Unbalanced Vision

Graph of www.rachellin.com

You can produce your own graph, too. (by way of Earmarks in Early Modern Culture)

It's stiflingly hot even in Europe, so I suppose it's not good if I serve you a dish of red hot chilli peppers. My mother, however, has a different point of view. She's quite proud of her Hunanese heritage, so when I read her an extract of an article about eating like a chairman, she was delighted indeed:

'Their spicy diet is said to make the people of Hunan hot and fiery in nature: in fact, so renowned are they for their valour and tenacity that the Chinese say you can't have a true army without them. Hunanese women are known for their amorousness, and sometimes for being a little shrewish. I've even heard them described as 'huo la la', a phrase that literally means 'fire-hot-hot', but is used admiringly to express their strength, straightforwardness and capability'.

A second helping of Hunanese cuisine is out on the following Sunday; remind me to buy a copy of The Observer tomorrow.

This week at the pool was the usual sight: beginners planting themselves like a lummox in the fast lane, and something more. Guess who I bumped into again!? It's that mother-and-son pair who I spot too often. The mum is about 50+ and the son is maybe 30+, and they hang out together all the time: I see them at the library, on the bus, on the streets, now in the swimming pool and at the theatre (OK, that time the son was finally alone). I've seen them at my locals so often that I'm wondering if they are stalking me, or me stalking them? It's ever so sweet to have your (physically healthy) mother in tow everywhere you go, but not when you are a grown-up. Anyways, I only noticed them in the pool because as I stepped in, the mother was telling me to beware of a rude swimmer who splashes water onto women's hair as he freestyles; how weird is that!? I smiled at her then minded my own business. Then, one after another, the mother and son slowly paddled forward, just like two giant, emotionless frogs.

For more on floating amphibians, flesh or plastic, read this cute story. (by way of Z)

On Thursday HY and I had a feast of arguments. For starters it was the fresh salad of 'hotel rooms controversy'. The bread was smeared with the butter of 'an annoying junk e-mail'. The main course was the highlight of the meal: scrummy lamb chops of 'job-hunting failure' followed by a side dish of 'tearing' carrots. And dinner is never complete without a strawberry cheese cake of 'other people's job-hunting woes'. To add a juicy cherry to the top, as we left the flat an annoying neighbour got angry at us for accidentally letting his dog out of the front gate. It was mainly his responsibility, for he was nowhere in sight, and we didn't know who the owner was. Another chap beside us was just about to walk outside, so it could have been his pet. Anyways, minutes later the owner rushed out of the building in an aggressive manner, launching into a furious tirade about how bad our attitude was. Such grief! I won't go into details, but after a few exchanges HY actually made the mad neighbour feel sorry for his own behaviour. He apologised, shook hands with HY and assured that all is cool. This is when HY displays his rhetorical gift: to stay calm and good-natured in tense situations like this; the winner is always the one who smiles. Not only is he able to walk away in one piece, he's made both parties feel happy. I've described this minor incident to my flatmate, and he said he would react in a different way, getting angry (and maybe result into a fight) at the unreasonable neighbour. So the question is, does HY's oratorical skills work on me? Oh, yes, it does, and likewise.

I've been reading this blog for a while: the blogger recently completed her doctorate, and is now looking for a job. I like her wry take on things, and can relate to her PhD and even job hunting woes (read 'I didn't want it but then I did' and 'Of jobs and dating'). So here's the story: After an interview on Tuesday, I fell hopelessly in love with the company and the position, but I have to wait another five years (ie five days) until I receive an answer, grrrr, and the world is packed with all these young, talented and upcoming publishers. I really need a machine gun to claim a place.

Summer dinner

People who I knew ten or twenty years ago, and have lost touch with are, for one reason or another, back in my life.
1) My elementary school mate J is now sharing a flat with me in central London. Our mutual friend gave her my e-mail address, she contacted me during her advertising internship in the city, and the rest is history.
2) A close high school friend who I last met before I left for England has sent me an e-mail out of the blue. We have not spoken for years, and suddenly she tells me about an old photo of me standing next to her pet rabbit. Hum... I have no memory of that at all. I am delighted about her e-mail; however, a flatmate reminds me that lost friends who reappear usually work in the insurance industry.
3) My neighbour in Tunghai University is now working in London and residing in South Kensington. I had dinner with the couple days ago, and they've noticed how my appetite has improved over the years. When I was a child I disliked food, and it would take hours for me to finish a meal. Having lived in Germany for a long time, my ex-neighbours are still getting used to the British ways, such as the English ability to small talk and network, and the scary London expenses.

Read this.

"It is in this arena of possibility that I see the real strength of pilgrimage literature. It is an arena full of uncertainty and doubt about pilgrimage itself, considered as a means of access to the divine, but just as pilgrimage 'on the ground' has survived a history of corruption and abuse, so pilgrimage in literature, even more resourceful, has insistently reasserted itself as faith and belief have inevitably ebbed away, and remains a dominating image of search for the impossible--or rather for possibility".
Philip Edwards, Pilgrimage and Literary Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005) 4.

'Another turning point
A fork stuck in the road
Time grabed you by the wrist
directs you where to go.
So make the best of this test
and don't ask why.
It's not a question
But a lesson learned in time.
It's something unpredictable
but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life'.
Time of Your Life, Green Day

I've been a bit quiet on the blog front as of late, not because I've lapsed into idleness but due to a quarter-mid-life crisis. I am getting back on track now.

Tonight a bunch of good friends were going to Fabric, and asked me to come, too. Darn! This does not happen every night, and I'm sure I'll have fun with them. An hour or so later I came home early, because a) House was crap (the kind of crap as in why-don't-I-just-stand-there-and-wriggle-my-toes kind of crap), and b) I suppose you're not allowed to complain unless you can say that you've given your 100%. I want this candidate title.

I wonder if it is worse to be kicked out in the first stage like Iran, or suffer huge loss like Germany, after all the cup is the only thing you are after. The higher the climb, the greater the potential fall, so they say. Anyways, I am very happy that France has made it to the finals. Who would have thought that this group of old donkeys who barely managed the first few matches had now kicked serious ass!? Their coach Raymond Domenech is quite a character himself--I like the strange combination of his white hair and black eyebrows. Being an avid believer in astrology, he has claimed not to trust Scorpios, as they always end up killing each other. Hehe, I am a Scorpio, and so is my soulmate, Joe Cole. It was also said that the reason why mystic Zidane returned to the field was because of his dream. I hope the supernatural forces, stars and angels will bring them glory tomorrow.

books are for sale

5 July was my last day working at the bookshop, my favourite bookshop in London. The first time I met my bosses was at the basement of the shop, where I had an interview. I don't know about you, but when it comes to people I usually know straight away whether I'd like to spend time with them. I walked home that day feeling that I wouldn't mind working for these two gentlemen. And indeed my instincts were right. My bosses are very witty, well-read, tasteful and never take themselves too seriously. Through their exchanges with customers and booksellers, I found them to be trustworthy businessmen: they were never calculating, in fact, occasionally they were a bit too generous. It was my privilege to work for them as I was constantly introduced to interesting books and subjects, and of course, characters that were somewhat larger than life--their unique buying habits, stories and dusty libraries. A bookshop can attract the strangest creatures on earth, and that's what makes it so fun. At some point I realised that everytime I walked to the shop in the morning for work, I was in a good mood. As for the other assistants who also worked there, they became friends who I'd like to meet up once in a while and have a good chat. Now that I've done such a good PR for the bookshop, it's your job to come to Cecil Court and buy loads of books!

Fuerzabruta is absolutely brilliant, albeit a bit too short--after giving a standing ovation, I just didn't feel that I had enough. I first learnt about the performance from this review, and when Michael Billington gives a four-star verdict, I generally believe what he says. The show was kind of like child's play, the delight of seeing something new and strange. We were able to walk around the space, following the acrobats as they ran, fell and danced like zombies. We could touch the giant plastic cloth as it swept above our heads, and we could also touch the pool of human frogs when it lowered from the ceiling. HY interpreted the various scenes as a dream: running endlessly and struggling to cling on in the giant wind. I saw them as a presentation of the human condition: we work and work and work, but it comes down to nothing. As a Londoner I feel truely spoiled: first the elephant, then this magical circus. May I just ask what other tricks can you pull out of your hat to charm me?

Roundhouse

Human frog

Running for no reason

Us in red

Shower

Gormley's red man

This morning we took Bus 19 westwards to V & A, as a Modernism exhibition was on display. It was generally more of HY's area of study: the designer chairs, the mass production and the Bauhaus architecture. However, I had read somewhere about the world's first ideal kitchen, in which the woman only needs a minimum of eight meters to move around the kitchen and the dining table to prepare a meal, and I was keen to see that. Ah, this is how our modern way of life started, the twentieth-century domestic goddess' very own space, with its lime green counters, clean cabinets, window view and cute containers that you could slot into the wall. The sink was a bit low; I suppose this was because the ladies were shorter in those days. It certainly came a long way to have a man in the picture, and we might still have a long way to go. After this cultural education overload in the morning, I had much fun taking silly pictures in front of the distorted mirrors at the exhibition shop. Below is a prediction of how HY and I will look like in ten year's time: him fat and ugly, me slim and gorgeous.

Before: I eat big sandwiches (V & A courtyard)

After: Fat boy + slim

Being Henry Malkovich

Being Rachel Malkovich

Jeff Koon's big rock (bigger than the one Ben Affleck gave J-Lo, eh?)