Unbalanced Vision

On Sunday HY and I went to an indoor stadium near the Truman Brewery to watch the England match. I wonder how the organiser came up with the slogan, 'You've got to believe!'--it's the lamest line I've ever heard. Well, I suppose if you've seen England's worrying performance, faith is the best thing you can have. It's kind of like going to church in the America south where you listen to those passionate gospel music: sing and clap along with the others, your spirit is elevated, thinking that there is hope and God is by your side, whilst in reality your crops are dying and you are struggling to make ends meet. All those chanting, swearing and beer-spilling must have worked, as Becks has again proved himself a national hero. I've also noticed that Rooney's face has a magical affect on the crowd. Everytime the bully's mug fills up the screens (three of them), everyone goes, ROOOOOOOONEEEEEEEEEEY!! In the end the country did win, suddenly confetti came down from the ceiling, and it was party time: the lot were singing and jumping about like no tomorrow, shouting 'football's coming home', and the cheerleaders were waving their pompoms. Of course, there were hugs and kisses aplenty. Soon the music died out, and the people went back home in their old, merry ways. Outside in the real world, the east end appears like a madhouse itself. There were barbecues, vintage shops, African drums and even a man-made beach for the poor Londoners! As for the ones who watched the match at home alone, it was just another dull, boring game.

Watching England vs Ecuador in a gigantic oven

A 'beach' at the east end

A series of 'wee' photos:
I.

We walk together

II.

I above we

III.

We don't care if you are looking

I wrote an entry last night about some person's recent job hunting success, but this morning I decided that it had to be deleted. Yes, blog writing can be a cathartic experience, yet we don't want to sound too bitter and self-important. Last night was a sleepless night. First I was kept awake by a group of chavy teenagers playing loud music and football in the car park--how irritating. I finally decided to phone up the housing patrol team to come and sort out the matter. After ten minutes or so, a white van arrived and then the noise disappeared; I peeped outside the window and showed my evil grin. Now back in bed, the 'noise' in my head was playing. In the morning I opened my dreary eyelids and prepared to meet HY for one of his rock climbing session. He belayed me up the climb, to which I failed to even make it half-way to the top. After I abseiled down, he looked at me and said, 'Everyone can do it, why can't you?'

Though in real life I bemoan my 'lacklustre performance', on the imaginary football field I am kicking ass! (Have a look at my team, the Mushy Peas.)

In case you are wondering, my upgrading interview was unsatisfactory. The examiners were unconvinced that the chapter I submitted was relevant to the topic of my thesis (though my supervisor thought otherwise), and that my introduction was poorly structured. I was given the choices to either pursue a MPhil degree instead, or resubmit another chapter in three month's time. Straight after the interview, I had an 'emergency' meeting with my supervisor, and another one with the director of graduate studies the following week. I don't know what got into my head at that moment, but my instinct was to resubmit. So far this year has been generally brilliant; first the malfunctional relationship, then this collapsing academic career. And yes, I do know the words, 'put things into perspective' and 'take the good times and the bad'. All in all, it's not too bad, but it's not great either. Months ago I've also submitted a paper for a conference, and should be heading north on Saturday. To be honest, I'm not too enthusiastic about the event, but I should prepare for it anyways. I'm not entirely sure what it is that keeps me going in research, when I often feel that the subject is beyond my reach. Yet have a gander at Lisa Jardine's view on the recent pay dispute, especially her example of how a student found a small book on the art of translation published in 1559--'By looking at Harvey's marginal notes, the student had recovered an animated debate between reader and author about how imaginative and free one was entitled to be in turning a text from an ancient language into a modern one'. I guess this sort of explains my motive.

Shewee (Please have a look at their website; why are the women looking so happy? Because they know the power of Shewee of course.)

I don't understand why my girlfriends feel embarrassed when I introduce them to this new discovery of mine: the portable urine device for women, wow! I found it in She Active, a store that specialises in female sportswear, and immediately thought of a dear friend who had mentioned about the trouble of finding a toilet in the Grand Canyon. I've also seen two poor women who couldn't find public toilets and had to pee in the streets--I'm not joking; this was on Queen's Day in Amsterdam, when the whole city was in a crazy party mode. Now Shewee can come to the rescue, especially for hikers like you and me (not that I've tried already though). On its instruction paper it tells sisters to 'stand up and take control', and that's fairly easy! The last step tells us to throw it away after use; however, the plastic design is worth five quid, and I'd suggest you to wash and reuse. *yuck!*

My friend's father passed away of a sudden heart attack. I am not sure of the details, but it all started whilst he was in the middle of a class. He must have felt unwell, was immediately sent to the ER, and then died soon afterwards. This middle-aged man had no record of heart problems. In Stephen Greenblatt's 'The Rights of Memory', Hamlet in Purgatory, he describes the feeling of loss:

'Anyone who has experienced the death of a close friend or relative knows the feeling: not only the pain of sudden, irrevocable loss but also the strange, irrational expectation of recovery. The telephone rings, and you are suddenly certain that your dead friend is on the other end of the line; the elevator door opens, and you expect your dead father to step out into the hallway, brushing the snow from the shoulders of his coat'. (Greenblatt 102)

The following 'encounters' I describe, however, are somehow unrelated to the idea of expecting the dead: recently, I often think that I've spotted someone familiar on the streets. They are usually old acquaintances from Taiwan, such as previous colleagues and classmates with whom I've lost in touch. As soon as I have these deja vu moments, I secretly take another good look at their facial features--quite understandably, they are still strangers who happen to be in the same place, at the same time as me. I wonder how many people look like you in this world?

Bro asked me the other day whether if I know a TV programme called 24. Excuse me? Hell, yes I know about 24, and I've been Jack Bauer's best friend whilst you were still in your nappies, bro! Apparently, my dad and him are now dedicated fans, and they have been neglecting food and sleep just to spend the days with JB. Bro has also developed a love interest for Michelle Dessler (hum, good choice), and Chloe O'Brian comes a close second. We then compared notes to see who has more knowledge of the series, and who is the ultimate JB fan? It appears that bro is slightly ahead of me: he has bought himself a 'Jack Pack'--carry it around and you shall be as invincible as the man himself.

Weh hey, guess what? I happen to have a relative in Britain, and I have just spoken to him on the phone! He is my dad's cousin's son, and get this: he is working in the fashion industry as a designer for Miu Miu. He sounds like a pretty nice guy, and we're arranging to meet up maybe next week for dim sum. Based upon my vague memories of one of those large family lunches, his parents and him came to visit our then house in the Tunghai University campus once, and that was it. Later on I heard from Mum that he went to the UK to study fashion design. I have no recollection of what he looks like, so it will be quite interesting to find out what he's like as a person now. Who knows? Maybe we'll get on well, and I can be the annoying little cousin who bombards him with phone calls hoping to hang out.