Modern Art

I was born an art luver, even if I am not a great artist myself, but I firmly believe that it runs in my family's blood. My grandfather on my mother's side is a well known Chinese calligrapher and painter. When he passed away, he left us not wealth in gold, but scrolls and scrolls of paintings and art works, plus a wealth of knowledge and appreciation for Chinese traditional art.

When I was little, my grandfather used to teach me and my older cousins each a type of traditional painting techniques. Namely, there are 4 major painted themes in Chinese traditional still life: pine, bamboo, orchid, and plum(translation?) (see reference). I was the lucky one to inherit the Bamboo painting skills, and that's actually one of my favourite plants! I always dreamed of one day having a backyard full of bamboo shoots and it will provide a very quiet/peaceful and very Eastern traditional feeling. Unfortunately, since I came to the States when I was young, I didn't get to spend too much time studying this ancient form of art and am now much out of practice holding a brush. Sigh...

Anyway, so I guess I am a bit of a museum snob when it comes to art works since I have been to many large museums in both Eastern and Western worlds. Today I just wanted to talk about my path to accepting Modern Art.

I never really had a taste for Modern Art, that is, it all begin after graduation. I have been to some world famous modern art museums, namely the SF MOMA, MOMA, Guggenheim, Centre Pompidou in Paris, Tate Modern in London, MUMOK in Vienna, Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam, and various modern art museums in Berlin and Munich. But every time I was there, I went because I was playing the role of a tourist, and I had to visit those museums because the guidebook listed them as highlights. Until a few years ago, I absolutely despise modern art and called it kindergarten kids doodle.

My appreciation for western art basically ends with the Impressionist era. Monet, Manet, Renoir, Degas are some artists whom I liked. Even to this day, I still do not understand or appreciate modern artists such as Picasso, Cezanne, Matisse, Pollack, Warhol, etc. I think I skipped the whole modern art and post-modern art period to begin appreciation for photography instead.

This all changed when I visited the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam. I started to understand and see what they call the passionate brush strokes of the artist, how it seemed crude and unrefined at first glance, compared to the painstakingly neat Chinese painting, yet one can really "feel" the strength and deliberation felt by the artist when each layer was applied. Even today, I still don't like some paintings by Van Gogh, but a few pieces of his works has risen to my top favourite list, such as The Starry Night, Cafe Terrace at Night.

My favourite modern art museum is the Tate Modern. Even before I learned to appreciate modern art, I recall walking into the huge warehouse space in the fall of 2003 and immediately captivated by a huge neon orange display that resembled the sun on the 100+ meters tall wall. Forget about the theme, forget about the color, forget about the object, the sensation it created is mesmerizing, and stunned the viewer, urging them to feel for the art work. Just the empty space and high ceiling captivated me, and I, like 200+ other ppl in that lobby, was mesmerized in the display created by the artist.

That, I think is the essence of modern art. Where traditional paintings strive to be realistic to the fullest, modern art deviates in that it's an abstraction. It asks the individual viewer to *feel* for the mood, and it's alright if the take away are all different each time. Traditional paintings are art imitating life, in a WYSIWYG sense. However, certain pieces of modern art contains life itself! Modern art is not just pretty pictures for the eye, it's media used to express the artists' feelings, and it's meant to shock you to the core. It's to be felt and appreciated with one's soul.

Ever since then, I started recognizing and appreciating works of other modern artists, especially Salvadore Dali, Escher (what a puzzler!), and many thanks to the friend who introduced me to Kandinsky (see the picture to the right)! Some of my favourite Modern Art museums are Tate Modern, MOMA, Van Gogh museum. I also learned to try to keep an open mind, not too quick to judge and reject based on the surface value or based on the overall general stereotype. One never knows when one's going to find a diamond in the rough!

Of course, now that I am sitting comfortably in CA, I can admire all types of art works at the wonderful cyber WebMuseum.

lessons?

There is one thing I learned in the past few months, that some times life just throws you curve balls, thing happen unexpectedly or just plainly out of your control.

For example, today I wanted to go to the Wallace and Grommit character making show in the SF Zeum, but I didn't make it at the end because my friend pulled out last minute. On the other hand, because I went to SF early for a volunteer event, I was able to catch the SF Chinese New Year's parade with another friend.... ie: some times you plan everything out to the minute details, and it doesn't happen the way you wanted it to; other times you totally don't expect it, yet something wonderful happens.... that we don't have total control and perfectly crystal clear insight into the future, it's exactly these serendipitous moments that make life interesting and exciting!

---

On the other hand, (this is completely unrelated) an interesting conversation I had with a friend follows (I will keep him anonymous so you don't throw rocks at him):
well, we somehow ventured onto the topic of dating probably because Vday is approaching in 3 days...

him: "There are two rules you need to know about guys ..
1). All men are pigs!
2). All men are dumb!"
me: "speaker included?"
him: "by definition."
Urhh.... any thoughts on this?!

Serendipity

Serendipity - noun
Etymology: from its possession by the heroes of the Persian fairy tale The Three Princes of Serendip
: the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for

I just watched the movie "Serendipity" again last weekend. I couldn't help it but say it's a wonderful movie that leaves the viewer in a happy and hopeful state. The premise of the story is something that is so unrealistic yet so satisfying to a hopeless Romantic like me. Characters Sarah and Jonathan meets by chance at Bloomingdale's around Christmas one year, they proceeded to having a great time hanging out and talking, much like the premise in "Before Sunrise". They part knowing that they will probably not meet again, but decided to leave everything up to Fate. Writing their name and contact in a book "Love in the time of Cholera" and a $5 bill, then trading both items away, believing that if they are meant to be, the items will come back into their hands and thus make a future meeting possible. Years later, both of haunted by the memories of this chance encounter, and this time, they tried their best to recover that lost connection.

Serendipity happens in our lives, just that we are usually oblivious enough not to take note of it.

Love's Labors Tossed!

(Disclaimer: This is an interesting article I came across on a magazine recently. I am re-posting it here, it does not necessarily reflect my personal opinion, but feel free to email me your thoughts.)

Lovers may come and go, but their romantic letters should last forever.
Unless, of course, you decide to throw them all away. By Elizabeth Gilbert

A few weeks ago, bored in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, I called my friend Iva.

"How's life?" I asked. "Exhilarating," She responded.

Such a response, by the way, is exactly why I often call my friend Iva, because I don't know anybody who works harder at staying exhilarated than she does. Iva grew up in the Middle East, in a war zone. One would think that a childhood spent amid constant death and destruction might engender a damaged or bitter personality, but with Iva it was like this: Every moment in that bomb shelter taught her to savor the world with a as much delight as possible for life's short duration. I always leave my conversations with her feeling motivated and renewed.

"So, why are we this exhilarated today?" I asked.

Brightly, she replied, "Because I've just spent the entire afternoon throwing out all my old love letters and photographs."

Instantly, I was consumed by dread. I thought, Oh, no -- now I'm gonna have to do this!
Because that's how it always is with Iva and me. She will come up with some inspired new strategy for keeping life fresh and real, and -- as scary as her plan might seem at first -- I will eventually concede that she is right, and I will follow her example yet again to some higher destination. But this particular example was really upsetting. Because if you had asked me, even five minutes before this conversation with Iva began, what personal objects I would rescue from my house if it were burning down, without hesitation I would have replied: "Old love letters and photographs." What else matters? Furniture can be replaced, my book collection is duplicated in every American library, and I'm bored of my clothes, anyhow. But photographs and letters (especially love letters) are emotionally precious beyond worldly value. They tell us who we are by telling us who we were. They assure us that we were once adored, remind us of our lost youth, tie us to departed lovers and dreams, and live on long after we are dead in order to prove to future generations: I existed! Do not erase my memory!

Which is exactly Iva's point.

"When you think about it," she said. "Why do you need all that?"

"But ... " (But I couldn't think of anything to say after the word "but.")

Iva went on to explain that, like me, she has always been a diligent archivist of her own history. She'd been keeping memorabilia for years (with correspondence not only filed chronologically, but with a note on the outside of each envelope summarizing the contents). Like me, she'd been hauling these boxes from one country to another, up and down stairs, from basement to attic to garage, until suddenly the other day she looked at this giant pile of relics and realized: This is way too heavy.

"I'm not a museum," she told me. "All I want is to be free, in this moment. Even from the past. Especially from the past."

"What did it feel like to throw it all away?"

"Amazing. Liberating. Loving. I read each letter one last time, blessed the person who'd written it, and then tore them all up and put them in the trash."

"You tore them up? What are you, Enron?"

"Liz," she said, "it's a fundamental rule of the universe -- nothing new will ever come into your life as long as you block the doorway with your old stuff. You have to let go bravely, and see what fills in the space."

The timing of this conversation was certainly interesting. Just that month, I was planning to move into a new house with my new sweetheart. This would be my first solid residence after two years spent traveling around the world, recovering from a divorce, learning who I was all over again, and experimenting radically with ideas of freedom and surrender. During those two years, though, many of my belongings and papers had been hibernating in storage, and now it would all have to be decided -- what did I want to bring with me into the future? And what should be left behind?

I sought opinions from friends; would they ever be willing to tear up old letters and photos? My friend Lori said, "No way... but I'd burn them." She went on to explain with more seriousness, "Feng Shui philosophy says that any object given to you by another person carries that person's energy into your home. Even letters. So you have to decide -- whose energy do you want inhabiting your living space?"

Good question. Do I really need to be archiving enraged correspondence from my ex-husband? (Or, for that matter, even the tender valentines he'd written before things turned foul?) Do I really need a three-foot-tall stack of passionate dispatches from a boyfriend who'd broken m y heart so severely I'd cried for a solid year, lost 30 pounds in grief, and contemplated suicide?

Then again, when I mentioned to another friend of mine (a literary biographer) what I was considering, he howled in alarm: "NOOO! Keep all your old papers! Have some mercy on the poor scholar who has to write your biography 50 years from now!"

This not only raised the delicate question, "Is it slightly narcissistic to store one's love letters for the benefit of one's assumed future biographers?" but also introduced the question or me of whether my memorabilia holds any literary value -- for me or anyone else. Doing research for my books, I have often been profoundly aided by old letters, found in historical societies or in somebody's bottom drawers, that reveal the personalities, heartaches, and desires of people who themselves are long gone. So it would be sort of insulting to the creative process for me to dispose of my own primary sources, wouldn't it? Or was that argument just an excuse to cling to my past a little longer?

Iva's daring challenge haunted me to the point of near obsession. To purge or not to purge? In the end, as with all unanswerable questions, the only way to decide was just to embark on the project and see what happened. And so, in the attic of my new house, I sorted through a giant (way too giant) pile of boxes filled with, it seems, every scrap of paper, postcard, grammar-school diary, and Polaroid in the history of the universe. And here's what happened -- much to my surprise, and with the greatest of ease, I threw most of that stuff away.

• No, I didn't keep a pile of unsent letters ("Your face haunts my dreams") to a guy I'd worshipped in eighth grade, but have not thought of since.
• No, I didn't keep the three-foot-tall stack of passionate letters from a boyfriend who'd broken my heart so severely, and so on, an so on...
• And no, the world will never need 25 old diaries chronicling my four-year-struggle with depression, every page containing the words "despair", "hopelessness", "failure", or "confusion". I don't want those dark and lonely words in my attic anymore; I don't want to sleep beneath them.

On the other hand...

• Yes, I did keep one photo of me and my first boyfriend (both of us so blonde and young and pretty, we look like sisters.)
• Yes, I did keep one tender valentine from my ex-husband, as a reminder that not everything from the past has to be forgotten.
• Yes, I did keep the personal essay I wrote in fifth grade beginning with the sentence: "If, for some strange reason, I don't end up being a chiropractor, I think Real Estate would be an excellent career choice for me, although the pay is sometimes spotty."

I kept what delighted me, or what was aesthetically beautiful, or gorgeously written. I kept a few rough drafts of early short stories (you know -- for the sake of those poor future biographers), and I did keep one of my depression-era journals as a reminder of what can be survived with perseverance and compassion. When it was all over, I had only two small boxes of things left. Nothing that would even strain your back to lift or carry.

As for the discarded remains, I crammed them into four Hefty black trash bags and hauled them down two flights of stairs, feeling, as Iva had said, exhilarated. With those sacks on my back, in fact, I felt like Santa Claus, but a Santa who brings joy to your home by emptying it, instead of filling it. Remembering that woman who set fire to half of Colorado a few years ago when she ignited her estranged husband's letters in a national park, I decided not to burn these papers, but just to leave them on the curb. I wasn't even concerned about privacy. I thought, Hey, if some garbageman decides he really needs to read through all my old love letters, well, let him do it. None of it belongs to or resembles me anymore, anyway. Besides, who knows? Maybe he'll find something wonderful buried in there and write a novel about it someday. And then maybe I'll buy his novel and put it on its very own shelf -- right in the middle of my clean, clear, ready-for-anything new house.

//The END

FWD: Rock Removal

(NOTE: Just received this through an email this morning, I want to post it here to share with you all.)

A little boy was spending his Saturday morning playing in his sandbox. He had his box of cars and trucks, his plastic pail, and a shiny, red plastic shovel. In the process of creating roads and tunnels in the soft sand, he discovered a large rock in the middle of the sandbox.

The boy dug around the rock, managing to dislodge it from the dirt. With some struggle, he pushed and nudged the rock across the sandbox with his feet. (He was a very small boy and the rock was very huge). When the boy got the rock to the edge of the sandbox, however, he found that he couldn't roll it up and over the little wall.

Determined, the little boy shoved, pushed, and pried, but every time he thought he had made some progress, the rock tipped and then fell back into the sandbox. The little boy grunted, struggled, pushed and shoved--but each time, the rock rolled back, smashing his chubby fingers.

Finally, he burst into tears. All this time, the boy's father had been watching from the living room window as the drama unfolded. By the time the tears fell, a large shadow fell across the boy and his sandbox. It was the boy's father.

Gently but firmly he said, "Son, why didn't you use all the strength you had?"

Defeated, the boy sobbed back, "But I did, Daddy, I did! I used all the strength that I had!"

"No, son," corrected the father kindly. "You didn't use all the strength you had. You didn't ask me."

With that, the father reached down, picked up the rock, and removed it from the sandbox.

---Author Unknown

Growing on me... Part III

In my earlier entries, I wrote about my recent cell phone shopping experience, including a detailed description on the difficult mental journey I took to arrive at the currently decision. A few more days has passed again, and now I can say that I am a proud owner of the new Motorola SLVR L7.

I already shared the rich feature list of the L7, but what I wanted to discuss here is the mental journey *after* I made that purchase decision. You may laugh at how buying some electronic accessory has become so personal to me, but please understand that it wasn't set out to be that way. I normally see electronics just as they are, but one's cell phone is with you almost every minute of your waking moment, it has become one of the default things you take with you anywhere, aside from your house and car keys. It has become a necessity in our modern lifestyle. For me, it has attained the status of a very very "personal item".
This is the brief story of how my L7 became my "companion".
===
I was initially very excited about the phone, partly due to the feature list and it's slimness, but also partly due to the hype about it since it just newly launched in the US. I don't want a phone that looks silver and does not stand out in a crowd, a generic tool that every one has a similar copy of, I desire a phone that also makes a statement!

However, somewhere along the way, I accidentally set my eyes upon a pink Panasonic VS2 phone which totally took my breath away. I fell in luv instantly with the VS2 and left the L7 on the back burner. All the cool features that used to excite me about the L7 is no longer that impressive, it just became dull in comparison to the VS2, which would make a BRILLIANT statement in public.

After some struggles, I arrived at the difficult but inevitable decision of the L7 because of some deal-breaking lack of features on the VS2. Even when I brought the L7, it was not the "luved" one, it was just the "chosen" one. I think it's better than the other mediocre choices I had, and if I can't have the one I luv, then I will have to settle for the second best. I don't "luv" the L7, but I will use it as an essential tool.

But in the past few days, once I spent some time customizing the phone, upload pictures and MP3s, discovered how crystal clear the sound is, and how it delivers solid phone reception, I've started to warm up to it again. The L7 has started to slowly re-gain my affections. I started to like the feel of it in my hand, notice the slimness of the casing, and even re-appreciate the convenience of the "candy bar" form factor. The time I spent using/customizing the L7 has made it more of a personal item to me. To me, it's not longer any other L7, it's MY L7 now. The fact that there is no VS2 nearby to steal my attention away or to compare the slimness with really helped me to re-focus on the L7 at hand.

The L7 has started to grow on me again! Will it morph into a different type of "luv" at the end? and do I still believe in Amor vincit omnia??? only time can tell!

Selk'Bag - positively snuggly!

Quote: "Best of al , even the ugliest camper can look positively cute once wrapped in the Selk'bag. Snug, Smart, freeing!" -- looks SNUGGLY! (am I inventing new words again? =)

"It was ‘Love at First Sight’ for me" - Part II

I've been having reception problems on my old TDMA network for a while now, so last week I finally decided to switch over to Cingular's GSM plan. Before I did that, I needed to find a new GSM phone. While researching for a new phone, some thoughts came to mind regarding a conversation I shared with a female friend last week. I discovered the parallelism between shopping for a "perfect" phone and finding an "ideal" guy. Let me start to tell you the whole story from the beginning:

On Jan 31, I did some online research on the new Motorola SLVR L7 that literally just launched THAT day in the US market. It's new, sleek, and ultra slim. It comes with an impressive feature listing including MP3 player, BlueTooth, 262k TFT display, Quadband, external TransFlash card, and ULTRA slim! I know I've always wanted a "candy bar" style phone, and my preference is always slim/light over functionality. So imagine my excitement when I saw this phone that is both rich in features and slim/light! The reviews I searched for praised it on the design and looks, being Quadband so internationally usable, solidly built and a consistent performer.

So I had the Motorola L7 and a Sony Ericsson phone in mind when I went comparison shopping at a cell phone store in Milpitas. I found this store from a friend's recommendation because they also carry GSM phones from Asia. There were 20+ phone models on the table for selection when I walked in, of which I immediately eliminated the majority and was left with 5 models for consideration. After hearing about my preferences and what I am basically looking for, the sales guy took out 3 more phones for my choosing, all of them are the flip style that I had totally set my mind on not to get. The Magenta RAZR is the ugliest phone I've ever seen (the color itself), that's an easy immediate rejection, and the other two are the Panasonic V2 (pink) and V3 (Red/black).

It was love at first sight for me! (quoted from the VS2 Singapore product page) I didn't even know what hit me when I fell head-over-heels for this so So SO CUTE pink VS2. As soon as I held up the phone, I noted how light and slim the design is. The cover is a very light brush metal pink while the inside is hot pink (a tiny bit overwhelming, but I still like it). The pop-open button is so well placed, and the spring-flip action so slick that totally dispelled my determination for not considering a flip phone. It definitely had an "Oomph.." factor to the whole thing. I don't know what to say, I just liked it *that* much.

Everything else paled in my eyes once I set my sight on the VS2. I was really disappointed to find out that it's only Tri-band and BlueTooth-less. But in every other area of comparison, the VS2 definitely was on par with the L7 if not out-shine it. I left the store tormented by the decision: VS2 vs. L7, to be, or not to be?

For the next 2 days, I was torn between my love for the VS2, but preferred the functionalities of the L7. I asked many friends for opinions, and almost unanimous they voted for the L7 based on the feature list (well, these are mostly guy friends I seeked advice from). One person immediately rejected the VS2 when I mentioned that it has no BlueTooth connectivity. But my heart is heavy because I know that I luved the VS2. In comparison, my initial excitement about the L7 faded once I found that new luv for VS2. Before the smooth black casing was cool, now it seemed a tad bit boring in my eyes; before the blue back lighting is cool, now it's just a common feature; before it was sleek design, now it's just not standing out enough to make a statement. Or maybe it's still a statement, but minus that exclamation mark!

=== Now onto the parallelism of cell phone shopping with guys:

- one walks around with a criteria list for an "ideal" phone in mind, which is mostly resume/feature-list based.
- one walks into the store and sees 20+ model on the table, most of them are not to one's liking or fit the criteria list, so one rejects most right away.
- occasionally one or two phones stood out and one does a detailed analysis of comparison chart for them.
- then one of these days, totally out of blue, one sees a PINK Phone (PP) that totally took one's breath away! One falls in "luv" with the PP right away, despite the fact that it does not measure up to all of the feature list one's determined on.
- the sleek black phone (BP) one started to like before is now appearing mediocre in comparison w/ PP, all the exclamation marks no longer there.
- one cannot go back to the BP after seeing the PP, BP is just that impressive/attractive anymore.
- but the PP is lacking some fundamental features, some of them serious enough to be considered "deal-breakers" (ie. no BlueTooth, Tri-band).
- someone shared this wise old saying to me a while back: "Choose who you luv *before* marriage, but luv whom you've chosen *after* you get married." (ie. one can compare and shop for as many phones as one'd like before making the purchase, but after the migration is complete on the chosen phone, try to luv that one now since there is no longer other options).
- ultimately, one has to make a difficult decision between the "matters of the heart" or practical logic/feature sets, because there is one can only have One phone number.
- at the end, is one buying a fashion accessory phone, or a reliable good reception phone?
- isn't feature set more important in the long run, when the PP loses its lustre a few months down the road?
- "To be, or not to be?" - and ultimately, Amor vincit omnia - Love conquers all. (Virgil) ?!?!????

=== Back to reality:
After studying the pro/con comparison chart for 2 days, I finally decided to go with the L7, not only because it's more feature-rich, but also because I don't have to deal with the hassle of having to buy it online from Asia. (Panasonic sadly does not make phones specifically for the US market anymore) I like my new Motorola L7, and it's definitely growing on me. But at the bottom of my heart, I will always know that I had once loved!

new toy - Part I

my new toy: Motorola SLVR L7 - phone, MP3, camera! a friend commented Sexy.

Panasonic X800 - Cool, and even cooler commercial!
Panasonic VS2 pink - so So SO CUTE!
Panasonic VS6 - Sleek
Korean MS600 - im gonna cry cuz it's slimmer than my 3 day'o toy.

About 3 days ago I finally upgraded from my old TDMA network to GSM, along with that decision, I also brought a really cool phone which literally just hit the US market 2 days before - the Motorola SLVR L7.

I had a hard time deciding between the two phones pictured here, the VS2 is SO cute and pink, it features a really neat pop-open button that totally blew away my reasons for not considering a flip phone; the L7 is sleek and professional looking, and has BlueTooth + MP3 player capability. The significant draw back for the VS2 is it's triband and LACK bluetooth connectivity, that ultimately became a deal breaker for me, so I went with the sleek looking L7 instead. The L7 does not stand out nearly as much as the VS2 in my mind, but it does have all the functionalities I seek. I felt like the decision was between the matters of heart and practicality. Please see my Part II blog on "It's love at first sight for me!".

he's that sort of Bear

Winnie-the-Pooh had been one of my favourite children's books. I've read and re-read most of the 20+ stories in the original A.A.Milne creations (let's not even get started on why the classic-Pooh is so much better than the Disney's simplified version). Recently, I stumbled upon a book called "the Tao of Pooh", then I proceeded to do a search on all Pooh related publications and found the sequel called "the Te of Piglet". How interesting! Did you know that there's a name for people who study Winnie-the-Pooh? -- Poohologist and Poohians!

The non-fiction I am reading right now is Frederick Crew's "The Pooh Perplex", in which it is discovered that the True Meaning of the Pooh Stories is Not as Simple as is Usually Believed. Apparently, there was a Freshmen English class taught at UCBerkeley that used Pooh stories and its various criticisms as a case study. I want to post some of the interesting snippets here to share with you all:

"Winnie-the-Pooh is, as practically everyone knows, one of the greatest books ever written, but it is also one of the most controversial. Nobody can quite agree as to what it really means!"

"What is the purpose, the inner necessity, of Winnie-the-Pooh? Is it merely to recount little episodes that will engage the attention of small children? Obviously not, for the stories as stories are, ... Notably lacking in elements of the violent, the fabulous, the quickly thrilling. A precise of any chapter might cause us to wonder whether the book has any appeal whatsoever: a toy bear and a toy pig follow their own tracks around a tree until they are told by a small boy that this is pointless, and all retire for lunch. It is clear, I think, that Pooh must address us on an essentially subliminal level - that it must achieve its effects through sly manipulations and secret implications, not through what it directly narrates."

"About himself -- "Because he's that sort of Bear." Now, "that sort of Bear" is of course a bear who wants to be flattered, and it is plain that the Christophoric ear is using Pooh to make its own devious request that it (the ear's projection, "Christopher Robin") be made the center of attention. The Milnean voice, however, in its didactic-paternal role, is unprepared simply to feed the self-love of the Christophoric ear; it (the voice) must also see that it (the ear) is properly edified in a moral sense. The stories, therefore, will express a vector of the two forces, pleasing and teaching the Christophoric ear. He conceals his own desire to publish a book by making himself appear simply as the reluctantly obliging father (the Milnean voice) who must humor his son with stories, and whose stories, indeed, lie open to the direction of that son, nay, of that son's teddy bear. False modesty and literary ingenuity have rarely found so happy a union as this."

"One must handle all preconceived patterns of meaning very gently to do justice to a work as subtle, as darkly double, as Pooh."

=== now onto the power struggle:
This is the principle of the Hierarchy of Heroism, a chain of authority not unlike Lovejoy's Chain of Being, only more strictly operative, more functional, and more real. A.A.Milne rules the Hierarchy; he has absolute control over what will happen in Pooh. A certain amount of power, however, is delegated tot he Milnean voice, which in turn grants ocnsiderable privilege to the Christophoric ear. No one of these figures can accomplish anything without the consent of the next superior in the chain. The chain continues downward to Christopher Robin (the character) and thence to Pooh, Christopher's favorite animal. Piglet, as Pooh's best friend, comes next; weak and timid though he is, he automatically merits a place of honor by virtue of Pooh's handing-on of the Milnean mana to him. It is this mana, more than any personal virtue or effort, that accounts for his high degree of success in the adventures and enterprises he shares with Pooh. Other characters, such as Owl and Rabbit, try vainly to dominate the action, but are foredoomed to failure by their low rating. At the bottom of the order of main characters is Eeyore, the archetypical outsider; and below Eeyore extends a vast string of virtually vegetal nonentities, concluding with Rabbit's least imposing friends-and-relations.

Milnean voice gives the animals traits of humility, spontaneity, enthusiasm, and obedience which it (the voice) hopes that it (the ear) will cultivate in its own life. Thus, when Pooh turns out to be more successful in one episode than Rabbit is, the Milnean voice is saying in effect, "Look, Christophoric ear: the meek shall inherit the earth"; while the Christophoric ear, for its part, is content to see Christopher Robin enter the episode at the end to set all wrongs right again. A little didacticism, a little egoism: that is the rationale of Winnie-the-Pooh's plot.

... "The sentence introducing the Expotition chapter is full of portentous meaning: "One fine day Pooh had stumped up to the top of the Forest to see if his friend Christopher Robin was interested in Bears at all." It takes no child psychologist to see that Pooh feels neglected and is asking himself whether his priority in Christopher Robin's Hierarchy has slipped. This, Milne implicitly informs us, is to be a tale which will really have to do nothing with finding or not finding a piece of wood, but with a more or less savage emotional free-for-all over Hierarchical rank.

=== there are several more essays all discussing different perspectives on the Pooh phenomenon, which I won't have time to copy here, please read the "Pooh Perplex" and "Post Modern-Pooh" books if you are interested.

Compartmentalization

com·part·men·tal·ize (compart·mental·i·zation noun.) -
To separate into distinct parts, categories, or compartments:
“You learn... even the ability to compartmentalize ethics” (Ellen Goodman).

On Monday we had an unexpected electricity outage at MPK campus, this rarely happens nowadays since major campuses usually have backup auxiliary systems. I recall reading a chain email back in college days called "Jesus Saves", couldn't help but laugh at the thought that yes, we do need to constantly press that SAVE button to ensure our hardwork are not lost in the split of a second (~ several instruction cycles? ;)

One interesting thing that happened was "bam bam bam", all the doors in the hallways shut automatically, which really scared me, so people outside cannot get in (because most of the entrances are card-reader accessed, which is kind of scary when it does not work due to lack of electricity), and we have to spend some effort in openning the doors in the hallways to get to other parts of the floor/building. I was later informed that those hallway doors are specifically designed for the purpose of containing the fire/smoke in case of emergency. Arrh.... kind of like those water/air tight gates for space/ships... (recalling Sci-Fi movies here...)

I started thinking, we should treat things in our lives in a similar way, to compartmentalize the different sectors of our lives. So that when one area hits a down side, it does not affect our generally positive mood/outlook or our performances in other areas. Only exception I've heard through sermons is in regards to our spiritual matters, our spiritual walk with God is really the basis for our moral/ethical values, that is supposed to transcend through all of our worldly doings and be the compass and guideline to how we live out our daily lives.