Unbalanced Vision

Shelves to die for:

Though I don't see the product on their website, I believe it's one of bloq's work.

Floating Books

Both sites are nicked from MoCoLoco.

This holiday actually happened in early April, but the twin influences of sloth and schoolwork made me put aside writing up a spectacular travel journal that might be better than reality. Now all I can remember is that, our trip to Venice, to sum up was a binge on churches, canals, marvelous food establishments (I bought blueberry-flavoured pasta), masks, art, art and art, and gelato. The famous gondolas ride was pretty good, but too slow and relaxing for my liking.

The Grand Canal

Vistors constantly taking pictures in Venice

The Doges Palace

View above

Starting from Monday, my right hand index finger had a feeling of discomfort. At first I thought it was an insect bite, for I had enjoyed myself under the sun lying on the grass a day earlier. But no. Two days later, the situation turned worse: my finger was swollen, and so painful that I could not sleep, write nor sit still at the desk. It also seemed to take a life of its own, to which I could feel blood pumping at the finger tip. At any moment it would explode and a little alien would come out. Doing some research on the Internet, I was convinced that this is a nasty boil growing under my finger nail. Chinese medicine doctors said that with the help of a pig gall bladder, the pain shall vanish in no time. Unfortunately, western countries don't keep such vile objects, and therefore me blowing 50+ quid on another Chinese medicine replacement proved to be useless. Now I am relying on antibiotics and painkillers to do the trick. The doc at UCL hospital said in a sarcastic tone, 'So your Chinese medicine doesn't work, huh?' I really miss my healthy index finger and wish that it will come back to life again soon.

Holy Cow, is this for real? The Department seems to have secretly organised a panel discussion which we do not really know about. By the way, my title has changed.

Our toilet is leaking, and we noticed a nasty damp patch on the kitchen ceiling downstairs. After bugging the property agency bods twice, the best answer they could give was that Simon the plumber has not got back to them yet. But guess who's phoning to complain tomorrow? Rachel-da-wannabe-bitch-who-is-really-a-wuss, Phraowr!! Well, Simon, it's time for you to move your arse.

Wisdom 7.3
'When I was born, I received the common air, and fell upon the earth, which of like nature, crying and weeping at the first as all other do'.
Florio's Montaigne I.107
'So wept we, and so much did it cost us to enter into this life'.
Proverb
'We weeping come into the world, and weeping hence we go'.
King Lear IV.v.176-178
'Thou must be patient; we came crying hither:
Thou know'st the first time that we smell the air
We wawl and cry'.
A Jovial Crew III.i.34-38
'... this is your birthnight into a new world.
And we all know (or have been told) that all come crying
into the world, when the whole world of pleasures is before
us. The world itself had ne'er been glorious, had it not
first been a confused chaos'.

This picture captures HY patiently taking a satisfying photo in the tulip fields. (See bloke in the marked red circle.) Like father like son, HY's dad is meticulous about his hi-fi sound system, and would run various tests to examine a machine's sound quality. Likewise, HY would take several pictures of the same spot to select a better one, which all turn out to be rather nice. I think my random shots can occasionally produce unexpected results, too.

I like The Producers because it raises the question literary critics have been discussing: why some plays turn out to be a complete flop, whilst others are a huge success; what is the formula for a box office hit? Here, I am thinking Jonson's bitter experience of his The New Inn in comparison to the budding playwright, his manservant, Brome's The Lovesick Maid. Other than that, I felt uneasy seeing a camp, comical Hitler dancing on stage. The media tells me that Nazi Germany remains a touchy subject, ie Prince Harry + Ken Livingston, etc. HY says that this is entertainment hence acceptable, but even though Mel Brooks is Jewish, had fought in the war, and that the plot arrangement is quite clever, he still receives scathing criticism from the Jewish community. My boss thinks that the Europeans are horrified by Hitler because his baleful influence caused large numbers of deaths, brought so close to home. People dislike the image/idea of death near them. The band of cruel brothers such as Ghengis Khan, Alexander, Pinochet have conducted evil acts (though not all based on race), but were distance in time and place. In this case I feel that placing it in the showbiz arena does not make the issue less complicated. SR says that the Jewish people would not be very happy if The Producers were staged in Germany. Whilst we have every reason not to forget, take the dispute b/w China and Japan over history textbooks for example, I am told that Israel only recently has allowed the performance of Wagner.

And a note to future viewers, prepare to climb millions of stairs to the seats at the balcony, which is a very stuffy room. The show is genuinely funny, but I don't understand why the majority of the audience laugh and cheer at everything Lee Evans does.

Rachel likes gardeners + chefs + playwrights. Architects are OK, too.

Though I have a loathing for materialistic people, I admire ones who show a lust for fame and power. Maybe one comes after the other: along with success comes wealth, and then a desire for a better quality of life. Anyways, in this day and age, it seems the road to glamour requires a bit of self-promotion to get you started. Hardwork and talent are essential, presentation and networking are the key. The world does not have room for 17th century Andrew Marvell's 'coy mistress':

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
--To His Coy Mistress

Today it would be a crime; opportunites do not wait for gentle, modest lads and ladies now.
I went to two wonderful performances done by the modern day creative women. First , about Saturday. This Taiwanese artist (friend of a friend) managed to present her work with Tank in relation to Kuba (The exact details I have yet to figure out, all I know is that she works on multimedia art?). Her outspoken ways got us into the party without being on the guest list, when feeling bored she takes out her beautifully feminine pack of colourful cigarettes. Knowing there's a gap in the market, she has co-written a Chinese book about graffiti art to be published in June in TWN. I find the relationship b/w her and the boyfriend rather amusing. Though one a fierce Taiwanese nationalist, the other a lad from Mainland China who was brought up to believe Taiwan the prodigal son, they seem to work out quite well. Then there's the various city suckers who have the attitude and would look just as charming in pajamas. Brilliant. The night before I was at my friend SD's performance at the Courtyard--she directed a sinister Jacobean drama, The Changeling. Intriguing text accompanied by a good choice of characters (especially liked the creepy look of Deflores and the zombie arrangements) made the language accessible, the play enjoyable to watch. I believe that the ideas discussed during the Renaissance shall still be of concern to a 21st century audience. SD is writing a book as well. Who knows, perhaps I will see it at Waterstones someday.

Congratulations! You are Bree Van De Kamp, the
Martha Stewart on steroids, whose family is
about to mutiny.


Which Desperate Housewife are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

To celebrate getting tickets for Lisa Loeb at the Bloomsbury Theatre, let me finally show you a picture of the notorious red glasses and its owner together. A has-been she may be, Loeb is one of my favourite girly singers when I was a teenager.

O thou which to search out the secret parts
Of the India, or rather Paradise
Of knowledge, hast with courage and advise
Lately launch'd into the vast Sea of Arts,
Disdaine not in thy constant travailing
To doe as other Voyagers, and make
Some turnes into lesse Creekes, and wisely take
Fresh water at the Heliconian spring;
I sing not, Siren like, to tempt; for I
Am harsh, nor as those Scismatiques with you,
Which draw all wits of good hope to their crew;
But seing in you bright sparkes of Poetry,
I, though I brought no fuell, had desire
With these Articulate blasts to blow the fire
--John Donne to Samuel Brooke

Though we think of doing research as a lonesome activity, I wouldn't argue with that, but I feel there's usually a helping hand, especially when I need it. Since my Master's, coursemates and senior PhD students have replied me with long e-mails answering my questions. When she said that a simple article made her realise why she wanted to work on the topic in the first place, I, too, had the same experience. Then there's the text itself. As the old secondary school teacher in The History Boys describes, it is as if an invisible hand reaches out from the book to hold yours. After the tute on Wednesday, am encouraged to read/think about King Lear in relation to A Jovial Crew. At one of my Master's tutorial, I said to my then tutor that I didn't like Lear that much, he suggested I should go and brush my teeth, for this is a play that makes him become a better man every day. Now reading Lear alongside Brome's vagrants, I think I shall have a different point of view.

Long gone are the days when the biggest decision you'd ever make with your boyfriend/girlfriend was which movie to watch on a Saturday, or which ice cream flavour to have at Ben and Jerry's. Couples around us are living together, house owners or baby carriers, and every now and then they'd ask you when are you going to follow their footsteps? I don't blame them though. But a) I'm wondering when is the time I join the dull lot, and b) remind me not to ask you this question when I'm sitting in my penthouse apartment breastfeeding.

It will be about two months from now when the contract of our bachelor pad expires. Despite the trouble we had in the beginning with the agent, the property is within proximity to anywhere I need to travel, and the peppercorn rent makes life slightly easier for a student living in one of the most expensive cities on the globe. Just thinking about having to move house in mid-July gives me a headache; why don't I just go live on the streets in a cardboard box. So dear kind and generous landlady, please let us stay for another year.

Days ago my boss bought a library once owned by a linguistics genius. 90+ boxes invaded the bookshop on that afternoon, and curious booksellers and punters came in to marvel at the dusty, spaceless room--some even thought we were closing down. I was considering of charging people tickets for the scene. For ones interested in languages, you'd be fascinated by the most obscure languages found amongst the collection. Here's just a small list:

- Aramaic
- Basque
- Breton
- Melanesian
- Romanian
- Macedonian
- Estonian
- Tahitian

Two non-Chinese customers bought some Chinese books today, and therefore we were able to exchange a dialogue in Mandarin. I thought this chaotic mess will last till September, but gradually the cubes are moved back to their places, the boxes carried downstairs in the office. Now we are just waiting for YOU to buy loads of books so we can clear out more space.

Today's weather is hit-and-miss; now are you having your eyes glued to the TV waiting for Chelsea to kick Liverpool's arse?

Four minutes later: DAMNDAMNDAMNDAMN

Seventy minutes later: Come on, lads!

Eighty minutes later: Ahhhhhhh! Less then fifteen minutes left.

Eighty-two minutes later: GRRRRRR.

Ninety-one minutes later: What is that ugly red monkey pushing Terry for?

SHITE!!!!