Unbalanced Vision

1) If in London, buy your Tang Yuan at Chinatown, obviously. Arrive early to avoid crowds, otherwise prepare to elbow your way to the shelves. Remember that you are fighting with people from the most populous country in the world.
2) Don't buy their red beans. SJ soaked these weird beans in water for a day, then boiled them twice, and these stubborn peas still have not softened. Instead their colours seem to have came off, leaving a reddish pot of soup.
3) Live with a maternal flatmate who will cook for you.
4) Invite guests who bear gifts. If B is on the guest list, make sure he keeps a safe distance from candles and matches.
5) Abandon the thought of making your own lanterns or start coming up with riddles fit for the occasion. How old are you!?

Brompton Buddies

Early Bird Buddies

Outside:
1) There's certainly no need to arrive at the wee hours of 7.30; it would be safe enough just to stand behind the small queue at 8 to 8.30. (Was haunted by the experience of the Apple store opening.)
2) Bring magazines and papers to read or to sit on.
3) Buy a nice, warm cup of hot chocolate from the nearby Starbucks.

Inside:
1) The opera house is like a maze--arrive early to find your seat.
2) Buy seats in the back not because they are cheaper, but because it wouldn't be so obvious if you doze off. On second thoughts, bring a pillow.
3) The scary fecund couple, Papagino and Papagina, in The Magic Flute may inspire fertility.

Take a look at the Polish posters I found via Londonist. I especially heart Kalarus' Midsummer's Night Dream and Olbinski's Free Skakespeare in Central Park. Also, sign up for Daily Candy's newsletter--it becomes more handy if you live in the States.

As I was watching Ian McEwan's interview on ITV1 about his new book Saturday, a story happening all on 15 February 2003, I began to try to recall what I was doing on that very date. Neither having a gung-ho zeal, nor taking a strong stance against fighting Iraq, I had to go on the streets to witness a historical event. However, at that time I was certain that this protest will not change the cut-and-dried decision. Now writing at this moment, I suddenly remembered that on that Saturday me and HY had a very late lunch. We followed the crowds near Regent Street and realised how hungry we have gotten. It was past two already and most restaurants weren't serving food. I remembered walking through quiet alleys and lanes to a little Japanese restaurant, but unfortunately it was closed. What did we have in the end?

Beat Around the Bush

NO

Some Care About Football Scores

Rubbish

Though the sun was acting a bit selfish, we spent a lovely Sunday at the East End. First destination was the Faces in the Crowd exhibition at Whitechapel. I liked the much traditional form of presentation--paintings (esp. the black and red picture of a theatre scenery)--but the videos on the first floor didn't really appeal to me. My colleague SR uses the word 'aggressive' to describe this floor, to which I find rather acute. Turning a left, we found ourselves on Brick Lane, usually filled with aggressive waiters wanting you to come into their restaurants. Not in the mood for rich Indian curry, we walked through bike shops (stolen ones!), old junk, vintage clothing stores, organic food restaurants, motorbike shop, and ended up standing behind a long queue for cheap, yummy bagels and cakes. Jewish-owned Beigel Bakery was introduced to me by S, for she is one person with an enormous sweet tooth. Afterwards, we headed back to Spitalfields Market to meet up with Big S. None of us would know that hours later we would watch a wretched Chelsea being defeated by Newcastle Utd. in heavy snow.

Evil Queen

Frog Prince

Jesters

It's not too late to say, 'Gong Xi Fa Cai,' to you yet because the Chinese New Year revellers technically have 15 days of celebration, the last day being the Lantern Festival. My flatmates and I had a mini hot pot dinner to usher in the new year of the rooster. All sounded exciting when I suggested to buy a fondue set in replace of our traditional hot pot--we could have oriental hot pot dishes in a fondue set, I thought, and then instantly went out to buy the cauldron, and the most important methylated spirit of course. On that evening, food was prepared and T's room was ready; for a second it didn't look too different from a feast at home. Later we realised that the fondue burner didn't work quite well with the spirit, therefore B placed a couple of candles beneath the pot. After much hassle chopping the candles to the right size, the room appeared to have a warm glow--they burned and burned, got shorter and shorter, with the soup showing no sign of heat and bubbles. Instead of looking like a group of satisfied coven around a boiling pot, we sat there with empty stomachs close enough to devour any raw meat in sight. B couldn't take it any longer, so he poured the spirit into the burner and light up the match. Hum... the newspapers and the carpet were set on fire, relax, just a very small area. All were very nervous but successfully controlled the situation. Naughty B then moved the fondue set next to the doorstep and lit the fire up again. This time the fire was bigger, and even blocking the doorway. Oh my gosh. Anyways, the fact that I am still here writing means that everything is fine, so dear landlady if you are reading this, no need to worry. You might think that our lovely evening has gone for a burton--not quite right--there's a thing called a stove? Besides, in Chinese culture, we think fire brings lots of money!

I posted this exciting story of mine to the BBC News 'Have Your Say' column, but they didn't bloody appreciate it and chose the boring sappy ones instead.

The London Renaissance Seminar is usually held thrice a year, with 3-4 speakers giving papers on the week's chosen subject of the early modern period, for instance, 'The City'. Though these topics may not show any direct relation to your work, you never know what you can learn, and in a sense, they draw some connections anyways. Dr Ian Archer's talk about the Londoners' collective historical consciousness, specifically the demonising strategies in the treatment of mobs, and the appeal of romance to allow Londoners to participate in a honor culture make me think about Brome's city comedies. However, in the conference room, you always know who you will see again. It's the usual 'old' faces who attend these seminars. Doing research can be a lonesome career, therefore in this room one expects to meet someone who is working on something similar to one's own studies. Saying that you are interested in Caroline drama will not turn into a conversation killer. Last Saturday, another oriental person showed up. At the end of Q&A, he asked a question but stated in the beginning, 'I'm from Japan; sorry for my broken English'. I thought the question he asked was quite interesting and admired his courage, yet there's no need for him to apologise.

Plays I have to see in the near future, otherwise I shall be quite grumpy:
Macbeth (Tired of the Albery Theatre, so am choosing Islington this time.)
Don Carlos
The Dog in a Manger, House of Desires, Pedro--The Great Pretender (The Spanish Golden Age.)
Venice Preserved (My first Restoration drama in London, though theatre location is a bit far.)
Whose Life is it Anyway?
A Life in the Theatre
National Anthems
Festen
Rhinoceros
The Vagina Monologues (Ahh...)
The Death of a Salesman
The Tempest, Pericles, The Winter's Tale (Mark Rylance's last year at the Globe--cannot miss this season.)

Plays I have already bought tickets to see:
The History Boys (Alan Bennett received good reviews, so I'm pretty looking forward to it.)
Julius Caesar (Ralph Fiennes is Mark Antony!)

I guess that's the list... for now.

I don't normally read The Sunday Times, but since they are giving away a free DVD copy of Howards End this weekend, I simply had to get one. Nothing really useful is contained in this large bulk of papers, in fact 80% of the whole lot I can chuck it into our recycling box. On the section of travel, they even introduced this pervy-looking product for travellers--a banana protector! (Whoever invented this has too much time on his/her hands.)

As I was channel surfing last night, I came across this brilliant film called, Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress--highly recommended. Two teenagers from educated, middle-class families were sent to a rural countryside to practice Chairman Mao's creeds. Re-education means burning books, despising knowledge and becoming farmers--tough manual work shall let you forget the evilness of thoughts. Chinese mountain scenery is truly beautiful, but what left an impression on me was the idea that how a book can change a person's life, and that there's always an alternative method to handle authority. Go see, go see. By the way, does anyone know which dialect they are speaking?

Ladies, charge out into the woods and find a decent piece of wood to mark your very own territory! OK, I admit this draggy sentence does not sound as encouraging as it intended to be, but hey, I believe in every word it means. Over the Christmas holidays I accidentally encountered and then was inspired by Woolf's seminal essay, A Room of One's Own. Sadly, I somehow pictured myself as the anonymous Shakespeare's younger, perhaps equally talented sister who didn't have the same opportunities as he did. Having a natural affinity for this female reader/writer, not only did I feel genuinely grateful for the kind of privilege I have now, but also felt the need to share this burning passion with fellow female human beings. SR says that she, too, was deeply inspired after reading this piece on the bus during high school years, but she thought that there's more to be done on gender equality, such as in the Islamic countries. F mentioned that she read Woolf's work in uni, but forgot its detail. D said that having your own desk is not enough; she would ask for her own room. Together we lament over the fact that married woman seldom have a desk, a private place to write--they make do with their children's desks or the dining table. On the other hand, HY didn't show much interest in my so-called opinion, but he did say that if we unfortunately happen to live under the same roof one day, I shall have my own large, splendid desk, and shelves, too.

I take it back--walking home after seeing a play at the West End is not always the best option, especially when you've just sat for four hours straight in a typical squeaky and heavily worn seat in those ancient theatres. This time it was the archetypal grumpy old men, the good old King Lear, which is in repertory at the RSC. Despite having the worst honey and ginger ice cream in the world, and sitting amongst a group of schoolchildren who clearly can't be bothered to feign interest in the bard, and thus have engaged themselves in sending text messages, the performance was actually quite good, if not enjoyable. Watching hours of the story of these two tragic, dysfunctional families can be emotionally exhuasting, if you've seen the scene when Cornwall plucks out Gloucester's eyeballs (with blood dripping) you'd know what I mean. The treatment of Lear in the beginning as a playful, or rather, silly old man is slightly strange; however, the melodramatic scene just before Cordelia's death was taken place should be more comical. Three dead female bodies lay still on stage, one would say Shakespeare's disorderly world speaks for itself.