Tag: Moon River

The grains of time

By now the transition from analog to digital has almost been completed.

Movies, music, photos and books. The old movies are easy to spot: actors using huge phones and driving old cars.

Vinyl albums made those hissy noise when touched by the needle.

And books, like the one I am reading, War and Peace, are so heavy. You can’t help realising that you are entering Tolstoy‘s Imperial Society.

Physical versus digital world.

24/7 always-on grid vs our 16-hour world (8 hours for sleep).

People, through connection, find suitors in the old world, friending others in the new.

More atomized more access, the new takes scarcity and locality out of the equation.

Just Google him or her.

Follow him/her on Twitter (despite the miles apart).

The social graph shows his/her photos, Likes, and Time Line.

Little Red Riding Hood was told not to trust strangers (wolf in grandma’s clothing). Now she is encouraged to click Approve, and upload every details of her waking life.

Yet those grains of time as appeared in old B/W photos speak volumes about our ancestors. Mine always seemed to appear in groups, staring straight and standing straight. It’s as though they had all been military cadets.

I have gone through life, never had a chance to see if my grandparents even smiled at all.

Now, with X-Gig memory cards, we can afford to leave behind traces of happiness. Limit not ourselves to event only, since everyday is an event. Monday, Monday, it turns out that way.

Having said that (technology enhances self-expression), I must give it to the previous generation whose movie theme music remains unsurpassed. Think of the old James Bond theme music (three cheers to SKYFALL which has just won the Golden Globe),  Moon River, Love is Many splendor Things…. You can always tell their genres e.g. Big-Band or string guitar. The 50’s gave birth to subsequent women liberation and self-expression in couture, hair dyeing.

Those shiny  but short skirts, the boots, and low neck lines. Furniture and interior decoration was hip as well. Now, with mass merchandising, young men and women took for granted their individuality online while at the same time paying less attention to outer appearance: metro-style, with T-shirts and trans-gender jeans.

While collegial looks are available to all, online “friending” is quite restricted. You need access to your “friend’s” page. Even then, you will know very little, besides what they wanted you to know. More access yet fewer information. Sounds like we are back to square one, with grainy B/W photos. I hope someday I come across in family’s album something resembling a smile. Maybe at the time, women colored their teeth black (to prevent cavity). Hence, the embarrassment. Or that they took pictures with a family patriarch who was stern and strict. Or the photographer had been trained to take ID photos only (no “cheese”. ) Then I remember Mona Lisa, and how we all “read” into that painting a smile that might or might not be there. Obviously, we can see it in her eyes. That smile stood the test of time, however grainy and non-digital.

Place of Death

Patricia Conwell has made a chunk of change with her Medical Examiner (Kate) character. Manner of death .

In Vietnam, it’s the place of death that matters.

If one dies in a street accident, the casket will be placed out on the sidewalk for the three-day mourning.

You can always learn something new here.

Meals are served hot, way hot (hot-pot). Fish in clay pot, also hot.

The weather is also hot. If you added spices like “ot hiem” (baby hot pepper), you might as well take a steam bath.

Back to highway of hell.

Highway 1A, the main road that connects North-South (like Hwy 5 and 95 in the States) see traffic at all hours: containers, scooters and buses.

Choke point and flash point.

Don’t cross the river if you can’t swim the tide.

Don’t cross that highway if you want to be buried indoors.

The Medical Examiner offices here are sure busier than Conwell’s Richmond’s morgue.

I told myself  I prefer cremation, then have ashes scattered into the seven seas.

That way, I am a world traveler, in life or in death.

In giving up my comfort, I find my living.

In perpetual motion, I find my balance.

Life itself is in motion, especially for those whose last minutes were spent on the highway.

May they rest in peace, while their bodies are on display on the sidewalk, outside their houses for the last glimpse at traffic, their Place of Death.