The Little Warrior November 24, 2009

We flew to San Francisco for 24 hours just to attend our new nephew’s first 100 days celebration. It’s a time-honored Korean tradition that dates back to the time when infant mortality rates were high and newborns that did survive the first hundred days, generally go on to live well into adulthood. For the past year, we were busy with wedding preparations and Steve’s cousin Eunice and her husband Peter were busy getting ready for the baby. So it has been quite a long while since we last saw them, which is a pity because we absolutely love their company as not many people share a fondness for politically incorrect discourse, intellectual wit and skepticism, and the uncensored version of Steve’s unique brand of humor.

Here, I present to you the baby of the moment: Alexander Kan. I call him the little warrior because his name is a hybrid of arguably the two greatest conquerors of ancient history: Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan. It’s a strong, unforgettable name, which is important because it’s just like a brand, and personal marketing really has far-reaching consequences in our society today. Alex is beyond adorable – large inquisitive eyes, a mess of funky hair and cute chunky limbs that constantly reach out to grab things.

Their new home is in a gorgeous suburban estate known as the Sugarloaf, with houses scattered along inundating hills covered in lush greenery. It has a bit of a country-getaway feel, with a cedar oak deck providing dramatic views of the hillside. The air is so fresh that every single breadth fills the mind with a calming serenity. We got there just in time for lunch, and everyone was already gathered around the living room, save for the women who were milling around the kitchen getting the food ready.

The first 100 days involves a feast, for it is a celebration for both the baby and his parents. One of the main features is a large steam rice cake that is sweetened lightly with sugar or honey. According to ancient custom, this cake is meant to be shared with at least a hundred people; in fact the more people its shared among, the longer the child will live. I suppose that these sweetened rice cakes are somewhat analogous to the bright red eggs used to celebrate a newborn’s birthday in the Chinese tradition. Let’s tune in to our Ambassador of Korean Culture to find out more:

done

Everyone was preoccupied with the baby, clapping and waving to catch his attention, their voices heightened to a pitch similar to that of Elmo’s on Sesame Street. Steve and I discovered something about ourselves – we both subscribe to the same school of thought as Jack Brynes, the anal-rententive ex-CIA officer in Meet the Fockers; namely, we talk to babies exactly like we would to a fully grown adult. I just don’t get what all the animated cooing accompanied by stretched out facial expressions really does for the baby, who frankly tends to be more puzzled than anything. Here’s Steve having a conservation with his new nephew:

done

What was so amazing was that there were 4 generations in the house that day:

As we all gathered around Alex and observed his bright expressive eyes and little actions, I couldn’t help but think to myself how fragile he was, but yet, a world of possibility awaits at his feet. Two words come to mind when I looked at him: clean slate. Not only is he a clean slate, with his baby skin free of impurities and his body free from toxins and pollutants, but I think Dr. Steven Pinker would agree with me that he is also very much a blank slate – his mind is like putty and it can take the shape of anything that the future holds. He could go on to solve Superstring Theory, finish Mozart’s 41st Symphony, establish technologies in quantum computing, take over the helms of the fashion house of Gucci, or become Secretary of State Kan. I wondered about how nice it would be to start all over at the very beginning, to wipe the slate clean and have a chance to face all the same choices again? It was a pensive moment, for at the ripe old age of 25, all my cumulative decisions and actions are now just beginning to take its toll; and besides, if I could go back to being an infant again, I would really like to make sure that this time, I finish all the formula from my milk bottle because that must be the only reason that I didn’t grow past 5′3” despite the “tall” genes in my family.

done

It was really heart-warming to share in this experience with Peter, Eunice and their precious new bundle of joy. Peter even gave Steve some pointers into how to be a good dad (see video above). If anything, it has underscored how utterly unprepared the both of us are, in welcoming new life into this world. The sacrifice it takes, with the devotion of every single ounce of energy and time into this one tiny being, not to mention the heavy responsibility that it requires, makes parenting one of the most difficult tasks in the world. And we are far, very very far, from ready. Some day, we’ll get to a point in our lives where we’d finally be in the position to take on what would become the biggest liability. But if we do it right over time, the liability will turn into a personal achievement that we can be proud of. And so, the future awaits…

Much Ado About Nothing November 22, 2009

My mind and body rebelled against the energy-sapping activities of last weekend. It’s a stark reminder that I’m over the hill now and that all the partying should be left to ‘um whippersnappers. As a result, we did not leave the apartment for a good two whole days this weekend, not even to get food or throw out the trash. I must’ve moved a total of 20 feet over the course of 48 hours, which gave me a glimpse of what it must be like to live a day in the life of my sister, the master of sloth.

The only exception was that we did go riding again in Oxford on Sunday. It was raining cats and dogs but our equestrian center has an indoor arena so it was no problem at all, save for the stench of “wet horse smell.” I partnered up with Baron the stallion again and surprisingly, we had a good connection this time and the mutual respect was very apparent. He quickly responded to my commands whenever he got out of line and the pace of his trot was perfectly-timed, which made my job really easy.

Steve made fun of me for watching too many old-school Westerns because I instinctively shout “Whoa boy” whenever I want him to stop moving. He got to ride Kiwi who was a bit inconsistent, sometimes trotting too fast or slow, and was in the habit of stopping abruptly. We spent majority of the lesson trying to master the act of posting the trot, all the while maintaining immaculate posture and precision timing. In addition, while our horses were trotting, we were made to stand straight up on the stirups, holding that position for at least 3 full rounds of the arena’s perimeter.

It came as a huge surprise to me that riding is such a physically demanding endeavor, mainly because it looks like the poor horse is doing all the work and all that I really had to do was to basically sit. Well I was dead wrong. It’s a strange concept, that I am the one free-loading off a four-legged animal who has to move with an uncomfortable bridle in his mouth, a girth secured tightly around its chest to hold down the heavy leather saddle and on top of all that, an extra 100 pounds on his back that occasionally kicks, but yet, it is I who walks away from it all with muscle aches in places that I didn’t even know had muscle. For several days after, my groin seared with dull pain every single time I took a step forward, so I was walking around looking like a guy who overdosed on Viagra and had one of those 4-hour erection anomalies. Attempting to sit down and get up also caused various parts of my thighs to burn, and on more than one occasion, I almost missed the toilet bowl altogether. Now that most of our exercises involve posting the trot, my bum was actually quite chafed from all the friction between its fleshy mounds and the saddle, which made sitting at the office for 9 hours straight incredibly uncomfortable.

On the way back home, we stopped by Dover Saddlery in Wellesley to pick up new professional-grade equipment. Steve decided to invest in proper riding shoes and wound up getting a pair of Ariat Paddock boots; previously he had been riding in his regular Cole Haan shoes which were not at all meant to be used around equestrian stables or in strirups. Riding gloves were also essential because we both had suffered hairline cuts all over our hands from gripping on to the leather reigns. Finally and most importantly, we both got helmets to protect our fragile skulls from any potential falls or kicks to the head. Initially, I fell in love with a Wellington classic helmet that was clad in black velvet, the kind of helmet I’d expect Prince William to be wearing at a Royal polo tournament. But then I flipped over the price tag and realized that it cost just about as much as a pair of Louboutins, so I reminded myself that the purpose of a helmet is to shield my brain and not for making a fashion statement (although a little fashion would be nice). So I settled on the Charles Owen GR8 black microsuede helmet which has a really comfortable interior lining and a rounded brim.

Apart from that little adventure, we did nothing else all weekend and deliberately confined ourselves to the 4 walls of our apartment. It was a welcome breather in our hectic end-of-year schedule.

Today’s Post is Brought to You by the Letter “Q” November 16, 2009

My dear Steve-O provided yet another sequel to what I previously called the “Comedy of Errors.“

He was trying to confirm an upgrade for my upcoming flight so he called United Airlines and was speaking with a representative.

Rep: Sir, I will need your 6-letter confirmation code for this reservation.

Steve: Sure. It’s “J” for John, and “Q” for Koala..

(Pause)

Steve: Oh wait, uhh, “Q” isn’t for Koala huh! Ah crap! What is “Q” for? Uh, ok nevermind…

(Indecipherable chuckle)

Steve: then it’s “N” for Nancy…

(He goes on to give the rest of the code in the same fashion and the rep maintains her professionalism throughout the conversation, excersizing a remarkable feat of self-restraint whilst I was cackling loudly in the background. At the end of the call:)

Steve: Thanks for your help with the upgrade!

Rep: You’re welcome sir. And by the way, yes you are right, “Q” is not for Koala.

Steve: (Sheepish chuckle)

************************

At this point I was howling with laughter and promptly demonstrated my knowledge of the letter “Q” by going off on a “Q is for (insert word here)” list. I suppose it’s partly the American in him – Koala bears are these unfamiliar alien creatures from Down Under and somehow in his mind, he assigned the exotic “Q” in association with their names.

Anyway, “Q” isn’t one of those common-sounding letters that could be mistaken for any other letter of the alphabet. As I thought about this episode, I came up with a game that we started playing. Here’s how it goes: I started going down the list of letters and whenever I mentioned, say the letter ”P,” he was supposed to cough up whatever came to mind first. I had a hypothesis that this sort of excersise tells you a lot about what goes on in a person’s mind/personality or something profound about his deep-seated Freudian psychology; the key for this psychoanalysis experiment is that the subject has to immediately spew the word out without thinking.

True enough! For me, when someone says “P,” the first word I think of is “Pig,” for very obvious reasons (to those who know me). For Steve, the first word he thought of was “Pasta,” which if you knew him, you wouldn’t be surprised by at all. In fact, for quite a substantial number of alphabets, food came to his mind first and foremost before anything else! Others are already pre-conditioned by having spoken to many customer service agents over the years – one of these is “N” for Nancy, which is what they tend to use so it’s ingrained into your mind permanently so much so it overrides your instinct to think of a new one. You should try it out yourself!

Poor Steve had to endure some ”K is for Queen” type of text messages from my sister. That’s for not watching enough Sesame Street episodes when he was younger!  

Waking Up In Vegas November 13, 2009

I thought we were going to miss this flight. I love playing this game with myself, something I call “pushing the envelope,” and it basically involves seeing how late I can possibly leave my apartment and still make the flight at the airport. The closer you cut it, the better you are at this game – it’s fun! You know those people who are leisurely strolling through airport concourses, taking their time to clear the security at the checkpoint? Yeah, I’m NEVER one of them. I’m always running hastily and frankly, I totally get off on that adrenaline rush (we all have our idiosyncracies). And because I absolutely have no patience to wait for anything, I find it efficient to simply arrive exactly on the dot when the gate agent commences boarding.

This is where the art and science of “pushing the envelope” comes in – you have to consider all the parameters: time of departure, for example, provides information that allows you to estimate how bad the traffic on the way will be, and that, together with the day of the week, tells you how crowded the airport is going to be (business travelers tend to fly on certain days) and how long that TSA line will stretch. This time, we called the cab at 5.15am, left the apartment shortly after, and arrived at the airport at 5.29am, checked-in my suitcase, raced through security and miraculously, made our flight to Las Vegas which was scheduled to depart at 6 am. It was the first time that the dreaded thought of missing the flight actually appeared to be a certainty. By the time we got to the gate, it was ten past 5.30am and everyone was already in their seats, so we boarded (Steve did so sheepishly, I on the other hand did so triumphantly) and took our seats at 1A and 1B. And then I turned to Steve and gave him a high five because we were the very last ones and not long after, the stewards and agents closed the gate. Ahhh, the satisfaction was so palpable that I was in high spirits for the rest of the day.

We actually did literally wake up in Vegas because we stayed up all night to catch the crack-of-dawn transcontinental flight, and slept the whole way (nothing like a free upgrade to 1st class) through to Sin City. Stepping out of the airport, a few things reminded me that I was no longer in the Northeast – the pleasantly warm temperature, sunny and blue skies, a thick miasma of cigarette smoke, and the bacchanal, Mardi Gras-like atmosphere in the air. Even around the baggage claim and cab stand area, it’s funny how so many people were in an exuberent party mood – the only thing in their minds was the phrase “yeah baby!” and believe me, it showed. I think people easily buy into the very premise of Las Vegas itself, which revolves around the theme of endless possibilities. Just like how the dessert city overcame long odds to become a playground for the rich and famous in the middle of nowhere and nothingness, they too, with shallow pockets, can leave a rich man. Troop over to the departure terminal and everyone there wears a dull, tired expression and a heavy heart filled with the woes of an intoxicated liver and the agony of losing money at the poker table.

The Palazzo Hotel was where we put up for the duration of our stay. Palazzo is an Italian word that refers to palace or any architecturally grand building, and given the visual treat that greeted us as we pulled up to the hotel, the name was indeed very befitting. While it really is an extension of The Venetian Hotel & Casino, the Palazzo thankfully does not try to emulate it. Because there isn’t an overt in-your-face theme, the Palazzo is modeled more closely after its neighbor, the Wynn. But where the Wynn conjures a whimsical fantasyland, the Palazzo Hotel instead is steeped in contemporary luxury infused with Italian elements – stucco ornamentation, Tuscan inspired arches, green stone fountains, hand painted stenciled and paneled ceilings , vines and herb-like floral scapes, Mediterranean earth tone walls, and beautiful glass domes that let natural light flood the entire lobby space. 

The rooms are of generous size, given that the Palazzo is an all-suite hotel. The finishings were just as opulent and the study area was equipped with office supplies, printer and fax. I didn’t think people who go to Las Vegas would ever give the study much foot traffic but Steve proved me wrong over the course of the stay, working away on his laptop and making conference calls for about 2 whole days. Even though I was left to try and kill some time on my own, I wasn’t bummed at all – behold, the Canyon Ranch Spa!

It is probably the only thing in Las Vegas that is truly good for the body, mind and soul. Known for being a spa and wellness getaway for the elite (and also as celebrity rehab), Canyon Ranch began in Arizona and has several properties across the US. Its focus extends well beyond spa treatments to healthy living and nutrition. Nothing represents that better than their flagship restaurant, the Canyon Ranch Grill, where every ingredient is organic and whole-wheat, portions are controlled and caloric break-down is carefully devised according to nutritional guidelines. It’s the first time I ordered french toast without the sinking feeling of guilt about which body part was going to store all that extra sugar and fat. Surprisingly, Steve who never flinches at the prospect of junk food soaked in grease, found the food at the Grill to be very tasty. “Oh my god. Every single cell in my body is thanking me for eating this today,” was his first remark after sinking his teeth into the Chorizo Scramble. Maybe it is psychological, but there’s no doubt that good healthy food actually makes you feel good, inside and out. While Steve had to work, I happily spent a good chunk of time lounging at the spa and working out at the extensive fitness center.

That night we had plans with Dawn and Jo to meet up at one of the hottest nightspots in Las Vegas – Encore’s XS, a peculiar name for a club which Dawn later explained was short for “excess.” Although it was the eve of Halloween, people everywhere were all dressed up in fancy costumes. Prior to this trip, I had spent way too much time mulling over what to wear for this Halloween; several trains of thought led to my final choice. First, I’m quarter of a century old now, so it’s only downhill from here. Not only is my metabolic rate slowing down, but I’m also married, which apparently adds on another obesity risk factor (see study). This body ain’t going to look like that for too long, so I’d better do all the things I want to do before my genes make it way too difficult to salvage any former glory. I have also always wanted to be a bunny, I don’t know why but I have always found them to be more cute than sexy. But what do I know, Hugh Hefner built an entire empire on dressing women up as bunnies and parading them around as sex objects. Given all the factors working against me, and especially the fact that I really don’t want to be in my 30’s and spotting rolls of fat and the illusion of “back boobs” in my bunny outfit (sorry for the imagery), I decided to take the plunge. Better now than later. By the way, not only does my husband approve, he encouraged (haha, bless him)!

So I went blonde, because blonde hair and bunny outfits go hand-in-hand – the moment I put on the wig, I immediately felt light-headed, as if my IQ had fallen by several points (like the healthy food, it’s just psychological). I didn’t want one of those high-cut leotards that Lady GaGa is so fond of, so luckily, I managed to find a tuxedo bunny suit which was far more modest due to coat tails that conceal the behind. With these outfits though, there is always a risk of camel toe! Once everything from the fishnet stockings and bunny ears were in place, I had to get Steve to pin my fluffy white bunny tail on my tush – it was like an adult’s version of that children’s game called “pin the tail on the donkey;” we were thankful that there were no cameras around. Before we left the room, I looked at myself in the mirror and had the urge to grab a cane and start tap-dancng to the tunes of Duke Ellington.

XS is by far one of the coolest clubs in terms of decor and layout which features an open concept. The indoor section is dotted with plush leather sofas arranged on tiered levels, all of which surround a large dance floor over which, a rotating chandelier hovers. This “flows” into an outdoor patio with more low tables and chaise lounge chairs, and a swimming pool that forms a moat around a tented rotunda where there are gambling tables for those who feel the need to gamble amid pulsating beats. I had a good time there, particularly because everyone was such good sports, there were no drunk girls flailing all over the place, not a whisker of puke, and it didn’t feel like a meat-market at all. Steve had such a good time because he imbibed flute after flute of Dom Perignon, all the while cavorting with our gracious hosts and watching his new wife hit the pole with other chicks. Oh what a night!

The next day, we hit the pool deck to get some sun – I read Dawkins’ book and learned a bit about the genetics of wild cabbage (did you know that cauliflower is actually the result of generations of artificial selection of cabbage?) while Steve-o, delighted that there was Wi-Fi at the poolside, typed away on his laptop writing peer reviews. The deck wasn’t spared from the palatial Tuscan vibe – terracotta flooring and the mosaic-tiled pool made it feel like we were relaxing in the courtyard of a Mediterranean villa. Just as the sun was setting, I went in for a quick dip (not a heated pool).

We hit the buffet at Treasure Island with our bunch of Singaporean friends and then spent some time gambling at the Venetian Casino, both activities themselves being things that Singaporeans in particular excel at. Hadassah, who was in the rare position of sitting on a “net gain” in Vegas, imparted her nuggets of wisdom onto Steve, who was trying to figure out how to play “3 card poker.” He actually walked away with an extra 10 bucks in his pocket!

After midnight, we headed to Tao, the legendary Asian-chic nightspot, for the real Halloween party. My costume that night was something that I tried to “tie in” with the venue, but then later I realized it wasn’t really a Halloween costume at all. You see, the whole point is to be something that you are not, and I, somewhat shortsightedly, went as a China Doll – mini cheong sam, white satin goves and a paper parasol. Tao’s interior was mostly decked out in a sultry combination of black and red, with Japanese archways and a giant Bhudda towering over the restaurant area. Several stone baths filled with red rose petals were scattered around the club, in which almost-nude ladies gyrated sensually – can you imagine being paid to take a 6-hour bath? Won’t your skin get all wrinkley? By the way, major pet peeve alert, what’s the significance of the actual chinese character that is the supposed namesake of this “Asian bistro and nightclub?” I’m no Chinese scholar but I don’t think it means anything on its own; and besides, it’s actually pronounced: dao, not tao.

Tao suffered from some major overcrowding, so much so it was difficult to find any standing space at all. The music was much better than at XS but there were a lot more drunk girls spilling drinks everywhere. By 4am, we were all tired and headed back upstairs where we congregated back in the room, resting our tired feet as we lazed on the comfy sofas, chatting and laughing at all the pictures we took earlier. Suddenly, we heard some snorts and grunts coming from the other side of the sitting room, and to my horror, Steve had passed out and began his nightly symphony of snores. This was the first time, however, that he was “performing” before such a large audience. We put the boys to sleep and promptly headed downstaires to the Grand Lux Cafe for supper/breakfast. Food generally tastes amazing at 6am in the morning after a long night of partying, and the buffalo chicken and caramel chicken entrees were no exception to that. By the end of it, we were glad the boys had all gone to sleep – there’s nothing like a good bout of girl talk!

After filling up, we indulged in some more gambling to kill the time because Hadassah’s husband was coming to pick her up on the way to the airport to catch their flight back to New York at half past eight. While it is not one of the deadly sins, gambling is nevertheless a popular human guilty pleasure that in too many cases, leads to addiction. It seems natural for humans to be “drawn” to gambling, to be lured by the adrenaline-rush of taking a chance or making a bet.

What is strange is that I have never insofar harbored a single shred of desire to gamble, although I am particularly fond of making bets (haha, ask Steve). Many times, I actually wished I did like gambling for purely social reasons – I remember being left out of “mahjong” and poker sessions back in high school, which can sometimes really be a cathartic bonding session. And really, you cannot aspire to be a real tai tai if you have no idea how to play mahjong. I suppose part of it has to do with me being a student of mathematical probability, knowing full well the disadvantageous odds between a gambler and the “house.” Good gamblers are shrewd and intuitive, knowing how to defy probability in the short-run. I generally prefer using logical deduction rather than harnessing emotional “gut decisions” or intuition when making decicions, something Malcolm Gladwell delves into quite profoundly in his book “Blink.” This generally makes me a very bad gambler. Actually that makes a NON-gambler, since my logical brain tells me that the odds are so insurmountable that I should never hope to win; in my mind, gambling at a casino is metaphorically equivalent to walking down pirate’s plank with hands tied behind my back. When it comes to making bets however, one actually does have some sort of control over the odds and can manipulate it. Hence,  if I like it enough, I’d take the bet and if not, I decline! Interestingly, sitting next to Hadassah and watching her play, I managed to get a first hand experience in watching how this intuition-based mechanism plays out on a gambling table (a game called Spanish 21), and it was really interesting to observe – one thing’s for sure, the girl is pretty good at it, so good that a fellow stranger, who was at the same table, gave her his chips to make plays on his behalf. She reciprocated his faith by winning and in a rare move of goodwill and human decency, the stranger insisted that she keep the winnings. 

The rest of the weekend was really about taking it easy, catching up on some much-needed sleep and taking leisurely strolls along the strip. I could feel my age kicking in already – either that or I was never really built to withstand this much late-night partying. In any case, I leave you here with a collage of some “scenes from Vegas.”

On a final note, my friend Lao recently went to Venice and was a little miffed at a missed photo-op; this one’s for you:

 

Singaporean Habits Die Hard November 8, 2009

A few days ago, I bought a small Toshiba netbook to cater to my mobile computing needs since in the span of just two weeks, both my laptops, a MacBook and a Sony VAIO, decided to self-terminate. I brought it home and excitedly showed Steve the features of this shiny new metal object, and after a series of questions, he finally asks, “How much?”

I tell him the amount, which is markedly above average for a netbook these days, to which he exclaimed, “What?! Why?” And then I sheepishly admit that the netbook was really 450 bucks and that I actually bought a 2-year protection plan for an additional $150.

“Why would you do that? It’s such a waste of money! No one I know ever buys these things, they are scams!”

I flashed a self-effacing grin, saying that I happen to break things very often and I just like knowing that it’s covered, because of the uncertainties of the future, whether it’s a hardware failure or just me knocking over a glass of milk (which I actually did before by the way, and Steve couldn’t wait to come over and say, “oh sweetie, don’t cry over spilt milk! He was so happy after that because he said he always wanted to say that in a real-life non-figurative situation. I’m glad I give him these opportunities).

Anyway, I did it again a few days after when I upgraded my old clunker to Apple’s iPhone – I purchased the Apple Care Protection Plan because if anything happened to the phone (with the exception of theft/loss), I’d have to cough up the retail price of US$600. And before you can say, “what could possibly happen to your phone,” I am happy to tell you a story that just took place a few days ago. Steve had just woken up, sleepy and groggy as he was about to partake in the morning leak ritual when his iPhone slipped out of his hand and actually dropped into the toilet bowl. Miraculously, it bounced off the dry angeled side without touching the water, and landed snugly into his hands. I know the man is a black belt in taekwondo but the reflexes required to successfully pull this off are quite ridiculous. Suffice to say that I know that my reflexes are not nearly as advanced and that miracles in my life are far less commonplace than in his.

This all got me thinking about my inclination towards the concept of the “extended warranty program”, which is in stark contrast to many of my American friends who see it as an unecessary expense and a scam by dealers to increase their bottom lines by milking the consumer for every last dollar.

And then it hit me - you can take the girl out of Singapore, but you can’t take Singapore out of the girl. Singaporeans are a highly risk-averse lot – in fact it is so ingrained into the national mindset that it is practically etched into my own psyche, and till today I cannot seem to shake it off. It’s not uncommon to hear the refrain, “aii yaah, just play safe” among the locals. In fact, “play safe” best sums up the governing principle of life in Singapore where the government created and maintains an environment that focuses on stability and social cohesion. The PAP way of thinking is to make sure that every base is covered, no possible scenario is left unanalyzed, no potential consequence, unexamined – it’s really a very logical approach to life that minimizes the impact of unforeseen circumstances that may leave you caught out in the cold. 

It is no coincidence that Singapore boasts the highest saving rate in the world, well over 40% of GDP, which is a direct result of the government-mandated savings program. It acts as a social safety net that prepares each working adult for retirement, so that everybody regardless of income would have laid some sort of a nest egg; this all negates the need for a government-based welfare system as people are “forced” into personal responsibility. It is as Singaporean as it is a Confucian philosophy to leave as little as you can to chance and save now to prepare for the future, and although the act of spending more to protect a purchase seems counter-productive, it’s the risk aversion bit that is both at the core of the aptitude for saving and the compunction for extended warranties (although unfortunately, I missed out on the tendency to save part).

Also, the culture of taking risks, either in the entrepreneurial sense or in taking the road less traveled, does not really exist. It’s a truly meritocratic society where your future can be accurately predicted based on your cumulative performance in the education system. The “best option,” which is really the option where you risk the least and the option which leaves you with the most options, is to do extremely well and make sure you study science and math because from there, you can do anything – you can become a doctor, lawyer or massage therapist, if you so desire. You can’t be a student of the humanities in high school and hope to become a cardiac surgeon one day because it’s too late, you didn’t “play safe,” you didn’t work hard, so you don’t get to study the natural sciences and hence, no chance of ever conducting a triple bypass. Singaporeans rarely ever exit the paper chase or ditch the 9-5 corporate job to seek their true passions – it is drilled into their heads that such behavior is too uncertain and it might jeapordize everything. Where one’s fate is largely deemed to be the aggregate outcome of individual decisions and personal effort, why risk it? Why risk anything when you have so much to lose?  If there’s an option that allows you to be covered and protected from the uncertainties of life, in exchange for a relatively small amount of money, why not go for it? You may lose the $150 (cost of the warranty) or you may have to buy a brand new product. In my Singaporean mind, it just always seems to be a good deal (especially for Apple products).

If there’s an insurance for anything that can possibly break down, I’d definitely get it. I’m the sucker who continually keeps these programs alive – my cell phone, laptop, iPod, camera, video camera, LCD TV, right down to my electric toothbrush are all safeguarded by some sort of a protection plan.

This is how a typical exchange goes between me and someone who’s trying to sell me something

Sales person: “Would you like to purchase an extended warranty that would cover your purchase for 2 additional years on top of manufactuer’s warranty, no questions asked?”

Me: “Hmmm…”

Sales person: “You never know if it may break or the hard drive crashes, you know, technology nowadays…”

My brain, thinking: “Oh ya. Hmm, better play safe.”

Me: “OK!”

(Ever realize that the Singaporean catch phrase “play safe” is a reduction of the english phrase, “play it safe?” This demonstrates a remarkable character of Singlish that I call linguistic efficiency, so much so that a two-letter word, “it,” had to be dropped in favor of overall economy of speech. Three words now become two so that Singaporeans can convey the essence of its meaning without compromising on clarity. Astounding. Truly an artform.)

Steve, like my other American friends soley rely on the manufacture’s warranties, which typically lasts for a year from the date of purchase. But problems don’t start surfacing till much later! Firstly, it’s somewhat aggravating that people just don’t make things that last anymore, is it too much to ask for your new iPod to last for at least 2 years? Secondly, as I discovered earlier, I am congenitally predisposed to disrupt electric circuitry, either by my knack for inadvertantly dowsing water on keyboards or simply by staring at computers. 

I am actually surprised that Steve does not see the absolute necessity for these warranties, especially given that I am now a permanent fixture in his life. Two years ago we went to Universal Studios and he passed me his old Canon Powershot digital camera for “safekeeping” in my bag. Unbeknownst to him (and me actually), I had taken a sip from a bottle of spring water and neglected to cap it before returning it to the bag. When a kodak moment appeared, I reached in and was shocked to find the camera submerged in a swimming pool (Oh my poor Longchamp bag – that was my first reaction). Big Oops. Moral of the story: never trust a water baby with any of your electronics! But you see, if he had a working protection plan, he would have been safeguarded against, um, me, and we wouldn’t have had to go shopping for a new camera at all (although that was a good idea because he was still using one with 5 MegaPixels and the pictures on this blog would look worse).

Of course a major poblem is that warranties don’t cover a period of time that’s nearly as long as it needs to. Computers seem to break down in 3-4 years, well outside of the typical 2 year protection plan offered by any of the national electronics retailers. In fact, when I told my mom about the demise of my laptop, she texted me and advised that I buy a 5 year warranty the next time I purchased a new one. Five year warranty – did you hear that? That’s unprecedented here in the United States where the most common coverage period is 2 years (which is nice because everything goes kaput after 2 years; it’s a conspiracy). That told me something – warranty programs must be extremely popular in Singapore that stores are willing to offer 5-year warranties.

On a bright note, I did find one store that offered a 4-year protection plan that INCLUDES accidental damage, albeit for 25% of the cost of the laptop itself. I wondered to myself whether, like dry shampoo, that this was really too good to be true, so I made sure to ask the sales guy explicitly whether or not I’d be covered in the very likely event that I spill coffee all over the keyboard. It should’ve been obvious but to my astonishment, he said yes!

So I finally figured out that I’m getting a Sony VAIO to replace my um, broken down Sony VAIO. But this time with an expensive 4-year protection plan. And it is not a rip-off when you find yourself replacing electronics at an average rate of two every year; it’s the price to pay for peace of mind for the next 4 years.

Fengshui 101 November 3, 2009

So a week ago, my old behemoth of a laptop, a seven-pounder Sony VAIO flashed its last set of blue pixels before it frazzled out for good. I was barely mourning its demise when my other laptop, a MacBook that I use primarily for work, suffered a hard drive crash and wouldn’t boot up its OS. Great. So now I have two useless clunkers that have out-lived their manufacturer’s warranties – don’t people make things to last anymore?!

I decided to crossover to Apple computers in 2008 for two reasons: first, I need a UNIX environment for the nerdy things I do at work and second, I heard that once you go Apple, you never go back, simply because Macs just don’t have many of the problems that plague PCs. But I never truly integrated into the world that Steve Jobs created, primarily because the “delete” key no longer deleted things anymore and an “alias” is really just a shortcut. It is such an unecessary waste of brain cell usage to retain two completely different sets of terminology, especially when it seems that the only reason it serves is to help Apple create some sort of “identity” and exclusive in-group “lingo” among its devotees. Nevertheless, I needed a MacBook to look legit at school and work because everyone in the field of genomics / phylogenetics / bioinformatics uses Apple computers for some very technical reasons that I shan’t go into right now.

What I didn’t expect though, was how soon it would  succumb to its electronic death, especially at a time that I really needed it to work consistently. And worse, because of the general consensus that Macs are sturdy, reliable machines, and the fact that it conked out under my year-long proprietorship, I had to start asking questions about myself. Is there something innate in me that computers are simply repelled by? Do I emit electromagnetic waves that interfere with moving electrons?

I was ruminating over this theory and ventured into the things that computers are naturally opposed to. And then I wondered aloud whether I might be hydrophillic since electronic goods are hydrophobic and we all know that water and electricity don’t mix very well. One thing led to another and after a little bit of research, I got it all figured out!

Folks, I have solved the mystery. I know why computers hate me. I know why in the last 5 years 3 notebook computers have petered out on me. This statistic doesn’t even count the number of desktops that I have casually used in school or in the lab, which are probably riled with issues as a consequence of my usage. It’s very simple – it all comes down to….. Feng Shui !

So according to I Ching (an ancient classical text by which feng shui is based on), there are 5 elements: wood, fire, earth, metal, water. After looking up my birthday and birth year, I found that the element that “governs” my life is….. WATER. I am sure you can see where this is going now. Computers and any electronic device for that matter, are made of metal for it is the only “element” that electrons can flow through to conduct electricity. If you think this is absurd just chew on this for a moment: Steve, a good computer tinkerer who makes a career out of business and IT, the saviour of all of my computer woes, happens to be born in a birth year associated with the element METAL. Hello?! Is it not obvious now? There is something inherent about me that computers, made of metallic parts, are constitutionally repulsed by - I am WATER! I disable machines, I make metal rust!

So there. I feel so much better now. It’s not my fault! Blame it on the cosmos!

Brought the Mac in to the Mac store and after a “Genius” looked at it, was told that it would cost $750 for a repair. I decided to drop the idea and for $600, got a little Toshiba netbook for portability and convenience instead. Too bad that it was pretty much useless – I brought it home and realized that it couldn’t connect to our wireless network because we have an advanced N router and the lousy netbook contains an old-school B router instead.

This sums it all up:  - ___ -

The Toshiba is heading back to the store where it came from and for now, I am going to go laptopless (haha!). I can live without a notebook computer mainly because I am a new owner of an iPhone, so I can still access the world wide web at home, and do heavy-duty computing on the desktops at work.

When water and metal figure out how to co-exist, maybe I’ll start thinking of getting another laptop again.

Safe Sex October 29, 2009

I read with interest that a 4th publicly-funded university is in the works in Singapore, and as of now, it has been named the Singapore University of Technology & Design. For a country that is so fond of acronyms, shouldn’t that name be avoided at all costs, since it could easily be abbrieviated by STD?

http://www.channelnewsasia.com/stories/singaporelocalnews/view/1014477/1/.html

The designated acronym is SU but it’s kind of, well, blah… it leaves no impression, it has minimal impact, it doesn’t roll off the tongue nicely like the way IU or BU does, particularly because SU sort of sounds like a curse phrase, you know “S* you!” Most importantly, it says nothing about the university, which in this case, is a specialized school - so why not have the Technology and Design parts of its name in the acronym?

I look forward to seeing kids wearing sweatshirts printed with ”STD” in collegiate font walking around Singapore. Oh what? It’s too hot to be wearing sweatshirts there? Right.

Oh and for intramural sports the teams could be named: Syphilis, Crabs, Herpes and Gonorreah. GO HERPES!

Weekend Randoms October 26, 2009

It’s peak foliage here in New England and the parks are riddled with the fallen detritus of yellow and gold leaves. It’s strange but I love hearing the sounds of dried leaves getting crushed under my boots as we walked through the Boston Common, adding just another sensory dimension to Autumn. It won’t be for long before the trees are barren and the first snow flakes begin to fall, so I was intent on taking it all in and savoring the short fleeting moment.

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So, let’s see, what else is new this weekend… oh that’s right! A piano! We bought a piano! If it seems like it came out of nowhere, you’re absolutely right – it was totally an impulse buy. Lately I’ve been nursing an unexplainable urge to run my fingers along ivory keys, yearning for an opportunity to let my inner Chopin out and play music again. Maybe it has to do with the fact that the wedding is over and I finally have the time and energy for extracurriculars like rekindling long-lost passions (playing the piano) and pursuing new ones (like equestrian sport).

First things first, I had to do some major sizing up of the apartment to make sure the hypothetical piano could even fit – 57 inches, that’s the most amount of space I could create without having to do any extensive furniture rearrangement. So on Saturday afternoon, we trooped down to Steinert & Sons, the exclusive dealer of Steinway pianos to take a look; in handbag terms, a Steinway is the Birkin (sadly, a Birkin costs just as much as a pre-owned Steinway piano, pray tell me why!). I described my criteria to the sales people – the piano has to be compact to fit into a tight urban space, in dark espresso or black finish to complement our interior furnishing, and technically advanced enough for a player with moderately sophisticated skill levels (who is also very rusty).

No real musician will ever favor a digital piano over an acoustic one – a digital one can never truly replicate the feel of an actual stringed piano, especially in terms of tactile sensitivity and tone. But technology nowadays has come a long way, so much so the Roland DP990 does a great job of mimicking the sound of a Steinway Grand Piano to striking parity. The most remarkable feature of this digital piano has got to be its diminutive size – it is barely a foot deep and has a lid that transforms it into a stylish console table when closed. Importantly, the keyboard spans 55 inches so it would fit snugly nto the little niche by the window!

Another advantage that I hadn’t considered before has to do with the ability to plug in earphones to practice in private, so at least I wouldn’t wake the neighbors up with my late-night renditions of Bach’s Toccata & Fugue in D. Furthermore, this digital piano is extraordinarily low-maintenance because it won’t ever have to be tuned by a professional, which is ideal for now. It just happens that it was our lucky day – a spanking new black DP990 was going for US$600 less than the retail price. After some enquiries, we realized that it was in fact not new at all – it was a rental return, which I never would’ve guessed since there was not even a single speck of dust on it, let alone a tiny scratch. There was only one piece on the floor, standing next to its cherry-finished twin going for its retail price of $2400.

Several chains of thought were processed in my head all at once when faced with this impending prospect. Of course, my first instinct was to look to Steve who surprisingly was wholeheartedly backing my endeavor. I was half expecting an admonishment about the importance of prioritizing my spending habits but instead, he simply said, “it’s a great talent you have and I don’t want you to lose it. And besides sweetie, I love it when you play, I really do.” My heart filled up with silent “awww”s and I smiled back, knowing I not only had his approval, but his overwhelming support. There are many things I’d like to accomplish in this life – mastering George Gershwin’s Rhapsody In Blue ranks very high on that list. Getting a piano was the first step, now at least I can start letting my fingers do the talking and work towards perfecting Gershwin; it’s also going to be a luxury to be able to play tunes on a whim.

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It’s a week away from Halloween and Steve was so busy that he hadn’t had the chance to go shopping for a costume. So I dragged him to the Garment District, THE place to shop for costumes, wacky hippie clothes and rare vintage finds. Housed in an industrial warehouse-like setting, it spans two levels and offers the most impressive range of Halloween costumes, some so convincingly good that they could pass of as theater props. He had no clue of what to go as, but we tried out an assortment of costumes, some just for the sake of fun.

Me as Asterix the Gaul from the famous comic book (shout out to pops who loves Asterix & Obelix) set in France during Caesar’s Gallic Wars.

 

 

His Holiness addresses a flock of cardinals in the Vatican (Holiness because he’s very holy moley, literally).

 

My stomach was grumbling and I started craving for Korean food of all things, so we quickly settled on a costume and headed out. It was perfect timing because we found a Korean restaurant couple of blocks away that was just about to close. There’s an ongoing private joke (guess it’s not so private anymore) about Steve’s “white-washness” – several colleagues and friends refer to him as “Worst Asian Ever,” though when they found out that he didn’t like kimchi, he became known as “Worst Korean Ever.” He has made several attempts to discredit that moniker, all of which has actually done more to corroborate its felicitousness.

Sometimes, he’d take me to an authentic Korean place and try to be all showy and speak Korean to the waitress, only to have the waitress reply in English. There was once he tried ordering a “Number 1″ on the menu and the Korean lady looked at him, somewhat puzzled, and asked him if he was sure – apparently Number 1 was not a dish that appeals to Western palates, seeing that it contains some spicy squid soup that only “legit” Koreans would order. And don’t get me started on the time we went to a predominantly Korean town in New Jersey and they had to re-sit us in another section of the restaurant with english menus (and higher prices) because Steve-o couldn’t read the all-Korean menu. The title of his account of our travels in Korea should be, “I’m a stranger here myself.”

So this night, it was just another dinner at a Korean restaurant – I have this thing for pickled anything so naturally, I love kimchi. I love Japanese pickled radishes, pickled ginger, pickled gherkins and hamburger dills too! We were browsing the menu and after choosing our entrees he asked what appetizers I’d like, and I told him that as long as there’s kimchi, I was going to be a happy camper. He suggested ordering Korean scallion pancakes and I hastily agreed because it’s one of my favorite dishes too and I was really hungry. So the waitress comes by and I hear him sputter some mumbo jumbo, followed by what was clearly affirmations in Korean from the waitress, and then she leaves.

The next time I see her again, is when she emerges from the kitchen, bringing a steaming hot plate toward us. But when she plonks it down on our table, I realize that the dish bore no resemblance to pancake at all. In fact, there was red bubbling liquid with thick white cylindrical sticks floating in it. I gawk at the dish, and then stare at Steve in bewilderment as if to say, “What?!” And he looks back at me, stunned for a while, and then grins and says, “Oops.”

“So uhh, I ordered the wrong thing. But anyway! This is good too! I like it! It’s what we eat when we go drinking!”

Notice the “we” in that statement. He’s trying to force his way into being one with the Koreans after such an embarassing farce! He’s trying to regain some credibility and legitimacy to his roots!

I was cackling in laughter, so hard that I think I got a stitch and I forgot about my hunger.

I love that we laugh with and at each other. Sometimes more at each other than anything.

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We went riding again on Sunday where I rode on a small but feisty stallion called Tequila and Steve this time got Baron. We learned how to trot, actually that sounds wrong because we weren’t doing the trotting – the horses were. The technical term is “posting the trot,” and it’s an action that the rider does to prevent his backside from getting chaffed by the saddle due to the rocking motion. It is to smooth out the jolts of a horse’s trot so that the rider looks elegant and poised, and not like a klutz who’s bouncing on his behind. It’s really not easy – it requires a sense of immaculate timing and rhythm, and a big deal of pelvic action. Posting basically involves rising out of the saddle for every other stride of the horse’s forelegs, and the one-two-one-two rhythm is important to keep. Baron, being the little rascal that he is, tends to change the rhythm of his stride on turns so poor Steve was uhh, double bumping on those turns. When we’re off the saddle with our backs straight, most of what holds us there is the sheer muscle power of the inner thighs and some pelvic muscles. I had a distinct but mild groin ache for the next two days.

Here are a couple of pictures from our riding center: there’s me with Emma, the Old English Sheepdog who reminds me of my late Grizzly (who was of the same breed). And then there’s Steve leading Tequila back to the open stables at the back of the property.

 

 

And here’s a picture of Flame running around the open yard

 

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Getting Real in Real Time with Bill October 23, 2009

Another weekend comes and goes, by Monday I was wondering what on earth had happened to it! The eventful weekend was kicked off with a date with one of our favorite comedians, Bill Maher, who did a show at the Wilbur Theater. Friday nights usually mean one thing for us, and that is dinner at home accompanied by Real Time with Bill Maher, a prime time talk show hosted on HBO, the ONLY reason I even subscribe to that channel. I used to watch Politically Incorrect (Maher’s previous late-night talk show) when I was younger and was miffed when ABC pulled the plug because it was too, um, politically incorrect (By the way, Maher is pronounced “Marr,” one syllable and not two). So it was pretty fitting that on this Friday night, instead of sitting in front of the telly to watch his cable show, we headed down to the Wilbur to see Bill’s stand-up routine.

Amid his perpetual smug expression and humorously irreverent commentary, he often conjures up nuggets of practical wisdom. Most of the time, thoughts swirl in our heads but the norms and conventions that society has set in place often prevent them from being regurgitated. That’s one of the reasons that I am such a huge fan of his – he dares to say things that nobody else does, and more often than not, they are the ugly truths that we do not care to admit. He is truly a master (Maherster, I should say, haha) of political satire and observational comedy, a critic of organized religion and a champion of American liberalism. To my knowledge, he was the only public figure (with the glaring exception of US Congressman Peter King)  to have come out immediately following Michael Jackson’s death, and denounced the idolatry that the Nation was showering on a person who not only did not deserve it, but who was also  a microcosm of all the things that were wrong in our postmodernist society. He lambasted the media for intense and prolonged coverage, and censured the people for their collective amnesia of the much-maligned celebrity.

Here’s some of Bill’s wisecracks in the form of my favorite segment, “New Rules” (courtesy of HBO):

New rule: Cornbread isn’t bread. It’s cake

New Rule: Stop referring to Sarah Palin as a renegade. A renegade is someone who rebels against convention. What is Sarah Palin rebelling against? Grammar? Wildlife? Sports analogies? Face it, Sarah, you only rebelled against one thing in your life: family planning.

And finally, New Rule: All the good news stories have to stop breaking while I’m on vacation! You know, I go away for a mere three weeks to work with my charity, Hot Tubs Without Borders, and Karl Malden dies and also Michael Jackson. The most famous white lady to die since Princess Diana. And one question gnawed at me the whole time: why, why did America lose its collective shit over Michael Jackson?! And then, like Michael’s father, Joe, it hit me. Michael Jackson IS AMERICA!

We love him so much because he reflects our nation perfectly: fragile, over-indulgent, childish, in debt, on drugs and over the hill.

Now, let me state clearly, I don’t wish my country was all of these bad things. I just don’t want to be like one of those people Michael Jackson had around him, the ones who just tell you you’re great and that your destructive behavior is totally normal, and they give you whatever you want. You know: doctors.

So, let’s go down the list and see if I’m crazy, or if, indeed, America is unfortunately all the things Michael Jackson was.

Is America fragile? Well, what do you think would happen if there was another terrorist attack here? I’ll tell you what would happen. We’d repeal the rest of the Bill of Rights, forget about health care, elect Toby Keith president–and fire me again.

Are we fragile? The stock ticker in Times Square yesterday said, “What the f*ck are you looking at?”

Over-indulgent. I defy anyone to watch ten minutes of “My Super Sweet 16″ on MTV and not want to strap on a vest and blow up that little snot’s birthday party.

Did you know that a third of children in America are overweight? Michael Jackson didn’t have a heart attack. His play date rolled over on him.

Childish. Well, we think “Harry Potter” is literature and Batman movies are profound meditations on the human condition. Our morning coffee has become a milkshake with whipped cream. And 64% of the people believe Noah’s Ark actually happened.

And what could be more childish than what our news media chooses to cover? My God, since this Michael Jackson thing happened, I have no idea what’s going on with Jon and Kate!

In debt. Please, this week, the deficit –that’s just what we’ve run up for the year — went over one trillion dollars. To give you an idea of how much that is, take what your home is now worth and add one trillion dollars.

On drugs. If you don’t think America has got a drug problem, you must be high. Children are on Prozac. Athletes are on steroids. The pharmaceutical industry sold $291 billion worth of pills last year. Mostly to Michael Jackson, okay, but still. And that’s not counting the potheads and the drinkers. Yes, America is on drugs.

And, by the way, people also do just as much coke as they ever did. They just don’t share it anymore.

And finally, is America over the hill? I don’t know. I hope not. But, Monday is the 40th anniversary of Neil Armstrong first setting foot on the moon. And I can’t think of any ambitious goal we’ve reached since then. It’s sad when your peak was a moon walk that occurred decades ago.

So America faces a choice. We can go the Michael route and keep living on debt and the world’s affection for our early work, or we can get our shit together like Britney Spears–put on our circus costume and go out there and show the world we’ve still got it!

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He is a true comedic genius! So far, there are really only two things that I disagree with Maher about - namely, his support for the legalization of marijuana and his refusal to trust vaccines. His opinion on vaccinations are somewhat dangerous because he is a public figure and his words get heard by millions of already ignorant people. In a debate with Bill Frist he stated, “Why would you let them be the ones to stick a disease into your arm? I would never get a swine flu vaccine or any vaccine. I don’t trust the government, epsecially with my health.”

In this 21st century, what kind of hippie do you have to be to STILL not trust vaccines?! Without them, our life expectancy will still be hovering around 30. Why is the efficacy of vaccinations still being debated today? These people often cite the medical literature, which will say things like, “4 in 10,000 children contract fever-induced seizures as a result of the MMR (measels) vaccination.” Ok, there’s no denying that there are cases of extreme adverse side effects and conditions, most of the time it has to do with interaction with other drugs or alleries that were not reported. From a mother’s stand point, the 1 in 10,000 ratio is not a chance that she may be willing to take, and frankly, so long as the “1″ exists, a mother will never be fully at ease. But from a public health standpoint, these vaccinations are crucial to fighting diseases, keeping the general population safe and extending our collective life expectancies. I’m sorry to say but if your child is going to die from a vaccine, then that really means that his immune system was already pretty screwed up and he’d probably die from the disease itself. Worse, are the people that are trying to make the case that autism is a consequence of vaccinations!

I realized I got sidetracked but for some reason I cannot tolerate the balant disregard for public health, the naïveté and medical illiteracy of the masses and the distortion of the bigger picture by quacks who use those statistics to bolster their weak arguments. Remember folks, in the words of Mark Twain himself, “There are lies, damned lies and statistics!”

Diamonds Are Forever October 20, 2009

It was my first runway show ever, and the best thing about it was that I wasn’t part of the press and media contingent. In fact, Steve and I were personal guests of the desiger herself, an honor that I deeply cherish for an experience that I utterly appreciated. After all, why on earth would an IT consultant and a scientist be occupying precious floor space at a fashion show of one of the most celebrated up-and- coming designers in New York City?

Bridal designers showcase their collections only once a year, compared to ready-to-wear and haute couture designers, who showcase collections twice a year. Pnina’s 2010 designs have been christened the “Diamond Collection,” which is apt because the economy is climbing out of recession, conspicuous consumption will return to the norm once again and the desire for “bling” will only escalate from here. I’ve actually heard many girls say, “There is no such thing as too much bling,” and for them, Pnina’s latest creations would surely hit the sweet spot.

We got to Kleinfeld at 6pm sharp for a cocktail reception where some hors d’oeuvres and Spanish cava were served and for a while, we mingled before getting seated. On each Tiffany chair was a blue box with a white satin bow and Pnina’s name on it, and a written guide with a description of each gown in chronological order of appearance. I recognized the editors from every major bridal magazine – The Knot, Condé Nast (Brides), Martha Stewart Weddings, the list goes on. As the rampant chatter subsided into a soft murmur, the lights dimmed and a chic loungey version of “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend” boomed through the speakers. One by one, the models sashayed down the runway, dripping in luxe details. As promised, there were lots of Swarovski crystals that sparkled under the intense lighting, but other trends were also apparent – textured and architecturally structured skirts, jeweled corsets, feathers and furs, crystal-studded straps and sweetheart necklines, ruffles, ornate headpieces that are a throw-back to the style of a 1920’s flapper.

Some highlights (all photos courtesy of Brides magazine):

Blinged out Hair Accessories

Jeweled Bodices & Necklines

If ball gowns are your thing, here’s a gorgeous ivory satin ball gown with a jeweled corset

A glamorous gown with a plunging neckline, made even sexier by the keyhole detail and double jeweled straps

More cystals, in a smorgasbord of styles

Dramatically Textured Skirts

Here’s one for the princess bride: a white tierred tulle ball gown accented with jewels. It’s what happens when you cross Cinderella with a swan.

A satin dropped waist A-line gown with a ruffled skirt embellished with jeweled bows

More different textures: pleated ruffles on the left, reminiscent of Oscar de la Renta and on the right, a caramel tiered jeweled skirt

Left: Shredded tulle A-line gown; Right: chantilly lace ruffles on skirt. Believe me, textured skirts photograph better than satin/silk gowns with a smooth and shiny finish

A Victorian-inspired Ball Gown

Rich details abound on this dress – gold satin with lace corset accented with jewels and intricate embroidery. It also features draped satin and a pleated skirt with a cluster of beatutiful silk roses that acts as a modern interpretation of the can-can.

The Minimalist

On the other end of the spectrum, a gown with no jewels in plain sight – till you notice that the flowers lining the shoulder are studded with singular Swarovski crystals. (Chris – your favorite, right?) I love the bubble hem and the assymetric seams on the corset.

Old Hollywood Glamor

A Monroesque pleated satin gown and draped jewels on an assymetrical shoulder

Lookin’ like a million bucks in a beaded dropped waist gown with a tiered jeweled skirt

Bringing SexyBack – ivory chiffon sheath and jewel appliques accenting a low back

Fur, Feathers and Ruffles

Furs and feathers are great for winter weddings.

And… romantic ruffles evoke the spirit of flamenco

My Favorite Dress

It’s blinged out, daringly sexy and has a soft ethereal skirt that glows

And for the finale…

An apricot ruffled tulle gown with corset bodice accented in draping jewels and jeweled straps, paired with a light pink mink fur wrap and headpiece

Nineteen pieces were part of this collection – and the only thing they had in common were the diamonds, faux of course. Yet, every single dress was unique and outstanding in its own way, the fruition of Pnina’s dreams and inspirations – several times, she had told me that she “dreamt a dress” – the one she designed for me was born that way, but there were several revisions to the skirt and she eventually decided on a bubble-hem. I am so proud and happy for her – she is so warm, sincere and extremely talented and her career seems to be taking the world by storm. Her very own boutique is now opened on Newbon Street in London, and her first evening and ready-to-wear collection will debut in London at a runway show in January, which we are not going to miss for the world!

Oh how I wish I could walk down the aisle again next year so that I would have an excuse to wear a 2010 design from her Diamond Collection!

Spoiler Alert: I heard from the grapevine that Kim Cattral’s character on Sex and the City, Samantha, will be featured in the movie sequel wearing a Pnina Tornai gown! I didn’t insinuate she was getting married or anything like that – she could’ve been just parading around the movie set wearing a bridal gown for fun, or her character Samantha could have been dumped at the alter just like Carrie was. Who knows?!