These are one of those times when you wish your writing skills were both buoyant and tactile enough to flesh out what would otherwise be another ordinary transaction between two strangers. I suppose this is what Michael Cunningham does to his readers: in the two days that it took me to sift through The Hours, I received a humbling lesson in what it means to simultaneously convey the gamut of the sensory, cerebral and emotional.

I have been imparted with an exacting right ear (my friends know all too well the defective left) that is good for runway soundtracks and party music, but not too welcoming at videoke bars and fledging choral groups. I can attach sensory equivalencies that others wouldn't even think of doing - color to musical sharps and flats, tragic or whimsical scenarios to extensive chord sequences. Frankly, I have no idea if this will get me anywhere or if this will make me rich, but I know this is the red robin that I keep close to me.

If only I possessed the proficiency to make links and paste pictures, a quick look at my daily links and pictures would already provide the reader an idea of the traffic of senses, thoughts and feelings that are bouncing like all the pingpong balls being played in the whole of China.