during lunch today
J and I went to Novena to eat and shop around. Just as we were leaving, we stopped by one of those new brightly-lit cutely-packaged skincare product shops, so we went in to take a look. We were hovering over the eye mask shelf when suddenly a voice piped up from behind us - an unfortunate, permanently high-pitched voice, slightly shrill and slightly squeaky, like a little mouse having a panic attack. As J put it: "I thought it was a handphone and I turned around and it was a person!"
The voice belonged to a college-age salesgirl, inexpertly primped and plumped to within an inch of her fake eyelashes. She was eager and helpful, but ultimately useless. J, caught up in an ecstasy of fake eyelashes, agreed to buy a pair and let the salesgirl help her put them on - which came to naught after three failed attempts with a shaky hand. But as I observed the salesgirl's uneven eyeliner, little shiny pink hairclip and glossed lips wide open in concentration, I felt a rush of sympathy for her. This girl with the cartoon character voice - What is her life like? Does she do well in school? Does she go home to a hardworking and loving family? Is that silver ring on her finger proof of a boyfriend who treats her like a princess? I hoped so.
Even when I came back to the office and realised she'd overcharged me for my face masks.
On the way back J and I also ended up in a cab driven by an old Malay woman, who was so incompetent at navigation that it was impossible to come to any other conclusion than she had stolen the cab and was maniacally trying to make as much money as possible before the real owner - Chinese, judging by the radio station - came back for it. But that's a story for another day.
posted by zyn ::
2:57 PM ::
2 Comments ::
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on books, or: I can't be friends with you if you liked The Da Vinci Code
Wednesday, April 02, 2008 |
Lately I have been made to feel bad about being a book snob. N, the main culprit, is busy propagating myths such as "every book has something to offer" and "intellectual snobbery prevents you from learning things".
Thing is, I don't really think of myself as a book snob. It's not like I only read pretentious books. But some books instinctively repulse me and I just assume that everyone is also repulsed. It's like a black-and-white moral standard for books: some are good, some are bad. To me that's so natural that there's no space for argument.
But I was taken aback by N's vitriol and resolved to be a humbler person. Until Monday, when out of nowhere I met two shining angels bearing the message that I was right all along: there is a book heaven, and seven levels of book hell that begin with Mitch Albom and end with Dan Brown.
Okay, so they weren't shining angels as much as fellow journos and I didn't meet them out of nowhere as much as have coffee with them after a press briefing. But still. Their chorus of disbelief when I told them about N buying Tuesdays with Morrie was like manna from heaven.
Unanimously we agreed on three things: Tuesdays with Morrie is cringingly bad, The Da Vinci Code was excruciatingly worse, and anyone who says Paulo Coelho "changed my life!" should be shot. That would change their life. To death.
It's not just badly-written books, though. I also have strong negative feelings about a lot of books that have received wide critical acclaim. Life of Pi, for instance, ranks among the books I consider most overrated. (Tiger? Zebra? Sea? Wtf?) I never took to Lord of the Flies, I can't bring myself to read Tolkien, and I personally think Jasper Fforde is a grandstanding two-bit writer with too many in-jokes and too little substance.
But it must be said that I would still respect people who like Life of Pi more than those who worship pop spirituality. If that makes me a book snob, so be it.
posted by zyn ::
5:43 PM ::
15 Comments ::
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