Michael Crichton

The ironic tale of how I unwittingly found Michael Crichton's successor on the same day he passed away.

At Toronto airport last month I decided to break my rule of "no more books" and buy something riveting to read on the plane back to NYC. I usually skim for any Michael Crichton book I haven't seen yet.  Not easy.  So I picked up a medical thriller called Cold Plague by Daniel Kalla, apparently a rising star in Canada. The moment one of the reviews on the back compared him  to Michael Crichton I was hooked.  I have been jealous of actually running out of Crichton's works so was hesitant to finish the ones I haven't read yet.  (Robin Cook is also good but hasn't captured me in the same way.)

I devoured the book in a day. Kalla's writing indeed rivals Crichton's in that as you turn the pages, you lose sight of the author, his words, his craft, and any trace of self consciousness on his part - you see only the characters and the story.  Look out for Daniel Kalla. He needs to break out of the Canadian market to keep us literary nerds enthralled for years.

The next morning, amid the post-election results, I was surprised and saddened to hear that Michael Crichton had lost his short battle with cancer. It's tragic when a doctor succumbs to disease, and the loss of a respected cultural talent is disappointing.  He was only in his 60s but has had a significant impact on popular culture over the past couple of decades, and in spite of Hollywood's depictions good or bad, his books are highly technical, educational, engrossing, and addictive.

I hope many other teenagers are introduced to his works as I was.  Too easy for them that most have been adapted into film (~21 so far).  In the spring of 1993, our 10th grade Biology teacher assigned us the book Jurassic Park a few months before the movie came out and it changed the literary landscape for me forever - yes, Crichton succeeded in becoming my first favorite contemporary author.   

Additionally, that was the summer we moved to The Woodlands, a master-planned community nestled in the great Jurassic forest north of Houston.  (The tail end of the Piney Woods region of the Southeastern US.)  Coming from the arid prairies of Dallas where we'd been living, the first time we visited I believe my jaw hit the ground.  For months after moving down, every time we crossed the bridge over Lake Woodlands, I held my breath half expecting a brontosaurus to raise its giant head over the misty tops of the towering pine trees along the shore.

Thank you, Dr Crichton...

Lake Woodlands sunset


George Mitchell Preserve, named in honor of the founder of The Woodlands

Texas Piney Woods

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If you follow this City Data link, you will see why my standards are still high, as proven in previous posts.  Even I can't believe this is where I lived for one-third of my life!  Is it possible to envy oneself?

Finally:

Happy Thanksgiving Y'all!

Back in Time Tag

Selba tagged me quite a while ago and I only found out this week! So, here goes.

In short, I wish to go back to my early 20s when life was good.

Longer Version:

I wish to go back to my early 20s. I was at university, enjoying my studies, living on campus with Vanessa, the best roomie ever and hanging out with Jason and Johnny, to whom I would entrust my life. They were part of my close, adventurous, fun, varied, cosmopolitan, caring group of friends (who are still there). We would go to the opera or the ballet downtown, or to the beach, or for pancakes at midnight. I was emotionally strong and intact, there for my friends, ready to listen to problems, a shoulder to cry on, a voice of comfort, the therapist-to-be. I was also funny and witty, and my father and I were like a stand-up routine.

Finally filling out after being underweight my whole life, I had my hair in its first short cut and was discovering fashion because clothes finally fit without alteration. I was stylish for the first time ever.

I wanted for nothing and had access to more funds than I could ever need. I had my own car and even spent 6 months driving my Dad's sporty car, which is when I properly learned to drive, to corner, to floor it, to feel the feedback of road under wheels, and the round sound it would make at optimum speed which felt like the sweet spot on a tennis racquet.

I was making great grades, a committee chair in Program Council - used to run a coffee cart every Wednesday for the night students. I was President and Treasurer of our uni's chapter of Psi Chi (psychology honor society). I even worked part time in the psychology department and at the student volunteer office.

My parents were still together - they laughed and teased, held hands, kissed in the kitchen; everyone who saw them wanted what they had. We lived in a big four bedroom house in the pine forest north of Houston, part of a close knit community, a beautiful hometown with its own ballets and symphonies, but also the summer home of the Houston Ballet, Grand Opera, and Symphony. Every summer we would go to concerts and festivals; every October to the Greek Festival or International Fest downtown - I had more culture there than I do here.

We had neighbours to share homebaked cookies with, or invite round to use the jacuzzi, floating a bowl of grapes back and forth, or I'd babysit their dogs; the type of neighbours you wave at as you pass, roll down your window or park and walk over for a chat while they wait for the school bus; BBQ on someone's driveway on National Neighbourhood Night Out. Go to the grocery store for 5 minutes and end up taking an hour because you chat with everyone - friends and strangers.

We had a big front yard with roses and flowers for the hummingbirds. A big backyard that produced all manner of flower, herb, tropical fruit and vegetable - and hosted all manner of wildlife, some things we only saw once (like a flying squirrel). Plus I was always rescuing animals like the wren, the baby red cardinal, the wood pigeon, the newly hatched finch. My snuggly bunnies Lulu (the smart dog-cat-rabbit), Dapple (the soft shy velvet one) and Muffet (the white tailed spunky one) were still alive. We had a canary called Romeo who sang to break your heart, and a Society Finch called Lena who loved to watch TV.

Dad and I used to stand on the driveway at 3am watching meteor showers, and the silhouettes of the pine trees against the full moon.

I had the security of a stable home life and love, and that abundant confidence of the undergrad who knows the world is her oyster. I want that oyster back...


I tag (can sisters count as one? Ha!):

1. Um Naief & Jahooni
2. Lotus
3. Beanzzz & Zee
4. Nikki
5. Guyana Gyal

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Instructions:

Title: The Age That I Wish To Go Back To
Requirement: Write about the one age that you wish to go back to and why?
Tag Mode: 5 bloggers
1st - You leave blog and post link and add to the list below.
2nd - Let the blogger you want to tag know they had been tagged by commenting in their blog.

The Age that they Wish to Go Back to:

Amidrin wish to go back to age 22 to correct back some mistakes in life.
Lemonjude wish to go back to age 6 to enjoy kid’s life.
Hui Sia wish to go back to age 16 to meet her first lover again.
Giddy Tiger wishes to go back to a childhood life with no worries in the world.
Rinnah wishes she could turn back time to the happiest days of her life.
Ehon doesn't wanna go anywhere.
Chen wanna go back to age 19 to take a different pathway in life.
Selba wishes to go back to the time where she could persuade her parents not to move to Indonesia.
Olivia wishes to go back to her early 20s when the world was her oyster.

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Photo offensive

Sort of ought to go on a photo offensive of London, in case one day I complain: "I wish I'd taken more photos of London when I was there..."



Someone at the apartments has this fancy little Audi sports number.





The largest Hindu temple outside of India is of course in London.




The Lloyds of London building.
As some of you know by now, I love taking upshots of the tops of buildings.


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Friday afternoon I left the grey suit company early and went for the handover with the PA at the art dealer (Mr AD), and after an hour of familiarisation, she left to go on her holiday, and I was thrown in at the deep end.

I finally get to do the things I have been waiting to do, and then I panic. After my first attempt at answering the phone and forgetting what to say, I think I will be fine, though the buttons throw me off still. I also had to call a shipping company to remind them of a needed quote, and then call them again to absolutely ensure that the painting will be in Ireland before next Friday evening to be hung in the dining room for dinner.

I ended up staying until 6.45 pm, with Mr AD, going through various images on the hard drive, assigning them to the correct files and naming them descriptively. The knowledge in his head needs to be organised into a framework. Anyway, when we were done, he said he could tell that I had an ability with the images. I did not know I would stay that long before I started on Monday, though.

Then I wended my weary way to an Aussie party at Ruby Blue, a stylish club with a dance floor, booths, and themed lounges. The group I joined was another going away party where I knew no one, Mr Gorgeous Eyes was at home with tonsilitis, so he gave my number to A.N. a friendly New Zealander who had informed me of the venue that morning. He was at the houseleaving party last week, we weren't introduced and I only glanced at him for 3 seconds in a group before leaving. However, he's the sort who takes you under his wing, so I was introduced to countless people.

The whole group were a mixture including Aussies, Kiwis, Brits, and all very professional, cosmopolitan people, not your stereotypical types. In fact, there were two typical Aussie lads there like the ones in the Fosters beer ads, and they stuck out like sore thumbs.

However, I spent most of my time chatting with a couple of Austrians. One of them reminds me very much of my friend Jason in Houston who is undergoing pilot training at the moment; both clean-cut and straight. He texted me today and we are meeting for a drink tomorrow after work, by the way...We're both going abroad next week so decided to meet up sooner rather than later.

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Not a day goes by when I am not reminded of Houston or Texas - the Austrian is in oil&gas and has been to Houston. Yesterday I watched a load of Animal Cops Houston. Right now I am watching From the Earth to the Moon and seeing Mission Control in Houston. And last night my old roomie asked me yet again when I was going back.

I was recounting to my mother the day my dad took me to the Johnson Space Center in Houston. Until the security measures occasioned by 9/11, they held an annual Open Day. We wandered amongst the buildings, went on mini-tours, saw the original Mission Control, fiddled with a scanning electron microscope thereby withering an ant's antennae, got a big NASA bag and filled it with goodies as we went along, including a bumper sticker I treasured for years, and one of those US Government-issue ballpoint pens they all use. Even 40 years later, there was still a general air of "something happening" within those unassuming 1960s-style buildings.

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