lot of food, and drink for a few hours. Food arrives at the table in a steady stream, as does conversations, beer and/or whiskey (Johnny Walker seems to be the choice nowadays). The "nhau" session ends around 10-10:30, and party breaks up. Social events end pretty early for Vietnamese--singles still live at home with their parents, married folks have "grownup" responsibilities, and some live in communities that lock their gates at 11 PM. The idea of "mingling," like at a bar or cocktail party, is not really done among Vietnamese. People don't really talk to others outside their own group. I think that these distinctions also contribute to the expat myth of a small Hanoi--most locals don't go out all that late because they party differently.

Had a technological kerfuffle this week. I was doing work over at Kat's house, happily ensconced on her comfy rattan couch with silk squabs, wrapped in a puffy blanket, One Dollar purring on my lap. (On a side note, One Dollar is no longer a kitten, looking more and more like a handsome cat by the day. He's also a bit slutty as well--he hangs out at home during the day, then disappears with the local she-cats at night.) Kat sat on the sofa with me as well, our matching laptops back to back. One Dollar reared up on his hind legs (I saw all this in slow motion, like in the movies), and before I could stop him, jumped over both our screens. He knocked my screen into Kat's, and all of a sudden--my screen washed over in turquoise. [gasp] I almost spontaneously burst into tears. After rebooting at least 6 times, the screen went back to normal. I'm hoping that this wretched computer will somehow correct itself, as the idea of going without a computer for month is particularly odious to me.

All this made me realize how reliant I am on technology. I mean, my life is on my computer--my dissertation, my address book, my emails, everything. I honestly don't know how I'd get by without it. Which makes me wonder if the conveniences of modern life has made man less adaptable. I mean, the thought of going without my computer already has me wringing my hands in terror, could I possibly make it a week in a place with no electricity, running water, and cocktails?

Gotta help Kat pack for her trip back home. More next week.

Week 21: The Arrival of the Berkeley Dessert Club

Had a great week! My Berkeley friends, NM and SA, came up to Hanoi for a visit. Affectionately known as "the Berkeley Dessert Club," we had a monthly (sometimes twice-monthly, depending on if there was a crisis) dessert night at various Berkeley eateries. As grad students, we couldn't afford to eat at a lot of Berkeley's nicer restaurants, so we opted instead for dessert and coffee. This decadent ritual allowed us to take a break from our crazy schedules and have much-needed female camaraderie--which most of the time consisted of two of us picking on the other. The one requirement: the restaurant had to carry something chocolate for NM, addict and chocolate cake connoisseur-extraordinaire.

The dynamic between the three of us followed the Goldilocks schema of "Too much, too little, just right." For example: oldest (SA), youngest (Martina), just right (NM). Another example: No nonsense (SA), too girly (Martina), just right (NM). And yet another example: Shortest (SA), Tallest (Martina), Just Right (NM). I think you get the idea. We took a memorable road trip down to LA the semester before we all left (during which I captured NM singing to Bon Jovi while driving! NM, if you're reading this, I'm going to sell the video to the tabloids when you become rich and famous!)

Now that we're all dispersed at different corners of the world (NM in Cambodia, SA in Chicago, and me in Vietnam), I really miss those times of female camraderie. Especially now that I'm in Vietnam, when friendships are as flimsy and transient as rice paper, and romantic relationships--well, let's just say slim pickings. I was more than ecstatic to see them, and within 5 minutes, SA and I started teasing NM. Nothing had changed. Thank god.

My friends didn't travel alone--NM brought her new boyfriend Rattana and friends Sarah and Dave. We all took a trip out of Hanoi to Ha Long Bay. We all rode around the bay on a huge boat, went kayaking, then spent the night on the boat. My god, was it cold! The wind blew off the bay, knocking down the temperature by at least another 10 degrees. Despite the cold, the scenery was spectacular. Although I've been to Ha Long Bay 4 times before, I still get a rush seeing the limestone rocks jutting straight out of the ocean. The gray, cloudy, foggy weather only made the scenery more chimerical--like places where fairies frolic.

On the other hand, I think I just maxed out on my trips to Ha Long bay for the rest of my life. While the landscape of Ha Long Bay absolutely takes my breath away, I absolutely abhor the tourist industry that exploits it. From Hanoi, we took a crowded bus (like a can of sardines) for 4 hours to Ha Long City, with a tour guide telling the same damned spiel and the same damned jokes. On the way, we stopped by a restaurant for breakfast; I'm sure that the place paid the tour company kickbacks for choosing their establishment. The restaurant/shop was designed to systematically strip tourists of their money--overpriced trinkets, souvenirs, bottled water, snacks. When we arrived, we got lost in the sea of western tourists, buses, and vendors--I felt like a head of cattle being rounded up. The docks themselves were full of boats in varying conditions: luxurious boats for people who paid more, not-so-nice junks for backpackers, and all gradations in between. The thing that bothers me the most about the tourism industry is that it gives you the impression of novelty and discovery, but its all prepackaged and contrived. I call it "adventure in a can." I realize the same situation exists wherever one travels in the world, but the blatant marketing that I saw in Ha Long bay reminded me of a machine--ship 'em in, process 'em, get 'em the hell out, and bring new ones in. Gross.

Another gripe about the tourist industry--Vietnamese people become part of the scenery. For the tourists, Vietnamese only exist in the capacity of tour guide, vendor, waiter/waitress, taxi driver, and in the worst cases, sex worker. I've seen tourists disrespectfully snap pictures of people as if they were inanimate objects. Not to mention that some tourists display a heightened sense of paranoia that vendors will rip them off, which results in tourists violently haggling with vendors over a few cents. Makes me wonder if tourism is--in every way--a form of myth construction that demands the voicelessness and facelessness of locals.

Anyways, enough venting. Will write more later.

Week 20: New Year's Solipsism

I finally had my much-anticipated meeting with my advisor. The 4-hour lunch wasn't as bad as I anticipated--it actually went pretty well. We talked about my work, my life in Hanoi, the happenings in Berkeley, the field of Vietnam Studies--I really miss talking to a mentor. Much of my work here is self-motivated and solitary, so sometimes I have no idea I am yielding results. I feel more confident and reassured after our meeting, mentally invigorated about my project. He gave me advice about where my project should go and what I should focus on in the next few months. Basically, we outlined the plan for the remainder of my time in Vietnam. I will continue to gather materials in Hanoi until late April, then move to Saigon for the last 4 months. Meeting with my advisor made me realize how much work I have left to do--I'm actually thinking of hiring a research assistant. Someone to do the grunt work for me: photocopying, writing request forms, scanning materials, etc. That way, I have more time to do more interesting work...

Took a whirlwind trip to Saigon to see my good friend Giang. Back in the day, Giang and I taught English together in Saigon. I haven't seen Giang in 3 years, and a lot has changed--she got divorced and engaged, I got a new coiffure, a bunch of shoes, and a healthy dose of cynicism. Hung out with Giang's younger sister Ngan, who I have watched grow from an adorable elementary school kid to a accomplished teenager with much promise. Affectionately nicknamed "the fish," Ngan is now one of the most popular girls at her high school, and plans to move to the US to finish high school. We had dinner at my favorite Banh Xeo place at Dinh Cong Trang. Ngan wanted to know everything about American high schools--classes, people, events. Eventually the topic switched to boys. I asked her about her teenage love life. Did she have a boyfriend? What was he like? She replied, "My boyfriend is very nice--a little bit fat, and a little bit dumb, exactly how I like my stuffed animals." [Writer's note: !?!?!?!?] Ah, the forthrightness of young love. I like ladybugs and turtles...so does that mean I like my men short, round, and squatty? Have posted pictures of Giang.

Song currently playing on iPod: Computer World (Kraftwerk). And no, not that drippy, urbanite, wussy Coldplay song that samples it... Chris Martin and Co. only wishes they were Kraftwerk.

New Year's, while not the mind-blowing nocturnal Dionysian liturgy expected by popular pressure, turned out quite pleasant. Kat threw a hot pot dinner in honor of Javier's parents and aunt, who came to visit from Madrid. Such lovely people. I loved the family atmosphere during the holidays, even though not with my own. At midnight, we all took part in the Spanish tradition of eating 12 grapes, one celebrating each month of the year. The grapes in Vietnam are about the size of golf balls, so I could only eat 6. Does that mean I will have a good half and bad half of 2006?

I remember the New Years spent with my parents growing up. Deeply religious, my parents were never the New Years' party animals. Our family celebration, "reveillon" as my parents called it, consisted of a short prayer and a midnight snack. My dad allowed my sister and I each a shotglass full of champagne, our yearly alcoholic drink (such adult beverages are all too-familiar nowadays). As a family, we would talk about what we hoped for in the new year, and let go of the old year.

I've had my first visitors of the year! My college friend Lisa and her mom Linda came into town this week (Lisa works in an art gallery in New York City, and Linda is a painter). It was so great to see some familiar faces from home. We walked around the Old Quarter, and had a lovely day wandering around the sights and sounds of the city. Living in Hanoi, sometimes I forget what a truly unique city it really is. Seeing Linda and Lisa discover Hanoi for the first time brought back the wonder I felt, the love for Hanoi that I've lost in the past few months.

Must run--the crotchety old lady, the archives, crooks her bony finger at me. Will write more later.

Week 19: Christmas in Flux

As I mentioned in last week's posting, Christmas has always been a letdown for me, and this year was no exception. In fact, "abysmal" would not adequately describe it. I spent Christmas eve in the hospital--no joke. Immediately after lunch, I came down with the mother of all migraines. I've never had one before, and migraines don't run in my family. The doctors put an IV in my arm, and gave me a painkiller that knocked me out. (A enormous amount of gratitude go to N and M, who not only brought me to the hospital, they checked up on me every few hours. Thanks, ladies!) I missed the Christmas dinner that I helped plan, and completely missed Christmas with my sister and my Hanoi friends. I guess I'm smarting more from the bill than the actual migraine--the bill came to over 700 dollars--the most expensive headache I've ever had. Who knew that overactive electrical impulses would cost so much? Thank god I have insurance...

My friend N, upon reading my blog for the first time, asked me "why all the pessimism?" I must admit, the tone of the past few postings have been a bit disillusioned and gloomy, although I did not intentionally mean for it to be so. Things in my life right now are currently in flux--an experience akin to breaking out of a cramped cocoon of a past life. Like Sigmund Freud said, birth, as beautiful and as life-affirming as it is, is also a painful and traumatic experience, which is why humans enter this world crying. I guess the experience I am currently undergoing is apropos, as it is Christmas, a season of rebirth and renewal. New Years is coming up, and I will certainly think about a number of resolutions.

So to put it simply, I miss my mom and dad. I miss my close friends. I'm having a hard time being away from them at Christmas.

In light of N's question, I suppose this would be a good time to restate the "Modus Operandi" of the blog. As solipsistic as this may sound, I intended for this blog serves as a diary for me to document my thoughts. I wanted to document the experience of living abroad for an extended period of time--the exhilaration of learning a city intimately, the joy of making new friends, as well as disillusionments, frustrations, and anxieties that comes with such an experience. I never intended for this to be a travelogue in any way--I'm not interested in writing only the sights and sounds from point-of-view of a transient outsider.

So despite the fact that the Grinch (or rather, my misfiring synapses) stole my Christmas, I deeply hope that all my family and friends had a great Christmas, filled with loved ones, rest, laughter, warmth, great food and lots of tinsel. I love you all, and miss you so much. Merry Christmas!

Love Always,
Martina

Week 18: The Return of DJ Rice Cooker

For the past few months as a voyeuse/flaneuse in Hanoi, I've seen a lot of social phenomena, all of which will justify no small amount of cynicism. One in particular seems indicative of the rapid-change-without-internalization paradigm. I call it the "fat rich Hanoi kids" phenomena. Rich Hanoi households, believing that the dairy-rich western diet is the reason why Westerners are so tall, engorge their children on milk and dairy products (usually sugary -sweet flavored UHT milk). Their kids do not end up growing taller, but wider--a large number of children from well-to-do Hanoi families are obese. Milk and dairy have never been a staple of the Vietnamese diet (which accounts for why my parents hate pizza so much), and its seen as somewhat of a status symbol to be able to afford milk for your kids.

On another note, I think I just inherited a new kitty timeshare. My landlady just got a kitten for her daughter, who manhandles and (in my opinion) mistreats it. The kitten, wrenched away from its mom too early, spent the first week or so crying its eyes out. The little girl, believing that she's helping the kitten, held its head it her fist (kids have no idea how heavy-handed they can be) scrubbed a tissue over the kitten's hugely swollen eyes, much to my horror. The girl plays with the kitten like a rag doll, and ties it outside when she's at school or sleeping (its currently hovers around 55 degrees outside). Feeling terrible for the kitten, I asked the child if the kitty could stay with me during the day and at night--she could come and bring the kitten down whenever she wants. The girl reacted swiftly and violently, throwing a temper tantrum of epileptic proportions. She kept screaming, "Its my kitty!!! She's trying to take my kitty away!!!" After that episode died down, I waited a few weeks before bringing the kitty up anyway, and the child has since accepted that the kitty stays with me while she's at school and at night. Its kinda nice--I have a cat's love and company without all the expense and work. So does that mean that I am a "Woman with a Cat," complete with all the spinster-connotations that implies?

So I just had my first day at the archives. Nothing exciting to report--no lost documents, long-forgotten, rediscovered by me. Just poked around the card catalog a bit, got a feel for the place. I read the regulations, and wrote out the first request forms. I don't think I will have a chance to get real work done there until after New Years.

The next month is going to be a really busy one, I just realized. A bunch of my friends are coming (YAY!!!!) My college friend LK and her mom are flying in for New Years', my grad school friends SA and NM arrive in early January, and my friend G around the same time. I'm so glad to see my friends--I've missed them so much!

I received my Christmas present from Ruin today. It was the best present a music-obsessed fan could hope for--Ableton Live. Its a music production and DJ software, audio recording and sequencing tool--I am SO stoked! Its the software used by artists like Daft Punk, Underworld, Nine Inch Nails, Garbage, Interpol, and Sasha. Dave calls it "Instant Dissertation Killer." I call it "Sanity Savior." This kind of musical dabbling is exactly what I need to establish my mental comfort zone--its something completely different from my job, and fun too (and good for my liver, as no alcohol is involved). The program, I admit, is a bit too technical for me--but I'm up for a challenge. So to my friends--expect a bombardment of mixes hailing the return of DJ Rice Cooker. (DJ Rice Cooker was a pet name for me given by my college roommates when I burnt rice once while making dinner.)

Will write more later. Sleepy...must take nap. {Yawn}