Unbalanced Vision

Moved to a new place which clearly, no person of a sane mind would choose to stay for at least an year. Perhaps it's not as bad as it sounds. During the first week I made two journeys to the IKEA in bloody zone 3, and learnt that Sundays at the Swedish sprawling megastore can be quite hellish. Imagine fighting over trolleys with three-generation families (esp. their bullish grannies and screaming toddlers), carrying pieces of wood that are twice the size as you are, queueing endlessly at the check out counter, and then another long line for home delivery service. It's not the end yet. Come back home and it's hammer time. Within two days I built a chest of drawers, a shelf, a wardrobe and another set of drawers--all still standing in their upright positions. In the second week the freezer had a problem with frost buildup, and later the ugliest washing machine of all time, its door will not open, grrr! I know my washing machine at the old flat was not the brightest light bulb in the shop, but it sure does its job. And not making things any better, I can feel this woman at the agency is not liking us very much, oh dear. However, things are getting on track. Room is now furnished, washing machine is whirling about and also have a decent freezer to use. As for the lady, I'd like to believe that outside her job in a different social context, maybe she's a lovely girl. Even with my inability to argue/confront with others will somehow make them putty in my hands? *winks*

It may be illegal to whistle in bookshops. My boss said that a few years ago an assistant at some London bookshop got sacked for whistling whilst working. On Monday a sensible-looking man came in the shop and whistled a tune in a loop for quite some time. Later after he left my boss quipped, 'You're allowed to whistle only if you buy our books'. Of course the man walked away empty-handed.

Which superhero are you?

Verdict: 'You are Spider-(wo)Man, a precociously gifted kid-at-heart who's just trying to lead a normal life. Your chattering friends accept you as part of the gang. Little do they know that you have hidden depths'.

Demolished a special spiderman superhero meal today at Burger King, but why did they not reward me with a toy? How disappointing. But I have had my fair share of burger meals though when I was determined to complete the whole miniature Lord of the Rings gang.

Have you ever managed to remain in contact with an elementary/primary school friend till now, and then when the opportunity arises, you decide to meet up after years apart? P and I weren't really that close in second grade, the sort of little girls that hang out at each others' homes playing Barbie after school, the pair that insist on doing everything together. Thanks to my retentive memory, I did remember that she wore a pony tail, sat next to me in the school year photo, and at her b-day party there was a scary-looking clown that drew our faces. One cannot have one best mate at the tender age of eight? The world revolved around our young minds in a mysterious way; it would be arbitrary for a 25-year-old to fathom the thoughts of my eight-year-old self. Anyhow, we wrote each other letters, sent pictures and small presents, perhaps only once a year, and after eighteen seasons it just so happened that P and her boyfriend were coming to England for the commemoration, therefore we arranged to meet for lunch in London. We had no difficulty in recognising each other, and certainly a lot to catch up on since I left Boston--I felt very happy to see her. Don't think I will make a tremendous effort to keep in touch, we never have really, but it would be awesome to meet up again in some unspecified future. As the Chinese like to say: 君子之交淡如水。 (The friendship of decent men is as light as water.)

Yesterday I moved my travel-wearied feet to the Gladys Krieble Delmas Lecture held at the BL. It was a fairly homogenous audience: amongst the white 40, 50ish faces, I guess I was the youngest listener. I didn't know how Jonathan Bate looked like; was he the gent with the big white beard, or the bald one (quite a few actually) in grey, or the old man with a slightly large waistline? After they introduced the speaker, Bate surprisingly was non of the above--he had a slim figure, in his middle ages and carried a demeanor of sensibility. I thought the lecture was brilliant--he eloquently argued that literary history blossomed during the Elizabethan period, a time when Elizabethans engaged in writing for their nation. Certainly there were moments when my mind drifted away, but then I realised how funny it is that we readers of the early modern age attend these Renaissance seminars just to congratulate ourselves on what a glorious era we are studying. I'm sure Terry Jones has something to say about this.