Unbalanced Vision

One Sunday afternoon, four UCL students went for a picnic in Green Park.

That which has been is what will be,
That which is done is what will be done,
And there is nothing new under the sun.
Is there anything of which it may be said,
"See, this is new"?
It has already been in ancient times before us.
There is no remembrance of former things,
Nor will there be any remembrance of things that are to come
By those who will come after (Ecclesiastes 1:9-11)

As King Solomon reminded us that there's the tendency of human nature to ignore lessons taught from the past--when sitting under the sun, wear sunscreen and sunglasses.

Picture of the Wen family annual outing; this time it's taken place in China. Xiao-Jiu--nice touch!

I made a quick foray into central London in this fine Sunday afternoon. As I was enjoying a stroll in the sunshine, a wicked pigeon attacked me. My hair and sweater had drops of its disgusting liquid, yuck! Some tell me this brings good luck--with exams and deadlines just a month away, I certainly do hope for good luck.

The Sunday OM dedicated a report to Brunswick Centre, or the "Hanging Gardens of Babylon" if you don't mind using this euphemistic name for the building. I pass by this place almost every day to buy groceries, to Skoob to buy second-hand books, to Boots, or to the dodgy Chinese restaurant. Tickets sold at Renoir Cinema is extortionate, so I have only been there once. Sited just across from Russell Square tube station, this eyesore has become a part of my life. It's nice to see my neighborhood printed on paper, and that its residents will stage a three-day art show at the centre next month. Hopefully there will be a building facelift in the future.

Gossips from one of my favourite cities on the planet--Gawker. Reading from across the Atlantic, one fan remarked that "It's like living in NY without paying the rent"; well put, well put. The lure of living in this metropolis is to go to cheesy Broadway musicals and pay homage to the once reviled Giuliani.
Read Oscar host Steven Martin's e-mail to Dave Barry, ha ha! Dave Barry's columns can be funny sometimes, but his flippant tongue is getting sillier.

This should be good; I want to go.

I am usually the first one to wake up in the flat, or at least the first one to be in the kitchen. Often, T would come in a few minutes later, because she is a morning person as well. We would have this nice little chat about stuff we agree upon. For instance, this morning we found out that we both detest coffee and prefer tea instead. My last cup of coffee in 1998 made me felt really unwell, so I said 'no' to beans ever since. T added some honey inside her teacup today, maybe I'll try that next time. I usually drink plain tea without milk or sugar. As Eddy said in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, 'The whole of the British Empire was built on cups of tea'.
We're having gloomy weather this morning.

The Guardian was not quite right about RSC's Jacobean drama season at the Gielgud Theatre, describing it as a 'financial disaster' with 'pitiful box office takings'. The five neglected Jacobean plays were overshadowed by the glorious fame of the Elizabethan ones, but now a two-month extension has proved their value in the Jacobean canon.
The Island Princess is remarkably prescient--clashes between the East (Indonesia) and the West (Portugal), Christianity and the heathen religion, colonialism and war. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?
Especially when the Indo King says to his new Caucasian brother-in-law, 'You have made me half a Christian'. 'Now drop down your guns. Let's dwell in universal happiness.' 'Universal' adopts a rather arbitrary tone...
With Bush and Blair all armed up in the name of 'war against terror' to bring 'universal happiness', how can one not be doubtful?

miniature noise

During the Resurrection Symphony, though occasional pauses make me feel drowsy, subtle notes here and there, finally pile up the minutes towards a grand, vast scale ending--every instrument, including the human voice, together making the loudest sounds.
Two Dorian-Gray-style gentlemen sat two rows in front of me; on my right hand side, an elegant Asian middle-aged lady with her bald head husband. Another man came in solo--he was obviously into the piece.
Mahler was great, the audience were up to standard.

Letters to dear Julie are more interesting as the book, La Nouvelle Heloise, progresses to Part II. It becomes more interesting once the two lovers separate and start adding glimpse of observations about their surroundings, rather than rambling on about their mutual affections and torments.
Saint-Preux remarks in one of his epistles, "How can one be the friend so quickly of someone he has never seen before? The honest concern for humanity, the simple and touching outpouring of a sincere heart has a language quite different from the false demonstrations of politeness and the misleading appearances that the custom of society demands. I am greatly afraid that the man who treats me at first sight like a friend of twenty years standing might treat me at the end of twenty years like a stranger, if I had some important service to ask of him; and when I see such profligate men take so tender an interest in so many people, I readily presume that they are really taking one in nobody".
We find many of those nowadays--they are the essence of the human network. Sincerity alone cannot help you make your way in society; it's fully appropriate to follow customs and demonstrations.

Excerpt from Moonlight lyrics

In the moonlight
When the shadows play
When the thought of what could happen
Takes your breath away
Sighs and whispers
Quiet laughter in the air
Unspoken invitations everywhere

My impish thought of "what could happen".

I have a craving for cakes these days. Blame it on swimming... I usually go swimming during noon when the pool is not too crowded, then after a swim, my stomach tells me, "I need a lot of food". At first it's just a light packed lunch, then before you know it, sandwich is followed by a piece of caramel short cake. Yum!

On 11 March, 1977, a boy named HY was brought to Earth. Rumour has it that he was a healthy and chubby baby who didn't need his parent's attentive care. Most of the times, he showed happy smiles, and cried only if he wanted food and drinks--just like any other newborn child. Years passed and it reached the time for young HY to go to school. For better education, mommy and daddy wanted him to go to all boys' schools. According to HY, he preferred physics over English and Latin. Yet his interest in architecture proves that he is equally able in the science and the humanities. Friends commented that he was not only talented, but also fun to be with. He was also very hard working. On record, he slept 2 hours every day for a month to do schoolwork. In truth, he is a lazy bum during the weekends. HY is way pass his student years--he is now working on an art centre as well as printing, fililng, and answering phone calls in the office. HY can run, swim, climb, and dance to drum-and-bass pretty well; he is also a gadget freak and an Internet addict. (A dedicated ebayer that is) HY loves to drive, and he dreams of driving Audi TT and Porsche 911 someday. Indeed, someday. What about the future? One could picture him sitting contendly in his self-designed penthouse flat and making complaint phone calls--he is so good at this. This lad is destined to lead a happy life. If you tell him, "I'm a lady with warm hands.", he will say, "I'm a man with a warm heart." Ti's true. If you spot a guy with a red rucksack walking down the streets today, do say, "Happy Birthday!" to him.

I avers that the Early Modern period is basically a male dominant society. When I applied to UCL, I wrote something on Lady Mary Wroth and the question of autonomy in female writing. Now I know for certain that I don't want anything to do with women writers. The brilliant works of the age were composed in great quantity by famous Elizabethan and Jacobean male writers. It seems to me that once you deal with works written by women, you naturally have to talk about gender issues. You make a fuss about the significance of a woman knowing how to read and write. "Oh, she's a woman. She can read Latin. She lives in a male dominant society, and her act of writing is a way to claim her freedom..." so and so. It's the same problem with Amy Tan. "Oh, she's Asian, hence she writes about Chinese traditions..."
The essays I shall submit for the portfolio will be about:
1. Truth in Henry VIII--loyalty, honesty, and kingship
2. Performance of the Prayer--religion as political tool, authorship, and marketing
3. Ambivalence in Arcadia--heroism and chivalry
I am still pondering on what topic to write for the dissertation. Most likely it will be on Jacobean city drama.

The first thing a reader notices about Clarissa is its ghastly length--1499 pages. It would just be OK if the book merely functions as a physical object, say, maybe a paperweight or a footstool. Yet once you open Samuel Richardson's "masterpiece", its boringness leaps out from the pages and haunts you; might be even worse than opening Pandora's box. I have tried to read it, skim through it, and jump pages, but the lengthy epistles exchanged between two of the most insipid females in the literary world does not appeal to me. Through the course of her story, Clarissa is raped, she dies, the end.

The Sunday OM has Arthur Miller's daughter on the cover. In her interview, I found something that also describes me well:
"... to work on things in private... I don't like to say that I'm trying to do something--I want to have something that I've done. I just don't like being humiliated!"
Rebecca Miller

We live in a fantastically ever-changing linguistic world. Luckily language does not remain static, otherwise what would be the fun of communication? Like HY's "yeah, yeah" is the first double affirmative that has a negative meaning. (sarcastically speaking)
You can also create a new word and submit it to the pseudo dictionary.

ludlow - The folded piece of paper that you put underneath a table to stop it wobbling.
e.g., This table is so wobbly--somebody get a ludlow.
submitted by henry ng

Or, try deciphering text messages... Here's one to work on.

Two salient characteristics of the untidy: One, they always complain about their disorganised territory, but after a while, they seem perfectly comfortable about it. Two, they waste time finding their stuff. You've heard people say, "I've got to tidy up!" But you've never heard anyone say, "I've got to mess up my room." Rubbish excuse of these clutter pilers.

15 minutes of fame for this unknown restaurant in Madrid. V's snappy shot.

The weather is so nice today, such a congenial atmosphere. Looking out my bedroom window, I can barely open my eyes. I read over my essay again before handing it in, and thought, gees, this is actually not too bad. Hopefully my supervisor will be thinking the same. Sometimes they can be really critical. "Adaptation" is expected to be quirky. I'm a bit sick and tired of Meryl Streep's sensitive intellectual touch, she is too much involved in her emotions. The only thing I can relate to in the film is the writer's block--however, that does not include the masturbating scenes.

Sophia wrote me letters about her one year stay in Newcastle, yet I never thought I would set foot there myself. While walking on the streets, I wondered if she had been to the places I went that day--the tiny Chinatown, the pubs, the metro stations, and the theatre, etc. Were you a Newcastle United fan while you were here? And, did you pass by an angel?