I don’t personally download music, so my exposure to new material is through a rather old fashioned medium: the good old radio.

At the moment, I have become thoroughly attached to The Fray‘s two singles: “Over My Head (Cable Car)” and “How to Save a Life.” One non-threateningly upbeat, and the other saturated with low key tones, they cater to whatever mood I happen to be in.

I haven’t yet had the opportunity to listen to the rest of their album, but if these songs are any indication, I may have to sample more of The Fray.

Our family tree

Not the Grouch, but our chinchilla! We inherited Oscar a few years ago from a friend who felt that she couldn’t provide him with the attention he deserved.

Chinchillas, native to South America, are nocturnal by nature. Sleeping until 7 in the evening, he wakes up cranky, like any human might. This is in part the reason for his name, though his demeanor overall can be sporadically unpleasant (also par with people).

Guarding his territory.

Enjoying a scratch.

Acting cute!

My name is Sharon and I am a text messaging addict.

On my last cell phone bill, the incoming and outgoing message count was well over four hundred. Thankfully, I had already switched to an unlimited text messaging flat fee a few months prior, which yes, I acknowledge does nothing to reduce my dependence on the service.

An article by Lisa Fitterman printed in the Edmonton Journal today spurned some self-reflection:

“What I hate most about texting, or text-messaging, is that those who indulge in it do not – indeed, cannot – give what is going on around them their undivided attention. Most of us aren’t very good at multi-tasking – at speaking on the phone, for example, while reading and/or writing e-mails. So why should text-messaging in public be any different? The New York Times‘s Bob Morris once called the practice “just another public display of disaffection.” And Kenneth J. Gergen, a psychology professor at Swarthmore College, has described the phenomenon as “absent presence,” in which we’re there but not there.”

Yes, I’m guilty of the above offense. Though it would make sense to simply talk to those right in front of you, communicating inane, non-urgent matters to those not there eventually solidified into habit.

It may be the allure of a technological novelty, or an advantageous use to maintain contact with close friends, but for now, I don’t think my text messaging has gotten in the way of my participation in group situations – yet (I sound like an addict, don’t I?).

While I feel skeevy citing OK Magazine as a source, rumors have been circulating since early November about the re-opening of talks to bring a Sex and the City movie to life.

As a huge fan of the show, I would love to see Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha back on screen again. There was a story in last week’s US Weekly about the possible storyline for the film. Though I know information filtered through gossip magazines needs to be taken with a vat of salt, the thought of seeing Carrie and Big’s wedding got me excited anyway.

I couldn’t help but wonder: will we ever see a Sex and the City reunion?

My Mum recently bought a box of Jimmy Dean Croissant Sandwiches, and I tried one the other day in the hopes of recapturing some of the magic from my Tim Hortons’ experience.

Sadly, I was disappointed. Microwaved, the croissant became overdone and chewy, not “flaky” as described on the website. Moreover, the cheese vaporized at high heat, leaving a soggy mess of processed egg in its wake. I suppose I could have heated the serving in the oven, but that would have contradicted the “instant breakfast” concept of the sandwich.

At 27 grams of fat, the Jimmy Dean creation isn’t worth it. I’d much rather splurge and eat the biscuit-encased Tim Hortons’ version instead.

Ready-to-eat

On Friday, I returned to my alma mater, the University of Alberta, for a film screening by California-based Wong Fu Productions.

Started by three Chinese Americans from San Diego, Wong Fu is famous for their internet-broadcasted music videos and short films, particularly the hilarious Yellow Fever. Their newest project, A Moment With You, is more serious, dealing with a group of lonely, soul-searching twenty-somethings and their quest for love. The filmmakers have been traveling the continent since early November, conducting screenings on campuses all over North America. Having just arrived from Calgary, they were set to fly to Toronto for another appearance the following night.

Held in Tory Lecture 11, site of one yawn-inducing educational technology course in my third year, it wasn’t the most comfortable venue, but did serve its purpose. I neglected to bring my camera yesterday, or I would have snapped a few photos of proof, but it felt very odd to be in the company of so many other young Asians outside of Chinatown or a cultural celebration of some kind.

It was revealed that the budget for the movie was a mere $2000. While it was amazing that they managed to produce a full-length “feature” with such short purse strings, A Moment With You noticeably exposed its amateur roots in a number of areas.

The sound quality was awful, and in places, the dialogue was out of sync with the actors’ lip movements, and seemed to have been dubbed. The acting was variable – Casey Hoffman, who played Dustin, a man still pining for his ex-girlfriend, was a dead weight (“Get off the screen, Eeyore!”). His character development was partly to blame (who wants to watch someone constantly moping and depressed?), but his line delivery was terrible as well; his responses were poorly timed, and often came off as canned. The clear standout was spunky Mimi Chao, who played the Holly Golightly-esque Alice, who masked her inner sadness with a carefree candor and infectious spontaneity. As in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, she helped draw protagonist Arthur (Austen Chong) out of his shell and life of routine.

The script was by far the weakest aspect of the movie. The filmmakers stressed their desire to reflect reality, but the empty platitudes, clichés, and lines lifted from cheese platters sprinkled throughout induced eye rolls, grimaces, and even laughs. My friend commented an hour into the movie that, “This is worse than Laguna Beach.”

What’s interesting is that I didn’t think I’d be so affected by seeing Chinese North Americans who were relatable not only in appearance, but more importantly, in culture as well, on film. It really was great to be represented on screen by those who could accurately mirror our experiences. I appreciated some of the in-jokes in the movie, understandable only by fellow “bananas.”

Philip Wang and Wesley Chan, present representing Wong Fu, conducted a brief Q & A session following the screening. When asked what their next project would be, they talked about their commercial venture, Sketchbook Media, but did emphasize their passion for film. I wouldn’t mind keeping track of their developments, in the hopes that they would continue to improve their work.

At any rate, I am now craving cereal.