The Kings of Convenience concert was wonderful.

We sit and watch umbrellas fly
I'm trying to keep my newspaper dry
I hear myself say
My boat's leaving now
So we shake hands and cry
Now I must wave goodbye
Wave goodbye, wave goodbye
Wave goodbye, wave goodbye

You know I don't want to cry again
I'll never see your face again
I don't want to cry again

We leave to their goodbyes
I've come to depend on the look in their eyes
My blood's sweet for pain
The wind and the rain brings back words of a song
And they sing wave goodbye
Wave goodbye, wave goodbye
Wave goodbye, wave goodbye

You know I don't want to cry again
I'll never see your face again
I don't want to cry again

So I read to myself
A chance of a lifetime to see new horizons
On the front page a black and white picture of
Manhattan Skyline

Those with "something to fall back on" invariably fall back on it. They intended to all along. That is why they provided themselves with it. But those with no alternative see the world differently.

--- David Mamet

Joyceln Woo and Colin Goh's article on their conscious decision to opt out of the Singapore Dream Plan was one source of inspiration for their new film Singapore Dreaming, premiering at this year's Singapore International Film Festival.

It's a thought-provoking, expressive reflection on the ossification of ideals. If you're Singaporean, you should read what they have to say: Paved With Good Intentions

Saturday started so well. How on earth did it end so badly?

So far, the only online version of Brokeback Mountain I know off that the publishing houses haven't removed is a Google cached page. Save it before it goes, too. Brokeback Mountain by Annie Proulx

If you happened to notice that new posts have inexplicably appeared in the blog archives for Oct, Nov and Dec '05, it's because I've transplanted the posts from my short-lived attempt at a book blog to this one. When you read this, Wandering Bookmark will no longer exist (except in a Google cache, I suppose). But I haven't stopped reading, of course.

Paul Arden's switched publishers, from Phaidon to Penguin for his new book: Whatever You Think, Think The Opposite.

Known for art and photography books, Phaidon's book designs tend to be better and more slick. That was part of the appeal of his first book It's Not How Good You Are, It's How Good You Want To Be.

That book is great for raising downtrodden spirits, and I picked up the second based on the strength of the first. Yes, even though Penguin chose to publish the covers in unfinished heavy paper, which looks dull and stains easily. The paper used in the book also smells awful, and the book's a lot more expensive than his first one.

Once you get past the physical flaws, Whatever You Think has an even stronger rah-rah effect than its predecessor, part of which is probably because it's a more internally consistent work. I thought one of the (very) minor flaws of It's Not How Good You Are was that the little snippets that comprise the book were a bit disjointed, ranging from abstract inspirational bites to tidbits of practical advertising advice. The stories in Whatever You Think have a more evenly irreverent, defiant tone.

My life is turning into a Woody Allen movie, one of his earlier ones. If only I could be as prolific as he.

New Murakami Haruki short story in the New Yorker: A Shinagawa Monkey

The Museum Shop has a line of coasters based on the old Early Ship series of stamps issued here in 1980. These stamps were a ubiquitous sight on almost all mail during the 80's, particularly the Fujian Junk one (15c) because that was how much it cost to send a standard letter back then.

The coasters are simple: the stamp design enlarged and printed on a plain white tile, with a sheet of cork stuck on the bottom. At $5 a piece, they're affordable.

I've always thought the designs were very appealing. Clean, crisp line drawings with minimal colouring and Helvetica typeface. The photo taken with my dinky Palm doesn't do it justice at all.

The Banyan Tree should consider selling a set of coasters containing each stamp from the Ship series.

It seems to me that once you ask why you need an iBook or an iPod, you never really wanted one in the first place.

I didn't feel excited when I got my new iPod last night. It was more like relief; relief at not having to think about getting an iPod anymore. Being able to listen to music all the time again is bliss. Why did I put it off for so long?

Great. Now no-one will come back.

ChannelNewsAsia.com - Government to impose stiffer penalties for NS defaulters

Melvyn Tan was in his 50s, and he risked the wrath of the authorities to come back and see his sick parents. I wonder how many of those who complained can boast such filial piety?

Speaking of hypocrisy, isn't hiding the truth a sin in Christianity?

ChannelNewsAsia.com - Non-profit group gets grant to promote 'healthy gender identity'

The return of political consciousness to American film?

Guardian Unlimited Film | Features | Hollywood's new politics

Founding eBay made Jeff Skoll a billionaire. Now he is doing something very different - producing political movies that recall the rabble-rousing days of Warren Beatty and Robert Redford, and turning American filmgoers into grassroots activists

On reading today's Sunday Times feature on the foam spray menace, I was disturbed at the readiness of Singaporeans to attribute sexual rapaciousness to foreign workers (presumably Indian or Bangladeshi construction workers). Consider:

Though victims largely point the finger at foreign workers, police said the eight arrested were a mix of locals and foreigners.

and:

Marketing manager Teo Shuyin, 21, who was on Orchard Road last Saturday, recalls walking with her arms folded across her chest. She said the culprits were foreign workers.

'They set on us the moment we stepped out of the car. I was hiding behind people and using my arms to cover my chest. And even when they weren't spraying, you could feel them staring at you,' she said.

Of course molestation is wrong, but how can Singaporeans be so sure that the culprits aren't locals?

Reviews of Reiner Stach's Kafka: The Decisive Years. This one's from the NYT, and this one's from Michael Dirda, resident book critic at the Washington Post. On the whole, Dirda's is more positive, but he spends more of the review being wistful about Kafka than actually commenting on the book itself.

Tash Aw's novel The Harmony Silk Factory, shortlisted earlier for the Man Booker Prize, cliched the 2005 Whitbread First Novel Award. I'm glad to see that a Southeast Asian author has been recognised overseas, but slightly ashamed that no Singaporean writer has even gotten half as far as Aw in the literary world. Hwee Hwee Tan got published, and umm... that's about it. Surely we can do better?

Housekeeping for the new year.

William Taubman spent 20 years researching Khrushchev: The Man and His Era. It seems a marvel to me how all that effort, sustained over so many years, now weighs so lightly on my hands!

Taubman is clearly an unsympathetic biographer. He gives his subject credit where it's due, but doesn't hesitate to be critical where necessary (which is most of the time). It's clear that Khrushchev was no moral exemplar, no great strategist or thinker -- not even a good father. As a national leader, he was a blunderer. The more he tried to show how capable or strong he was, the less people thought of him.

I was very disappointed by Peter Kuper's comic adaptation of Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis. I don't have a problem with the style, resembling caricaturish woodcut prints, but the art and overall treatment is flippant. Kuper doesn't seem to have bothered capturing any deeper meaning behind Gregor's horror, choosing instead to let his own cleverness run riot. For instance, on one page the text follows Gregor haphazardly around the page, mirroring his ascent up the wall.

To cap it all off, Kuper thanks Kafka for being "kind enough to put pen to paper in the first place", as if Kafka's tortured work came from some kind of charity dinner altruism. Oh, we'd like to thank Mr. So-and-So who was kind enough to donate a halibut. Infuriating.