Derek's damn dog

I watched two hours of Grey's Anatomy last night, all the while wiping away tears that were rolling down my face. I rarely get attached to fictional characters, but I have a weakness of crying at the minutest show of emotions. I cried watching Pinocchio. So you can imagine how I looked like the morning after watching Armageddon (a.k.a The Sob Fest).

In this particular episode, Meredith and Derek have to put their dog, Doc, to sleep since he's already dying of cancer. Meredith starts crying and it could be because Doc is the only link between her and Derek, or it could be because she loved that dog, or it could be both. At this point, I'm not sure if I was sad for the dog or for the loss that Meredith felt (at her failed relationship and/or the death of the dog). It certainly felt like I was crying because of Derek, though. However, it didn't matter since I was already fighting back tears when they arrived at Finn's (the vet and also Meredith's current love interest) way before the emotional roller coaster took place on the screen.

So how strong of a grip does this show, or any other show for that matter, have on me anyway? Without even knowing what it's like to really love somebody, I could feel Meredith's pain. And I don't even like dogs, yet I cried when Doc died. And Derek - don't get me started on McDreamy - I certainly feel I could love him too.

It's mind over matter, and emotion over mind. Ask me if I know what it feels like to stand at the edge of a cliff, or smoke a cigar, or jump off a plane, or be bitten by a snake and I'd be able to say I know what it feels like with a straight face. Not that I'm lying. I've dreamt them so many times I swear I know how the adrenaline will rush into all faculties of my body, how the warmth of the smoke will feel as it escapes my lips and how the snake bite will sting and numb my legs. I also know what it feels like to fly. Spookesville.

Hollywood thrives on artificial emotions - as I'll call it - and as long as they manage to make me cry, love, hate, hide behind a pillow (I'm a scaredy-cat but I love the thrills of watching ghost stories, even if it's with one eye half open and both ears closed), I'll be on the couch devouring all they can bring to me on the screen.

And to Derek... I think he should just divorce Addison and stop having to worry about being loyal to her since we all know he loves me Meredith by a mile. But even if he doesn't, at least I'll have the guilty pleasure of crying over his damn dog.

The blind date

The last date I had been on was sometime in August of 2005. It was a casual trip to Starbucks... chatting, sipping overpriced coffee, and just enjoying the company of the person opposite me.

This time, I had no idea who the guy was, what he looked like, where he lived or where he worked. It was like picking a name from a random page out of a telephone directory (except the directory would've provided me with a surname as well). If it wasn't for the persistent nudge of a mutual friend, I would have turned it down and gone for the world record of not having been on a date for a hundred years.

Dating is pretty much like learning to drive a manual car: you never really forget how to do it, but you still need to get used to the whole thing and remember the basics - clutch, gas, brakes, side mirrors, blinkers etc. It's a true test to multitasking and its the same with dates: you need to remember all the codes to appear well-mannered and charming, and at the same time think fast in order to react correctly in response to your date.

It can be painful since it's not easy to act dainty while stuffing food down your throat, and all the more awkward that he may ask a question just as you've put some grub in your mouth, allowing him full view of the faces you make while you try to chew your food and still try to look pretty. It's harder still that you have to make an extra conscious effort to keep your food securely in your mouth as you laugh unexpectedly at a joke and not to let bits fly out and land awkwardly on the table (by the way, never happened).

I've made a strict rule of never having croissant on a first date (the crusts will stick to your lipstick and have you look like an idiot trying to lick it off in the most un-sexy way) or have anything soupy (it might splash and you might slurp) or even any form of mee or spaghetti (how on earth do you eat this?!). On a lunch I had with an acquaintance for the first time, I had ordered Aglio Olio. No matter how I cut the spaghetti (I was told you cross your fork and spoon at the center of the mound of spaghetti and slice the whole thing so they're cut into shorter pieces) I still had long pieces of it dangling off my fork. And even when they were short enough, it was pretty horrible trying to suck in the dangling remains into my mouth in the most polite manner. I ended up telling my acquaintance (who happened to be very understanding and a fun company) that I always had trouble eating in front of people I've met for the first time. I finally packed the lunch and gorged it down in the privacy of my own office.

That said, this time I actually managed to preserve my dignity on my first blind date. It went well and admittedly, the guy was cute. Throwing all caution out the window, I ordered a complex meal (chicken, fries, salad.. all with tendencies to stick to your teeth) and yet had a wonderful time. It had been so long since I'd gone out with a guy that it felt good again for once.

I won't say for sure that I'll ever do blind dates again, but I do know enough to never say never. The mystery and anticipation of meeting a person you've never met can be very refreshing (granted he doesn't turn out to be any degree of a psycho... I've crossed paths with mild ones before but that deserves another entry all its own).

The nature of dates, while some may feel is overrated, is simple. And I've broken it all down to this: a girl needs a male companion, and even if it's just one date, it can mean the world.

Old flames rekindled...

I first fell in love with Polaroids back in 2003 while watching "Almost Famous". At the time I was already an SLR enthusiast and was dabbling with black & white photography, spending my weekends in the darkroom developing pictures and rashes from the chemicals. It was rewarding and a somewhat omnipotent feeling of having complete control over my pictures. But somehow, watching Kate Hudson's character snapping away in the tour bus, with the sweet sound of the film sliding through the slot, and the magical instant the pictures develop from grey nothingness to vivid life, I immediately fell in love.

Since I returned home 2 years ago, I have shelved my One600 and not picked it up for the main reason that I didn't want to waste the triple pack of 10s I had. I used to buy pack of 3s at WalMart for USD30 and back then (when I didn't convert dollars into Ringgit) it felt cheap.

Now, after watching "Crazy/Beautiful" last week, my love for Polaroids was rekindled.

All that's left in my way is the fact that a packet of 10s cost around RM45 which roughly translates to RM4.50 per picture (which is around 4.5 times more expensive than buying a roll of your average 36exp 35mm film, having it developed and paying for service charge. Also about the price of a decent meal at my office canteen, to put things into perspective).

However, the weekend spent fooling around taking pictures with my sister using my expired Polaroid film was reason enough that Polaroids work the magic like no other camera.

Some pictures taken back in the day...
(l-r): my study in Fairfax Apartments, view of the UC from The Cut, cathedral next to Webster Hall