| Chen 的个人资料The Wind from Salzburg照片日志列表 |  工具  帮助 |
|
3月8日 Dashed ExpectationsI have spent all my life—all 19 years and a half of it—dreaming of getting involved in a theatrical production, a real drama instead of a stupid giggling school play. I had ample opportunity and experience of the latter, invariably playing the villain in the piece, the one that through ruining the world, ultimately ruins himself—yes, I was always a him.
When such a chance finally came, I waited with trembling anticipation for the director to assign me a part, wondering if I would repeat my fate and end up as the wicked something. Apparently, however, I had too good an opinion of my acting talent. I should have realized that being able to understand and appreciate Shakespeare does not guarantee a Laurence Olivier out of you. Without special looks or talent, I am nothing. I am not the wicked something, the good something, not even the dull something. I am the insignificant something with three lines of my own and five “Rest in peace”s with the chorus. I was exempted from all rehearsals—kicked out in practice, though not yet in theory, owing to the good nature of somebody in charge.
I guess I could comfort my injured dignity by reminding myself that Audrey Hepburn only had a mute part in her first movie and that Fritz Wunderlich was drowned in the chorus at the start of his operatic career. But then Audrey had that other-worldly air; and Fritz had that other-worldly voice; whereas I have other-worldly nothing.
Perhaps this is God’s way of telling me that instead of trying in vain to portray a Rosalind or a Beatrice, I am much better off reading and analyzing Shakespeare, who, as I now recall, tried acting himself for a while, failed, took to writing, and ended up the best-loved playwright in the whole of human history. 2月12日 东京几日游既然是去的日本，我就用中文写好了。实在是记不住日本地名的英语发音和拼法。惭愧惭愧。
想来人的命运真不知道是谁掌握的。我叫嚣了许多年就算有人倒贴钱请我去日本我也不稀罕去，但偏偏就真有人倒贴钱请我去日本了。本人由于一向说话不太算话，于是这辈子第二次出国，就去了日本。 我不喜欢日本，甚至是痛恨。了解我的人都知道这一点。因此，当我得知我得牺牲我短短的寒假里宝贵的十多天时间去一个我既不会说它的语言也不在乎它的文化的地方的时候，我头皮发麻。我的各位哥们儿都说让陈星去日本实在是浪费机会。人家多少日语专业的巴巴地做梦都想去日本，我这么一个“抗日”先锋倒是白拣个机会，被当作贵客请去了扶桑国。 过日本海关的时候，还没来得及递护照，就被大叔误认做了日本“海龟”。大叔笑眯眯的来了一句“Welcome home”。尽管这种热情似乎是建立在他认为我是他的日本同胞的基础上的，但一样让人心里暖暖的。小日本看来还是有可爱之处的。（我进过三次中国海关，也没有谁欢迎过我回家来么。） 我要去的ICU（国际基督教大学）在东京西郊，离成田机场有两个小时的火车车程。还没到ICU时，天已经黑透。走在日本窄窄的小巷子里，一边是一堵矮矮的墙，一边是一栋栋小小的日本房子，远处还不时有个小贩唱着“烤山芋卖咯～”（不过人家自然讲得是日文。。），一下就感觉回到了50年代电影中的日本。偶尔背后会响起叮叮的自行车铃声，转过头来看见一点点闪闪的自行车灯。侧身来让自行车先过，骑车的人会在车上鞠个小小的躬，口中念叨着“多谢”（或许是“有劳了”？在日本不懂日语就是痛苦啊。） 穿过细细长长的小巷，过一条窄窄的街就是ICU的侧门。就这条三步就能跨过的小道居然也有盏红灯管着。一个个过路的规规矩矩地等着交通灯变绿。我这种习惯了龙江小区的小街交通灯基本起照明作用的人也就入乡随俗，耐心等待了。 初进ICU的第一印象是：这分明是紫金山么。一条不宽不窄的柏油道，两边树木丛生。树木中零星散落着一两幢不高过四层的方方的小楼。顺着柏油道拐进一处古色古香的所在，这便是我接下来12天要投宿的地方，ICU铃木校长的家。 铃木校长是个可爱极了的老先生（说人家老也不太合适。。不过是比我爹再年长几岁而已。。）。幽默风趣，博学，好客。他与他一样可爱的太太让我立即彻彻底底地喜欢上了这家人。两人也不知道用的什么方法（人格魅力吧。。。），让我很舒服地觉得我是属于这儿的，而不仅仅是个来客。 接下来的日子便是大大小小的会议。中间抽空听了几节课，结果是导致我不高兴在南大上学了，想转到ICU去。各处碰到的日本老师学生都很热情。还有一帮研究生请我吃了顿午饭。我们在餐桌上大谈南京和广岛，日本的历史书和中国的历史书，中国产的疑似有毒的饺子。其实大部分的日本学生都还是乐意听听对事实的另一种描述的。他们本性一点不坏。只是从小受到的历史教育被政府左右着，自以为得到了很客观的事实。这也是没法子事。我看只有靠中国拼命发展经济和社会文明，成了不好欺负的超级强国，日本政府自然得改态度。 大部分的日本人民真的是友好的。铃木校长一家是这样；ICU的老师和同学也是是这样；就连一位上门卖鱼的大叔当听说了铃木校长家有个中国学生时，还特地白送了两块豆腐说是表示欢迎。 在日本逛过几次街。（新宿在日文里叫Shinjeku，嘿嘿，新街口。。。不过我没去新宿，主要去的是吉祥寺，相当于东京的湖南路吧。）百货商场、超市、饭馆、小商铺里的服务员店主一个个都客气至极。就连收个钱都满脸笑容地频频鞠躬，不断地用极阳光的语气说着些什么。陪我逛街的日本同学说这是训练的结果，不代表是日本人脾气好。但对于我来说，这点“装出来”的热情已经很有效了，让我感到他们是由衷地欢迎每一个顾客的到来。我们的服务员就很应该学学这个。我在国内每次去超市都特别诚惶诚恐，一不留神就会被收银台的服务员呵斥了去。 也特别喜欢日本“立人靠左”的自动扶梯，先下后上的火车，排队上车的公交，井井有条的街道，分类严格到几乎变态的垃圾桶（比如塑料瓶和瓶盖要分开来丢，抽纸盒子出纸口上的塑料皮皮撤下来分开丢。。。）。东京这么大的一个繁华都市，居然也有着相当碧蓝的天空和颇白的云彩（南京只有初秋才会有这样的天，上海貌似就没有过。）。 说了一大堆“崇洋媚外”的话，想表达的意思就是日本并不似国内媒体播报的那般可恶。我们永远应该分清政府和人民。大部分日本人民是值得结交的。而正是通过民间推动政府才能达到最好的外交关系。而日本作为一个早我们多时崛起的强国，社会中的某些风气也很是值得我们学学的。中国的经济蓬勃发展，若是社会文明跟不上速度，就永远不会真正得到别国的尊重。听说奥运会的准备已经使得北京人民面貌一新，希望这样的风气能传遍神州大地。 说了半天没有交代清楚我去日本的原因。这次去日本是为INP （ICU Nanjing University Project）制定二期计划。本人稀里糊涂的就成了南京负责人了。。。其实吧，当小头目的感觉。。。还是很爽的！ 1月19日 ...Rereading North and South for the 50th time.
Cannot help but feeling that if BBC had followed the book more faithfully, the production would be even more awesome.
To owe the truth, I do not particularly like BBC's version of North and South. (Oh, the setting is wonderful and the contrast between North and South is sharp. I love their way of using bright and soft colors to illustrate the South and grey and hard ones for the North; the actors are FABULOUS, though I had pictured Higgins a little bit differently. Richard Armitage as Mr. Thornton is...O My God...BRILLIANT.) The whole screenplay is too rushing, jumping from one story to the next without going deeper into the background and emotions.
I particulary dislike the part they added in where Thornton is beating the hell out of a worker for smoking in the factory. Mrs. Gaskell did not write such as scene. I am not opposed to adding in scenes to bring out the characters more vividly before the modern viewers (they did loads of that in 1995 BBC Pride and Prejudice and I love that); yet this scene does not seem to me to bring credit to Thornton's character. (Perhaps they think that without such fact-to-face violence modern audience would not understand Margaret's rejection and contempt of a man who seems otherwise perfect in any sense.)
The riot scene was too carelessly dealt with. It should be the climax of the whole book(movie). I would prefer following the book step by step, word by word.
I also much prefer the ending in the book to the one suggested by the drama...
But on the whole BBC has done a wonderful job as usual.
Thus,
I am currently in my 19th Century mood...
So, except for Papa and Mama, and my Gang of Four, do not try to reach me via cellphone.
I live before the invention of it :)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Of course, I realize that indulging myself in this particular mood would be fruitless, as there would certainly be no way to move back to the 19th century (Anyway, I probably wouldn't like it if we made it: how am I supposed to live without my iPod?); I would never be pretty enough to become a heroine; no Mr. Thornton is going to materialize out of thin air for me; and Richard Armitage is unfortunately 17 years my senior and does not seem to speak Chinese...
C'est la vie~
That is why I've been applying some self-rescue aid, i.e. not reading 19th Century literature and not watching period drama...
....the result being that I am currently enjoying Shaun the Sheep: a pantomime designed for 3 year olds...
Hush little baby don't say a word...
  12月19日 Sample Speech for ClassCOPY RIGHT 2007, CHEN XING
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
How pilgrims felt when they set out to pay homage to their holy land I do not know. But I fancy it should be somewhat similar to mine when I stepped onto my flight, excited, exhilarated, exalted, knowing that I was only 10 hours’ away from my wildest childhood fantasy: London.
For an ardent lover of English literature like me, London is one of the places that one has visited over and over again through the pages until the urge to be there in person is insuppressible. I longed to explore the dark winding alleyways where my favorite detective might have hurried along in hot pursuit of some deadly criminals, or stroll in one of the royal parks where my favorite hero and heroine might have walked hand in hand, or visit the famous museums and galleries where my favorite writers might have gone to seek inspiration. London showed generous hospitality to me. It did not rain a drop for three days straight when I was there. On a particularly fine morning, armed with a map, I set out in the glorious sunshine to make my dreams come true. I had planned enthusiastically on the plane that I would spend my first night in London following Sherlock Holmes’s footsteps in the dim alleyways. But alas, being alone and realizing that I was far far away from home made me wary of the dark. So instead, I explored through the alleys in broad daylight. When I finally emerged out of them, I found myself facing the obscure little gate of a beautiful verdant park. Green Park it is by name. And so it is green and full of life. This park has trees and open space, sunshine and shade—a most charming park. It is not large, but exquisite. A five-minute stroll across the park brought me to its magnificent front gate. Stepping out of it, my eyes were suddenly dazzled by red and white and gold. Buckingham Palace stood solemn and stately in front of me. This is, of course, where the royal family resides. But it is not closed to public. If you have the money (₤14) and the time, you can very well go into the rooms to see the pomp and circumstances of royal life. And if one is lucky, one might be on time for the famous Changing of the Guard, when tourists get to gape at the bright red uniforms and bearskin hats of shouting and marching soldiers. But mind you, it can get awfully crowded out there. Unless you are there early to find yourself a good position, or you are exceptionally tall for a person, you won’t see much except for the heads of the other tourists blocking your view. When I was there I had neither money nor luck, so I hurried on into the famous St. James’s Park. This is generally acknowledged as the most pleasant of London’s royal parks. What impressed me was the harmonious coexistence of man and nature in this park. The scenery is astoundingly beautiful with large lake and waterfalls, green trees and smooth lawns, busy bees and dancing butterflies. You will find up a tree squirrels gaping at the peanuts you are holding, around the bench pigeons strolling lazily past you, and in the lakes swans swim gracefully on, occasionally bestowing on you one of their elegant glances. You can spend a whole day here reading, breathing and feeling the serenity. But I had other wishes to grant myself. So I took a deep breath of the sweetly scented air, waved my hands at the squirrels, and hastened on. My next destination was Westminster Abbey—or to be exact, the Poets’ Corner in Westminster Abbey, where many of England’s finest writers are buried and commemorated. Maybe it was the numerous confusing steps and chapels, or the quiet, dark, cold, and solemn interior of the abbey, or the countless tombs and sculptures of kings and queens lying serenely on their deathbeds, or maybe it was because of them all that I felt strange and uncomfortable, shaken and overpowered. Confused, I never did find out where my favorite poet Wordsworth was buried. Getting out of the eerie Abbey into glorious sunshine was a most gratifying experience. Warmed by the sun, I walked steadily on, secretly determined to visit the Abbey some time in the future—preferably with a companion. I went down Parliament Street, passing government buildings, statues, monuments and other historical bits and pieces. At the end of the street, looking up, I was awed by the towering figure of Nelson standing high on a column against the background of a piece of cloud. I knew that I was approaching Trafalgar Square. A dancing fountain and hundreds of pigeons greeted me as I stepped into the square. Nelson looked down from that 52-meter column of his. Nelson’s Column has stood in the center of the square since 1843 and commemorates the admiral’s victory over Napoleon off Cape Trafalgar in Spain in 1805. Many visitors, however, seem less interested in this history than clambering on the backs of the lions at Nelson’s feet. I ended my days’ travel in the National Gallery, the largest of its kind in the world with more than 2000 European paintings on display. The shear number of the exhibits made my head dizzy while they themselves took my breath away. I hardly know how to describe my feelings when I found myself face to face with masterpieces that previously I only had had chance to admire in books. Raphael, Gainsborough, Constable, da Vinci, Monet, Holbein…they were all there, alive through the canvas and the strokes. For one who is interested in western history, London is grand palaces, great halls, and magnificent museums. For one who has an eye for art, London is gallery after gallery of masterpieces in western civilization. For one who grew up reading Charles Dickens, London is miserable winding alleyways and shabby ramshackle houses. For one who spends his time turning over the pages of Vanity Fair, London is a great market place glittering with exotic luxuries and the splendor and grandeurs of the old empire. For one who daydreams in the world of Jane Austen, London is a young girl’s heart’s desire, where she gets to step out of her mediocre county existence to see fashion and the world. For someone like me who falls into all the above mentioned categories, London is a mystery, a light, and a constant yearning.
12月15日 Chen Xing's New CrushNew Idol: Jose Carreras~~
 OK, I admit I am more enchanted by his looks, manners , and spirit than I do his voice. In regards to singing, I still stick to Fritz Wunderlich.
But his voice is fine with me. Although he is not a Mozartian tenor (he has never ever sung a Mozart role), he is not entirely a Wagnarian tenor either (thank God..I cannot stand Wagnarian tenors--they are canons, not human beings).
Here is a brief biography.
In 1972, Ovation magazine described the voice of a young man making his debut as Pinkerton in Madama Butterfly at the New York City Opera. It was "a honeyed lyric tenor, richly coloured, clear and true and possessing a sensual beauty that is quite extraordinary." The young man with the sensuously beautiful voice was Jose Carreras.
He was born on December 5, 1946 in Barcelona, the capital of Catalonia, a region of Spain with a unique cultural life and language. (Carreras’ true first name is Josep, the Catalan version of Jose) The youngest of Antonia Coll-Saigi and Josep Carreras-Soler’s three children, he has described his childhood as happy and completely carefree. This is quite a tribute to his parents, given the dire economic conditions in Spain during the years following that country’s Civil War. The family briefly emigrated to Argentina in 1951 in what proved to be an unsuccessful search for a better life, returning to Barcelona less than a year later. Carerras’ father, his teaching career ruined because he had fought on the Republican side during the Civil War, eventually had to take a job as a traffic policeman, and his mother opened a small hair-dressing shop.
It has been said of many great singers that they have an almost physical need to sing, a need that can express itself when they are very young. Carreras was no exception. As a child he truly loved to sing. He sang to the passengers on the steamship from Argentina back to Barcelona. He sang to the customers in his mother’s hair-dressing shop. And, after he came home from seeing Mario Lanza in The Great Caruso, he sang to his family all the arias that Lanza had sung in the film - especially la ‘Donna e Mobile’ which seemed to hold a special fascination for him. Whenever his family suggested that his constant singing, although impressive might just be starting to drive them crazy, the six year old happily locked himself in the bathroom and kept right on singing.
Fortunately for the world of opera (and for the other members of the Carreras family who were waiting to take their baths), his mother arranged for him to channel this seemingly boundless vocal energy. He started voice and piano lessons with Magda Prunera, the mother of one of his boyhood friends. and at eight he started attending the local music conservatory after school. At eight he also gave his first public performance, singing ‘La Donna e Mobile’ on Spanish National Radio. (A recording of this still exists and can be heard on the video biography, Jos?Carreras – A Life Story). At eleven, he was on the stage of Barcelona’s opera house, the Gran Teatro del Liceo, singing the boy soprano role of the narrator in de Falla’s El retablo de Maese Pedro. A few months later, he sang for the last time at the Liceo before his voice started to change. It was perhaps a bit of type casting for the boy who used to drop clothespins onto the heads of the hapless passers-by beneath Senora Prunera’s window. He played the naughty child in the second act of La Boheme who was dragged by the ear from the toy-seller’s cart crying "Vo’la tromba, il cavallin!" ("I want the trumpet and the little horse!")
By 18, the soprano voice of Carreras the boy had become the tenor voice of Carreras the man. He studied at first with Francisco Puig and later with Juan Ruax, whom he has described as his artistic father. It was Ruax who encouraged him to audition for what was to become his first tenor role at the Liceo, Flavio in Norma. This minor role had major consequences for his career. The beauty of the few phrases that he sang as Flavio was noticed not only by the critics but also by the great soprano in the title role, Montserrat Caballe. She asked that he sing Gennaro with her in Donizetti’s Lucrezia Borgia, his first principal adult role, and the one which he considers to be his ‘real’ debut as a tenor.
If Ruax was his artistic father, then Caballe was to become in many ways his artistic mother. She sang the title role in his London stage debut, a concert performance of Maria Stuarda, and the recordings (both commercial and ‘pirate’) of their artistic partnership went on to include over 15 different operas. The English critic, Alan Blyth saw the Maria Stuarda performance at the Royal Festival Hall. Carreras was only 25 at the time but Blyth recalls "It was one of those occasions when one immediately and instinctively recognises that one is in the presence of a new and very special talent. Not only was his a profoundly beautiful tenor, typically dark-hued in the Spanish vein, but its owner knew how to employ it to maximum advantage and, almost as important, had the vital, vivid presence of a born communicator."
Carreras went on to grow into what Lofti Mansouri, the Director of the San Francisco Opera has called "One of the most complete operatic stars that I have ever worked with...His musicianship, intelligence, dramatic ability, not to mention his gorgeous voice make him a total artist." What is perhaps quite unusual about Carreras’ career is that by the age of 28, when many opera singers are just starting to make their mark, he had already sung the tenor lead in 24 different operas in both Europe and North America and had made his debut at the world’s four great opera houses - the Vienna Staatsoper in 1974, as the Duke of Mantua in Rigoletto; London’s Royal Opera House in 1974, as Alfredo in La Traviata; the New York Metropolitan Opera in 1974, as Cavaradossi in Tosca; and La Scala Milan in 1975, as Riccardo in Ballo in Maschera.
Ballo in Maschera
is inextricably linked with both his artistic and his personal life. Carreras had married Mercedes Perez in 1971. Their son Alberto was born in 1972, on the day after Carreras had sung Riccardo for the very first time in Parma. Their daughter Julia was born in 1977, on the day after he had finished recording Ballo in Maschera in London. At the height of his career Carreras was singing over 70 performances a year and was almost constantly travelling around the world’s opera houses. Although an intensely private man, in several interviews he has alluded to the problems of combining an international opera career with a family life – the sense of alienation and the dangers of forming new ties. (He and his wife divorced in 1992 and Carreras has never remarried.)
In 1987, at the height of his success, Carreras was diagnosed with acute leukemia and was given a 1 in 10 chance of survival. Had it not been for the skills of his doctors in Barcelona and at the Fred Hutchinson Clinic in Seattle, Washington, the Missa Criolla would have been his last recording and his performance in I Pagliacci at the Vienna Staatsoper would have been the last time he sang on the operatic stage. After his recovery, one of the first people he went to see was the great Austrian conductor Herbert von Karajan, a musician with whom he had an almost instinctive affinity. Carreras found it fascinating "how Karajan made you feel that he was like your father, conducting for you alone." Their ten year artistic collaboration has produced some of Carreras’ finest performances and recordings. In an interview shortly before his death in 1989, Karajan said of Carreras "If the crew were here I would play you the video of the Verdi Requiem. Did Caruso sing the ‘Ingemisco’ better? I wonder. He has had this terrible illness, but he is full of hope. From all that he has told me it was a terrible experience, but he has now set up his Foundation to help other sufferers, and this is a great joy to him. He is an adorable person, and as he is still young, we all hope that he will make a new career now."
Carreras did indeed resume his career, gradually returning to the opera stage and the concert platform as well as to the recording studio. He now concentrates more on concerts and recitals and restricts his opera performances to one or two productions a year. His most recent role debut (Zurich, 1998) was in the title role of Wolf-Ferrari’s Sly. In 1999 at the Washington Opera, he again sang this role for the opera’s North American premiere. It was a performance that moved the Opera Now critic to write "His ardent infusion of grace and lyrical vitality was both poignant and powerful."
And of course, his Foundation has added a new dimension and purpose to his life. Many of the concerts and recitals that he now gives are benefits for the Jos?Carerras International Leukemia Foundation. The 1990 Three Tenors concert in Rome was originally conceived to raise money for this Foundation and as a way for Carreras’ colleagues, Placido Domingo and Luciano Pavarotti, to welcome their "little brother" back to the world of opera.
Carreras is now in his fifties. His voice is older and darker, but he still has the vital, vivid presence of the born communicator that Alan Blyth recognised over 25 years ago. For many people, the first time they ever saw or even heard of Jose Carreras was through one of the Three Tenor concerts. He perhaps remains the least well known of the three, or as one of the characters in the Seinfeld Show said, "Pavarotti, Domingo, and...you know...that other one." But those who have discovered "that other one" and have listened to his recorded legacy have also discovered one of the most beautiful voices of this century.
   11月30日 Die StachelschweineNoticed the author?
Arthur Schopenhauer...
Great German philosopher.
Very illuminating and interesting piece of work.
Very good point:
Human beings are indeed like hedgehogs. They are armed with stings, yet they want closeness to keep warm. Thus the dilemma.
 Die Stachelschweine Arthur Schopenhauer
Eine Gesellschaft von Stachelschweinen drängte sich an einem kalten Wintertage nahe zusammen, um einander vor dem Erfrieren zu schützen. Aber bald fühlten sie die gegenseitigen Stacheln; deshalb rücken sie wieder auseinander. Das widerholte sich: immer wenn sie zusammendrängten, um sich zu wärmen, taten ihnen die Stacheln der andreen weh. So wudren sie zwischen zwei Leiden—zwischen Kälte und Schmerz—hin-und hergeworfen. Das geschah oft, bis sie endlich eine mittlere Entfernung voneinander herausfanden, in der sie es am besten aushielten. So treibt das Bedüufnis nach Gesellschaft die Menschen zueinander, weil sie innerlich leer sind und mit sich selbst nichts anfangen können; aber ihre vielen unangenehmen Eigenschaften und unerträglichen Fehler Stoßen sie wieder voneinander ab. Die mittlere Entfernung voneinander, in der sie es miteinander am besten aushalten können, ist die Höflichkeit und gutes Benehmen. Bei dieser Distanz voneinander wird das Bedürfnis nach Erwärmung zwar nicht ganz befriedigt, aber der Stich der Stacheln wird auch nicht empfunden. Wer aber wiel eigene, innere Wärme hat, bleibt liever aus der Gesellschaft weg, denn dann ärgert er sich weder über andere, noch ärgern de sich über ihn.
11月24日 Herr Beethoven and II have not been on the best of terms with Herr Beethoven. But it is not, strictly speaking, entirely his own fault. When I was younger, I read a biography of his intended for children’s reading written by a SOB (do not ask me what this is short for. Nice girls are not supposed to know that.) In order to show what a real superior genius Beethoven is, this SOB used the technique called “contrast”. He used Mozart as Beethoven’s antagonist. Well, I can tolerate that. After all, whether he likes Mozart or not is his own matter of opinion, I cannot interfere with it. But this SOB wrote that Mozart was so impressed with Beethoven that he took him as his pupil. One day, Mozart let Beethoven finished writing half of the score for Don Giovanni. And Beethoven, a revolutionist, disgusted by Mozart’s aristocratic way of living, finally broke his tie with Mozart. None of those happened in history. Mozart only met with Beethoven once, predicted that “This boy would one day make himself known.” And that was the end of their intercourse. From then on, I am decidedly against Herr Beethoven, disliking anything he did, and refusing to listen to his music. I disliked his face, his personality, his words, and his music.
It was by accident a few days ago that I learnt that one particular piece of violin sonata (F Major, “Spring”) I liked was in fact composed by Beethoven. It was so sweet, so serene, and so full of hope and sunshine that I had always taken it for granted that it was done by my idol Mozart. I spent my whole day yesterday listening to Beethoven’s symphonies. They are great, especially the first movement of No. 6 and the fourth and fifth movement of No.9. Not as great as Mozart’s. But great all the same.
I declare: from now on I am going to listen to Beethoven. I will not, of course, be crazy about him as I do Mozart. I will not like his face, his personality, or his words. But his music, I will tolerate. 11月11日 Scattered ThoughtsMy! I have not been here for quite a while, have I? I remember there was a time when I could barely contain myself from coming up and report some trivial little thing every 4 hours. The problem with me now is not that my life has become humdrum and insignificant (at least it is not at all so to ME), but rather I seemed to have lost the power to put things to words this semester. My humor seems to have left me—if I have ever had any, that is. My eloquence—always rather superficial and feeble—gone—though hopefully not gone forever.
But let me not dwell on sad events, shall I? All will be well accordingly. I am sure of it. For these past few weeks I have been watching an early BBC comedy series: Blackadder, staring Rowen Atkinson, Tony Richardson, Hugh Laurie, Tim McInnerny, and Stepen Fry. It is absolutely hilarious! The first two episodes are, I grant, rather vulgar, but the third and the fourth (there are altogether 5 episoes, I have not got around to the fifth yet) are wickedly clever.
 Rowen Atkinson—known to many as silly, slightly selfish, but damnably lucky Mr. Bean—plays the title role Edmund Blackadder to perfection: witty, cunning, selfish, hateful, and adorable at the same time. He speaks in this series—and speaks a lot. Those that wonder how come the player of stupid Mr. Bean was graduated from Oxford will see the light from this performance. Hugh Laurie. I do not think I need to introduce him, do I? My, this guy is a genius! Eton and Cambridge graduate, punting athlete, pianist, singer, best-seller writer, wonderful actor. No wonder any one I have known that has watched him perform in one play or another falls for him. In this serious, he plays silly in this series. According to IMDB (the International Movie Data Base), Hugh Laurie frequently portraits “high-class but dim-witted British aristocrat”. Those who are used to see him as the brilliant and eccentric Dr. House are in for a shock to witness him clad in a ridiculously gaudy purple velvet suit playing Prince Regent George who, in the play, has got a brain ‘the size of a sultana”. (PS. I have not started watching House yet, but I think I definitely shall. Heard Hugh Laurie has put on a flawless American accent in that? No surprise. He is a genius!) Blackadder is a treat for the brain. Highly recommended.       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The problem with being a Gemini is that once a person who does not know you too well gets to the fact that you are born under that constellation, they immediately jump to the conclusion that you are a fickle person(You will be surprised at the number of people who still take stock in this astrology nonsense.) Yet however firm and faithful you believe yourself to be, hearing that comment too often makes you doubt your infidelity. Am I fickle? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Watched a documentary on Karl Böhm(my very favorite conductor) the other day. Dearest wish now? To own every recording of Mozart's work he conducted. Was forced to listen to Beethoven two weeks ago by music teacher. OK, I confess I rather liked the fourth movement of his Symphony No. 9—to be exact, the little piece before the chorus set in. I guess I will have to allow that Beethoven does have some brilliance in him. His four lieders (Adelaide, Lichthause, Ich Liebe Dich, and Einsame) are quite touching as well.
But I am not at all fickle on this matter. Mozart outshines Beethoven in every respect.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Found a very good German learning program: Deutsch, Warum Nicht? Hopefully it will make my German better. Borrowed the German Edition of Harry Potter IV. I can understand it. Surprise!  10月21日 Epiphyllum Oxypetalum Some people spent a lifetime wishing to catch a glimpse of this flower that only blooms in the dead of the night--and it seldom feels like opening up.
I stumbled upon this maginificent sight in Grandma's.
A once-in-a-life-time opportunity.
   9月30日 First Attempt at Translating German~When you get stuck on the Yangtze River Bridge, what would you do? I was dozing off, and all of a sudden,
Boom!
I was starting to translate German...not just German, but German POEMS!
Here is the fruit of my labor,
Judge for yourself :)
Heute, nur heute
Bin ich so schön
Morgen, ach morgen
Muss alles vergehn!
Nur diese Stunde
Bist du noch mein
Sterben, ach sterben
Soll ich allein
Today, just today
This beautiful am I
Tomorrow, by tomorrow
All will have gone by!
Only these hours,
Will you I own
Death, o death
I must bear thee alone
Und wenn sie wandelt
Am Hügel vorbei
Und denkt im Herzen
Er meint'es treu!
Dann, Blümlein alle
Heraus, heraus
Der Mai ist kommen
Der Winter ist aus!
And when on nearby hills
Wanders she
Thinking in her heart
He's been true to me!
Then all yee little flowers
Come on, come on
May has arrived
The winter gone!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Dutch Idyll
 A book describing the sort of life I wish to have eventually:
A house of one's own,
An enormous library stuffed with books,
A garden bursting with flowers,
A big window hugging the scenery outside,
A floating river,
A flock of sheep,
One or two horses,
Friendly neighbors,
Lots of free time and free cash~~
Wild animals hopping around,
And some one who understands you and gives you full support to everything you do.
9月22日 Come Hither, Come Hither, Come Hither! This is definitely the most light-toned of all Hardy's Wessex novels--unlike in Tess of d'Urbevilles, the hero and heroine gets married eventually, and, unlike in Far from the Madding Crowd, no one goes mad, kills, or gets killed in the course of the novel.
Being the first novel to earn Hardy fame and acceptance, Under the Greenwood Tree has its strengths although it lacks the depth and carefulness of its latter kins. The tongue is light and delightful, the plot not macabre, and the whole novel already smelling of the earthliness of country life so prominent in Hardy's great novels.
The book revolves around Hardy's usual theme: steady, earnest, and patient love VS. wild, fickle, and fragile passion (as seen in Tess, Far from the Madding Crowd, the Return of the Native, and A Pair of Blue Eyes). But some of the characters seem to be to have been painted rather weakly--like the parson, for example. Yet after all, this is Thomas Hardy's early work. We cannot expect him to have developed his master strokes already, or where can improvement and progress be?
I take great delight in the very opening of the first chapter. It shows how language can also paint and sing~
To dwellers in a wood almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature. At the passing of the breeze the fir-trees sob and moan no less distinctly than they rock; the holly whistles as it battles with itself; the ash hisses amid its quiverings; the beech rustles while its flat boughs rise and fall. And winter, which modifies the note of such trees as shed their leaves, does not destroy its individuality.
BTW, I wonder, had Hardy this poem by Shakespeare in mind when he was selecting the title for his novel?
As You Like It (Act II, Scene V):
Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Absolutely fantastic! The boy playing Pamina (the one on the farthest right) has such a voice! So pretty--both in his person (pretty boys all have a rather melancholy expression--that is, from what I observe--if you know what I mean, think of Heintje, Jean-Baptiste Maunier, Daniel Radcliff when he was younger, and even the boy in Mr. Bean's Holiday!) and his voice I mean. It seems quite effortless for him to sing those high scales. Mozart would be pleased.
:) Ludwig Mittelhammer -the boy who sings Pamina in the previous clip--is singing first boy(the one on the left) in this production. Beautiful voice again, and lovely outfit! (But this Pamina...looks rather...no wonder Tamino does not speak to her! The one in charge of designing the costume certainly ought to be hanged.)
Good effort! We will make a queen out of you yet! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BafcJ9OBNdM
This time the costume deserves two thumbs up! (Except that according to my understanding, these boys should be Egyptian...)
Mozart in Swedish? God help me~ 9月16日 Right Ho, JeevesGot any delicate problem to solve?
Want to make wonders out of an impossible situation?
Dream of accomplishing missions impossible?
Leave it to JEEVES!
Rest assured that Jeeves will always come to the rescue,
and don't you ever question his ability,
let alone trying to outwit him~
"Bertram Wooster's manservant, Jeeves, is renowned for his ability to apply his keen intellect to solve all problems domestic, and Bertie's friends and relatives flock to him for his counsel. But Wooster, jealous of Jeeves's fame, decides to step in and take over as the fixer of his pal's engagement, his aunt's gambling debts and old school-mate's desire to propose marriage. How far will Bertie sink them all in the soup? Will Jeeves come to the rescue? “Right Ho, Jeeves” features of course Bertie and Jeeves as well as Gussie Fink-Nottle, Tuppie Glossop, Aunt Dahlia and Anatole the high-strung French chef in this P.G. Wodehouse farce of England's upper crust. "
P.G.Wodehouse was appreciated for his humour--and rightly too. It is impossible to refrain from laughing out loud when reading his books--in my case, it is Right Ho, Jeeves--even if you are as serious as the golden mask of King Tut. A vault of jest and jokes lies behind the simple-structured sentences. It is a treat for the mind to enjoy his works.
Strongly recommended to those who wish to read literature--
and laugh a hearty laugh. 9月14日 Masks~DisguiseI do have a heart.
I do care.
I am stabbed.
I am pretending to be happy.
And hopefully,
I shall deceive myself into feeling that I am indeed happy,
so that eventually I can return to my blissfully happy state.
I can manage that.
I know.
I was not born to be stupid, quiet, or melancholy. 9月5日 BeowulfBeowulfAnonymous BEOWULF LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings Forth he fared at the fated moment, [1] Not, of course, Beowulf the Great, hero of the epic. [2] I Now Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings, [1] That is, "The Hart," or "Stag," so called from decorations in II WENT he forth to find at fall of night [1] The smaller buildings within the main enclosure but separate III THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene This heard in his home Hygelac's thane, [1] Ship. [2] That is, since Beowulf selected his ship and led 9月1日 My Most Wonderful Summer-ContinuedAugust 16th, 2007 A day full of surprises, pleasant ones. First was that my no-good-fun-making speech about how one could learn English well with apparently no effort at all had rather enthusiastic reception. I contribute this outcome to two causes: No.1, I was rather funnier than the others, both physically speaking and spiritually. No.2—and the most important reason—Olivia somehow let it slip that I had managed to win a couple of prizes. That made them think I had authority, I guess. Anyway, it cannot have been the merit of my speech, which was really no good at all. Our second pleasant surprise was that it turned out each three-teacher group would only have to tackle 6 students! This was something that an oral English teacher would die for: a small small class. And besides, 6 was just right number Rumpelstiltskin, the play I selected for them to rehearse. I AM A GENIUS! 40 or so students were gathered in one classroom waiting to be grouped and chosen. Our team—under my suggestion—decided to practice the ancient Chinese moral of letting the others choose first. And when there were only three groups left and everyone was beginning to act courteous, Jack and Tsong saved time and trouble by selection a group themselves: four boys and two girls. It turned out a most excellent and magical choice. After the first class, the other teachers complaint of their students’ shyness, reserve, and inability to speak full sentences. We had none of these problems. Our six pupils are active and cooperative. They all have comparatively good command of English. Only one boy—Vincent, we later named him, to his great delight—showed some hostility at first (or I might be wrong, I am not particularly good at reading stranger’s feelings). But when, in the afternoon, he was offered the part of the King in the play, he turned utterly charming and amiable, displaying great talent in acting. We asked them what they expected from us. They answered promptly: language games! Did they want any formal grammar instruction? None whatsoever! OK, suits me fine. I have no objection to that. Neither have Jack and Tsong—I think. The final surprise was that Jack, as it turned out, is a remarkably fine leader with a great sense of humor and a lot of energy. Jack, who has always been rather silent and dull in class and whom I have never associated with the word ‘sharp’ ‘humorous’ ‘open’ ‘skilled’ and ‘persuasive’! He has been in the same class with me for two entire semesters and until that day I have never discovered that part of him. I admit: I am an utter failure where judging and understanding people are concerned.
August 17th, 2007 Jack and Tsong decided to teach the students a song today. They rejected all my suggestion of nursery rhymes. “Too old fashioned and silly and difficult to command” they remarked. Hey! I managed to sing them rather charmingly at the age of 8 and still enjoy them a lot. But then, you cannot always have your own way when working in a team. Cooperation! Compromise! OK, I agreed to sit back and relax and let them handle the session. They had decided to teach the children Seasons in the Sun. Call that easy to handle! They soon discovered their mistake and compromised themselves by only asking the kids to sing the repetition part “We had joy/ We had fun/ We had seasons in the sun. But the hills that we climbed/ were just seasons out of time.” These children were a treasure. They sang the part with some melody of their own unintended invention. And personally, I think it as fine as, if not much better than, the original. We also played the game of ‘Find Who’ in our class today. Our goal was get them to ask questions using English. In order to promote their chances of hearing correctly sentenced answers, we mixed our likes and dislikes into the list. But they defeated their object by not communicating but trying to guess the answers. My! These kids (George in particular) do have uncanny power of observation, imagination and connection. One such question was that “who among us likes rose tea best”. Our George answered that it was Tsong without battling an eye. Right! But reason? “There is a rose on the front of your shirt.” Another question was that “who among us takes litchi as a favorite fruit”. George thought a minute and declared it to be Jack. Bingo! “However did you managed that?” we asked him in wonder and bewilderment. He smiled shyly and told us that Mr. Yang(杨天) shared surname with Lady Yang(杨贵妃). Poor Jack. I believe it was not until today that he realized he had such connection with so famous a person! We had our first read-through of Rumpelstiltskin today. To speak frankly, these poor children have horribly horrible pronunciation (Understand that I am not blaming them in the least. These are remarkably clever and good students. It is a pity they were not born in Nanjing. They could have entered NFLS and gotten their talent and potential trained and discovered properly). But I shall manage to change that. I shall. Another boy joined us in our class this afternoon. Perfect! Now we can have more people for the Chorus part of the play. We gave each student an English name. First we asked them to describe their character, likes and dislikes in English (you see, we do everything in our power to open their mouths to speak), then we decided on a name that closely resembled their traits, and asked how they liked the sound and shape of it. This way, we had Mary, who is kind, mild, very good at learning, and of course, good; Sophia, who is high spirited, eager to help, and witty; Steven, who is resourceful and clever; George, who is observant, humorous, diligent, and rather poetic; Vincent, who is quite romantic deep down at heart I think; Jimmy, who is utterly funny and cute; and Henry, who is wittily humorous and works hard towards his dream of entering Peking University. I had a nice walk around their beautifully furnished playground after supper. I love walking, seeing children having fun with ball games, listening to Mozart’s symphonies, and letting my mind wonder free. O, and today is also Sam’s 19th birthday. What a great pity that I had neither his cell phone number nor access to Internet to wish him a very happy birthday. Well, happy birthday anyway, Sam. May you have all the joy and fortune there is to have! —Sincerely yours, Chen Xing
August 18th, 2007 Nothing too particular happened today. Teaching and having fun and continuing to fall in love with my friends and my pupils as usual. We have decided to join our class with that of Pear and Olivia’s from 10:00—11:00 on the following morning. We are to teach them to sing Silent Night together; and I am to tell them how to properly pronounce stop sounds (t, k, and p) using this song (an ingenious way of teaching this my ingenious Mama has always used and one that I am to borrow). Then if time allows, we will have a couple of rounds of language games. The two boys were not too familiar with the song. So I undertook to teach them. Here’s the problem: my voice is half an octave higher than theirs. Jack tried to beat me by singing tenor…no, he actually tried to sing soprano. Pity I had not recorded that. It would stun the whole English Department--well, at least all the girls in the English department—to see that Jack can be not serious at all. Pear mocked my by singing in his ‘baritone’ voice. It was hilarious. I do have a video clip of it this time to share with you. I have already got the name for it! Pearzlich~(Sorry Fritz, no offence meant.) I quite anticipate tomorrow. It should turn out to be great fun.
~To be Continued~ 8月28日 My days in SihongFirst, some announcements~ 1. I am uploading some short video clips of these ten days to the following site: http://tv.mofile.com/.( Search by author: amadeussalzburg and you’ll see the files.) They are quite short, and awfully funny and enjoyable to watch—hopefully. 2. I do have a full version of the play we performed, plus some clips of the other groups’ hilarious acting. But instead of using the camera, I used a DV, the result of which is that all my files are too large to be uploaded to the site. I am still trying to figure out ways to put them up. I am fairly confident that I shall manage that. Just please be patient. 3. I shall not mention the school’s name too often in my writings as it is awkward using pinying. Those of you who might have fortitude enough to finish this novel of an article, bear in mind that the 40 of us were stationed in two different middle schools: 江苏省淮北中学&泗洪实验中学; that the student quality of the former was way ahead of the latter; and that most of the funny things I am going to talk about took place at the former, for I was stationed there. 4. To Jack, Pear, and Olivia: OK, I know some of your guys probably wouldn’t even come to my space, but I am telling anyway: I will give the pictures taken during this trip to you by burning three sets of DVDs. You shall have them on the 3rd of September—that is, if I manage to get up and go to school :)
OK, secondly, accounts of my happy ten days at Sihong~ If you have seen the recording of my National Contest prepared speech, you would probably remember that I told the story about how I was dragged into becoming a voluntary teacher and my willingness and determination to volunteer for the next possible program. Well, such a chance came during this summer holiday, and I VOLUNTEERED, as I had promised. But, to be frank, I did not expect it to be such great fun. I knew that I would like my students and that I would do everything in my power to enlighten their minds on the subject of English. I knew that I would be in the company of my classmates—at least I wouldn’t have to travel alone and be alone like I always was forced to this time. Besides that I did not expect much. But there is an old saying: happiness comes when you least expect it. It is most true.
August 15, 2007 Today we set out on our journey of turning on the role of teachers. The bus would leave for the other campus at eight in the morning. I was fairly excited and had a restless night the previous day. I was rather eager to see my classmates. I had never realized that I would actually miss some of them during the vacation. OK, to owe the truth, there is one particular person that adds to my desire of seeing my classmates again. But that was not the only reason why I was so excited. Just think: Chen Xing the teacher; Chen Xing the preacher; Chen Xing the English learning ambassador; Chen Xing…the life savior perhaps? How could anyone not be excited visualizing such bright prospect? I had to get up at 6 in order to get to the hotel in time to collect the three Japanese friends. They will spend the ten days with us as teachers in Sihong. I had been with them once when I picked them up at the airport. Frankly, I was not happy at the prospect of having to put up with them at that time. I was not happy having to waste one of my precious vacation days traveling all the way to the airport to collect them. I was not happy knowing that they would live in the hotel registering under my name. I was not happy seeing that I had to collect them on the day we leave for Sihong. Yes, I had harbored some hostility towards them, for, well, I am a Chinese and they are Japanese. But after 5 minutes’ conversation with them on the car, I was ashamed of my original idea. They are among the most beautifully-behaved and friendly people in my acquaintance, so considerate, so polite, so eager to please and be pleased, and so sunny. It was then and there in the car back from the airport that I realized the difference between the Japanese government and the majority of Japanese people. It was then that I understood why our country encouraged communication and friendly intercourse between the people of the two countries. You cannot really know a capitalism country by observing its government. Sorry that I am sounding so very political here, but it is the truth. I seemed to have wondered off into another subject…where was I…O, yes, after picking them up, I reached the place where we were to aboard the bus. I met Tsong and we had a good time exchanging our summer experiences. The bus came on time. We set out on time. But we stuck on the Yangtze River Bridge. It was on the bridge that I understood that my friends from the other campus wouldn’t be traveling with us on this bus. They would go separately on another one. So much for wishing to see one particular person…It seemed to be a most ominous and odious start for me. But I was to be proved utterly wrong. It turned out that the other bus was waiting for us at Pukou. After a short delay during which we fetched our ‘team uniforms’, we really set out on our journey. The two buses were traveling almost shoulder to shoulder. We could wave and make sign language to each other through the window. It was good fun trying to interpret what the others were trying to refer to. Tsong was better at the game than I was. I had no idea what Pear meant by pointing constantly to his head and laughing at me. Tsong very smartly pointed out that he was commenting on my new hairdo. OK, she was right. But I still did not see the one I wished to see. I gave up. I gave up. After a four-hour smooth-but-not-unmixed-with-a-few-bumpy-rides journey, we reached Sihong at half past twelve. I did not really know my feeling when I first saw the school where we were to stay except that it looked far better than my NFLS, and that my stomach was aching with hunger. We were shown into our dormitory. To my utter dismay it consisted only of six double-decker beds. There was not even a desk. I had planned to spend all my free time writing a novel of a letter to Jessica. I abandoned the idea then and there. Again, it was turned out no great sacrifice after all. You shall see. Though the room was rather shabby in its facilities, I must do it justice by saying that it was a thousand times cleaner than mine. I am not exaggerating. The real problem was not with the dorm itself, but that we did not have a place to take showers. We were to spend the next ten days contenting ourselves by rubbing ourselves clean. For me it was no big deal. At home I am notorious for my disregard for utter cleanliness. But my other 11 female companions had a tough time of it.
After we had settled down and had our very late lunch, I went out to inspect the grounds. It was fairly delightful, with picturesque sceneries here and there: a small pond with water lilies blooming and litter red dots of fish gliding; an old tree that bend and twisted towards the sky; a large and empty playground that enabled me to continue my daily walk; and very very magnificent and modern teaching buildings, much grander that the new teaching buildings in Nanjing Foreign Language School, let alone that of Nanjing University. But everything is not what it seemed in Sihong. Wait till I tell you how. I returned satisfied with my inspection and yawning violently. I was desiring the softness of my pillow and looking forward to a long and comfortable nap. But nope, the boys decided that they wanted to inspect the vicinity. Eager to grab every chance to communicate with my future colleagues, I went. Sihong, to speak partially, does not seem a desperately poor place. It is much larger and fancier than my hometown Lishui, a little county outside Nanjing. It has got all the necessary shops and newly-built stadium. And there is more, as we would find out later. In short we had a good time walking. But as everyone was not yet too well-acquainted with one another (don’t be surprised, though we’ve been classmates for a year now, most of us were nearly nodding acquaintances before this program), the conversation was restrained and courteous—at least it was so on my part. I do not easily get along with people, but when I do…you can figure that out from the photos. We prepared lessons together that evening. Jack was a darling: he brought a computer—both Tsong and I were too lazy to do so. I returned to the dormitory (my dorm mates consisted of the two Japanese girls, Mary from Class A, Olivia from Class B, and Tsong) , eager to start the next day. Although very much fatigued by the activities of the day, I spent yet another rather sleepless night. This time not because I was excited, but because there was a bee buzzing in the dorm the whole night through… Well, let’s see what happens the next day…after all, tomorrow is another day!
~To be continued~
8月13日 Bye for Now! OK guys, CX shall be off in two days' time.
Since I doubt there will be access to Internet in where I was going, you won't be hearing from me for a couple of days. I might as well say the things I wish to be said here in advance.
To Miranda: Bon Voyage! Have a nice journey to the US. Have a successful term. May you make lots and lots of new friends as you no doubt shall. And take lots and lots of pictures!
To Lion Mine: Enjoy your trip to HK. Don't just spend 10 yuan there like I did...
To Sam: Although in every probability you would not even come here, still, happy 19th birthday in advance to you!
To Brother Felix: Have I offended you by my damn curiosity? Have I poked my nose into things that I had much better have kept off? If I have, will you accept my most sincere apologies? I am sorry. Please forgive me.
Well, that's about all.
Of course, those who might really have urgent business to converse with me can always reach me on my mobile. But as I shall be teaching most of the time, no speedy answer guaranteed!
Wish me luck!
Au revoir~
Love,
Amadeus
8月12日 Monty Python's Flying Circus'This parrot is no more. It has ceased to be. It's expired and gone to meet its maker. This is a late parrot. It's a stiff. Bereft of life, it rests in peace. If you hadn't nailed it to the perch, it would be pushing up the daisies. It's rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. This is an ex-parrot.' Papa, Mama, and I laughed a solid 5 minutes at the above quoted paragraph. 8月10日 Ugh~Went to the doctor's today.
Didn't seem to want to let me off.
Prescribed as usual.
My poor tongue. 8月7日 Why?Why did God have to snatch Mozart away at the prime of his life?
Why did Fritz Wunderlich loosen his shoe-lace on that fatal night?
Why do truly excellent composers never live to be 40?
Why are some people so irresponsible?
Why do some people never keep their word?
Why do some people never take heed of deadlines and tasks?
Why are some people always the ones that take on the burden?
Why is modern literature so difficult to swallow?
Why is modern music such a pain to my ears?
Why is modern art so confoundedly confusing?
Why is modern movie so trashy day by day?
Why is everybody busy even during the summer holidays?
Why do some people simply vanish out of thin air?
Why does it always take more than half an hour for someone to answer my short messages?
Why am I the only one among my acquaintances that have to take bitter Chinese medicine everyday?
Why am I the only girl that is plain and chubby in the English department?
Why don't I have a beautiful soprano voice so that I can sing Mozart?
Why am I such a favorite dish to mosquitos?
Why am I living in such a suffocatingly hot city as Nanjing?
Why isn't there any one named FREDERICK in my acquaintance?
Why are all my idols dead already?
Why do I not infrequently feel a partiality for people who are actually no good at all?
Why am I not gifted in Math or music?
Why do I have so many whys? |
|
|
