Unbalanced Vision

Me and rock punk HY are flying to Asia tonight. The Fragrant Harbour officials have asked HY to help them capture the wayward crocodile; meanwhile I shall be involved in the Taipei City Zoo elephant training program.
Dr. Johnson famously opined that 'When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford'. 'Tis very true, yet if one considers London as the sole provider of a happy life, then his/her life might be quite dull--that is why we visit other places to see what they can afford.

Am very skint cos birthday cheque (American bucks) not cashed yet, and getting very impatient. Also a word of advice: never go grocery shopping in an empty stomach, by HY's car or put stuff in Sainsbury's trolleys, as will end up buying too much food and have to finish them all up in five days. Speaking of supermarkets, HY is proud that he is very good at using supermarket self-scan machines (able to scan sardine cans five meters away). Methinks it is a good opportunity to create your own buy one get one free deal.

Went to the MacExpo 2003 this afternoon, which was the perfect site for geek gathering. I generally like to go to expos and fairs of all sorts, because companies usually give out free stuff--pens, notepads, posters, mouse pads, mouses, softwares, computers and laptops!! But Macs apparently weren't very generous, and all we could do was to join in the free iPod draw. However the immaculate white, natty gadgets were berry nice to look at, and wouldn't it be wonderful to own them all? Well, maybe not everything, but just an Apple notebook to fiddle with would spoil me. Going back to the topic of geeks, HY met up with some Internet Apple fans at the expo. To my surprise they were mostly quite senior men with receding hairlines, only one young adolescent plus HY. Thank God HY's level of geekiness is nothing compared to them.

Pop idol result was rather depressing--they still have not gotten rid of Mr. Turnip and Mr. I-am-wearing-glasses-this-week, who reminds me way to much archetypal boybands. Sadly my favourite ones were already voted off: 1) Brian the fairly sweet, decent Irish lad. (How annoying it is that one must pick a 'famous' song; what's wrong with singing Honesty?) 2) Andy the guy who is dating one of the Liberty X's, albeit S says that they are all too clean-cut. There's another one S named him Mr. Potato Head but he's long sunk into oblivion. On the female side, I very much adore the seemly down-to-earth Susanne and especially her low, rusty voice, though this week am starting to develop much love for Michelle as she appears as a refreshing happy pop idol image.

Yesterday was certainly not a suitable day to walk on the streets of London. The man 'chosen by God to fight against Satan' has demanded J-Lo style sightseeing tour in our peaceful city, which involves 700+ entourage, snipers and fluorescent-yellow police etc. Other than that are the angry protesters who were yelling, singing and blocking roads--very annoying. Of course the man 'chosen by God' is safe in his bubble, let's hope so, but we civilians have to deal with this mess. However if your good old dad is keen on dressing up as Sherlock Holmes for his bookstore marketing plan by next Thursday, that's another story--must push through anti-Bush crowds to get pipe and deerstalker hat delivered home on time. On a different note, accidentally bumped into ex-coworker K on Oxford Street, which was super super cool! She's doing journalism here and we will meet up for tea.

More quiz galore:

Congratulations!! You're a colorful and
sophisticated Cosmopolitan!!


What Drink Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Keystone Light. Bitter beer face! You're cheap but
you get the job done. Probably means that
you're an alcoholic on some level, or an
aspiring one. Good luck with that. Take a day
off once in a while and splurge the next day on
some High Life.


Which Beer are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Dunno what that is but Little E just said that's the cheapest beer you can possibly buy in the States.

R's wife W has given birth to a healthy baby boy this Monday, hence HY begins his new role as a 'fairy' Godfather. Though this has nothing to do with me, I am happy that all is well and blessed for the new family. So the son is named Raphael--a very Renaissance name I must say. Just want to point out that babies who are born in November and have the name which begins with a 'R' are bound to be smart and good-looking.

So my friend B introduced me to this secret hideout Korean restaurant which is located beneath a Korean supermarket. Basically there's no sign clearly indicating that it's a place to dine, only recommended by word of mouth. First you tell the cashier lady the secret codes--either Bi Bim Bap or Spicy Pork--so that she knows you're a member. Note: utter in a low voice. Next, pay 3.50 quid. After that walk straight across the supermarket and head downstairs to the secret hideout. The staircases are subtly hidden amongst piled instant noodle boxes--ignore. In the basement you are surrounded by walls of video tapes and VCRs, the centre of the room sits two tables and a few chairs. With that kind of money the food is not at all absymal; in fact it comes in yummy, gigantic portions and spicy as well! Having had their kimchi and miso soup, I've showed up three times in two weeks.

Thank God there's new toilet paper otherwise we should either continue holding our pee desperately or resolve to using S's Canadian flag napkins. Also thanks to Little E who has climbed up the tub to fix our bathroom light dangling from the ceiling. Slick landlord has a goldfish memory, so reckon it will take some time for us to watch a dangling lightbulb plummeting to the floor any second while taking showers.

We went for an autumn walk on the heath yesterday. Hampstead Heath presented fall colours at its best--We walked passed people who were flying kites, couples and their crying babies, dads and sons playing rugby or football, joggers, loners and lovers. We trodded on wooden stairs, leaves, pebbles, grass and mud. Regent's Park was pretty in a contrived and manicured manner, yet the heath had a down-to-earth natural beauty. Close by the heath lived an architect and his kind-hearted wife. Now you'd assume that an architect's home would be somewhat different from an non-architect's dwelling, and indeed it was nicely designed. The upper floor windows invited all the nearby greenery; the kitchen, dining room and living room laid out neatly in an open space. Downstairs you might mistaken yourself walking into a toilet on the train! Some design the likes of Regent's Park, some prefer the heath.

HY received his really cool silver Brompton last week and so I cannot wait to welcome mine. The thing about foldable bikes is that wherever you go, it goes with you--locks cannot be trusted these days.

As described, Emily is feeding a candy to Steven with her mouth--the standard naughty tricks you play at Chinese weddings.

My uni roommate Emily took the plunge and got married this Sunday. There were four girls in one room, which seemed delightfully appropriate at the time. Me and Emily both slept in the top bunks, where she kept an enormous Snoopy stuff animal. During freshman year I almost go to sleep before twelve every day, then she hops in bed maybe two hours later and starts talking in her dreams. She played the piano as well as basketball, and Steven was on our school basketball team. Steven has a super duper good temper and is very mild. Before I left for UK I recall Emily slightly complaining that Steven wants to go to the States while she doesn't. I sort of had the feeling that they might part, but they didn't! Instead they are currently honeymooning in Canada--amazing how things work out.

I am excited to see that someone is putting Oliver Cromwell on stage, and the venue is all the way at Richmond, Surrey. Thinking of dragging some poor souls along to see the contradictory Puritan divine--shall hear inevitable voices of dissent. Centuries later and miles away, please say no to this. Some make good city mayors, but that is as far as they should go.

You know how some people like to change their MSN display names according to their moods? Well, that's fine by me (though I do consider you a bit Internet obsessive)... Mate has changed hers to 'Neo's dead in the end'! Thanks for telling someone who has not yet seen the movie; though bloggers have generally considered it crap, I still want to know how it all ends BY MYSELF.

Glyndwr: ...; and at my birth
The frame and huge foundation of the earth
Shaked like a coward.
Hotspur: Why, so it would have done
At the same season if your mother's cat
Had but kittened, though yourself had never been born.
Glyndwr: I say the earth did shake when I was born.
... The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble.
Shakespeare Henry IV Part I

Many thanks to lovely birthday wishes and pressies on 8/11; I am officially 25. *blows kisses* As the majority of mothers have experienced hours of labour pains, my dear mum said hers was like taking a pooh--so cool! Being a 25 year old, I have high hopes in getting titles such as PhDs and CEOs, hehe, but thinking about doing something is generally less tiring than actually doing it. In the meantime I shall start by doing my overloaded laundry.

Gary Oldman was the guest on V. Graham Norton last night, and boy has he aged. Another actor who achieved the same shocking effect was Robert Redford. I haven't seen his movies for quite a while, and one day he was in an interview and you'd notice the drastic changes in his appearance. Al Pacino, on the other hand, looks equally handsome, and so does Chris Tarrant and Sir Bobby Robson. Anyways, Gary Oldman wore an occassional bored look throughout the show; there are things that are just not that funny, and 'I can't be bothered to let out a fake laugh to make you feel better'. And poor him for having to shoot Harry Potter w/ kids and animals--two of the most annoying moving organisms in the world. Of other slightly younger men, it's always a bad career move for disgruntled politicians to become novelists, namely IDS. Though still far better than someone claiming that he was 'chosen by God' to fight against Satan, putting the weight of the world on his shoulders. *chuckles* If junior had read about James I he'd know not to say something like that.

After nine days of empty mailboxes (aside from the usual pizza fliers), we finally received our first posts yesterday. *weeping w/ joy* It kinda felt like a little kid anticipating to open Christmas presents on Christmas Day. From this incident it evidently appears that e-mails can never replace traditional postage delivery, and I wish to receive something nice every day.
Also giving an un-Gordon Ramsay tip of cooking, which is adding Omelet & Souffle Seasoning on any flesh you can think of. This spice is the soprano of our kitchen spice choir, and since I'm a natural carnivore (especially adore the baa baa black sheeps) I always put a sprinkle on the lamb.

(With Rola's pet cactus Toby sitting in the back)

Around the late afternoons it already sounded like WWIII going on out there, hence we all went to Clapham Common to see the fireworks. I fancy the really flamboyant ones--the bigger, the louder the better; golden blooms are especially beautiful. Little E said it reminded him of July 4th, and likewise this made me think of our Double Tenth. Except we had more sperm-looking fireworks shooting in the air. I forgot what was S's opinion, but she seemed to like the area that was filled with busy restaurants.

Just before Penshurst Place goes into its winter hibernation, I decided to make a pilgrimage to the Sidney family estate. Moi went through a phase of Renaissance knighthood admiration due to the New Arcadia. Yesterday's knights are slightly different from today's knight Sir Paul McCartney, who dashed off to the Thames and shouted 'Cunt' at David Blaine--sweet.
The first three quarters of the excursion went like this:
a) Late for thirty minutes, leaving Arthur and Litz waiting patiently at the Victoria coach station.
b) No coach service to Edenbridge; the place is in the middle of no where.
c) Spent a hell long time commuting on the bus. In the early afternoon we were still in London.
d) Train finally carried us to Tonbridge. Attempt to dine in authentic small town restaurant but could only find nationwide Whetherspoon type pub food--menu is the same everywhere.
e) Gorgeous weather disappeared and rain took over. Lovely.
By the time we arrived, it was 3:30ish. There's something remarkable about being the last visitors to a 450-year old building, for you are left with the sense of a dying winter beauty and quietness, even the raw drizzling rain seemed apt. Nice to recognise the familiar Sidney portraits and the ambitious Dudleys who were sadly beheaded. King Henry VIII was also here when he was courting Anne, not to mention Elizabeth I being entertained by the convivial hosts. There was a loving letter written by Robert Sidney to his wife Barbara displayed. She sent him a box of Penshurst peaches, to which he replied with something like, 'It griefs me to receive such a big box of peaches, for it makes me think you left none for yourself'. (awwww~~~) However, peaches we found none, but juicy apples plenty. It's the weight of the name, Sidney, that makes the place grand. I cannot help but think that low-birth Jonson's encomium to the house is a political gesture and desire to climb the social ladder.


Penshurst garden

Wet bench

Roses are red

Litz's hands

Last week was the Allhallows Eve + All Saints Day, and us being in a festive spirit decided to make a Jack O Lattern. There was a mixed feeling amongst the Brits professing that this Halloween business is all American, and showed their malcontent by boycotting the event. However, as one American lady said on the radio, 'We didn't order you to celebrate it, did we?'
S drew Jack's face, E did the first cut, and to quell my barbarian traits I scooped out the pumpkin seeds and slimy bits with bare hands. What fun!

Little E's hand

Stuff to make pumpkin pie with

Jack's evil grin

He likes Marlboro Light

Jack's life expectancy: 5 days. Just threw the mouldy thing away.

Virgin.net needs a fortnight to upgrade their Internet system. I have already written them a complaint e-mail, also thinking of a follow-up complaint call. In the meantime, I shall be quite grumpy. Hurry up! Postman Pats are also on strike, so no post mail for the whole week. Next week, another strike is slated at Heathrow Airport. This is one fine country.