part parcel
I've felt caged by the cutesiness of persona on this blog partly because this is such a limited forum. So is anything else, but the blog is at once personal and (ostensibly) public, and thus, there is a scrim of discrimination. I resolutely decided I wasn't going to splash Sunday's wash all over these somewhat nonexistent pages, but sometimes one does not want to write about another funny, fuzzy moment in life, even if there is, thankfully, a steady stream of them.
Well, in other news, I finally received my buckets of books from that crazed hour in Shanghai's largest commercial library. I cut out some huge pink stamps of Deng Xiaoping and a curious one depicting Switzerland, of all postcards. Upon closer scrutiny of the tiny lettering, it was "commemorating Sino-Swiss cooperation". The books themselves are a happy assortment of late imperial folk classics, not too pretentious and reasonably printed in reader-friendly manner. There are also poetry standby's throughout the ages, with complete Tang, Song, and Yuan collections of 300 each. There is, mysteriously, just volume 1 of Li Bo's complete works. Did I forget to check that there was only one volume or is the other one traveling out there in some vestigial pipe of the universal postal system?
There is also a knitting book that shows one how to make adorable crafty handbags, though flipping through it, I could only think of how my gigantic wallet would tear and sink those dainties with its scarlet distension.
I should run to school (quite literally) and rescue the Pink Panther from another night in the parking lot. It is perfectly safe, but I don't particularly want to scramble for the bus in the morn. It comes so seldom and half-winked on the schedule. It's good to have the Panther at home. Those couple of days riding that fancy "20 years of innovation since your bike" rental were fine, though at first I felt quashed between the handle bars RIGHT THERE and the downward-dipping seat. It was a foreign experience. But then I got used to it and the non-sweat-involving trek up the hills back home due to the easily efficient gears. However, I did miss the tallness and largesse of my pink first real bike. (That aqua boy's bike in Holland was really my mothers, from the 80's, though it was perfectly nice.) When I turned in the thoroughbred rental and recovered my heavy metal love, however, I realised just how LONG its body was: getting back on it, I felt miles away from the steering and the arms fully extended to cover the distance were ambassadors to another place, another time.
And in other news, which started this post, it seems my love no longer likes me very much. It's understandable, in the light of all things, and yet... And yet the season continues to fail and sun grow short and all those things that point to the stop, before everything begins again.
At least, I can plan my murder mystery dinner party now that I've got the story and plot figured out. O how I'd like to play Agatha Christie! And put my flapper dress to use with jet and pearl strands...
Well, in other news, I finally received my buckets of books from that crazed hour in Shanghai's largest commercial library. I cut out some huge pink stamps of Deng Xiaoping and a curious one depicting Switzerland, of all postcards. Upon closer scrutiny of the tiny lettering, it was "commemorating Sino-Swiss cooperation". The books themselves are a happy assortment of late imperial folk classics, not too pretentious and reasonably printed in reader-friendly manner. There are also poetry standby's throughout the ages, with complete Tang, Song, and Yuan collections of 300 each. There is, mysteriously, just volume 1 of Li Bo's complete works. Did I forget to check that there was only one volume or is the other one traveling out there in some vestigial pipe of the universal postal system?
There is also a knitting book that shows one how to make adorable crafty handbags, though flipping through it, I could only think of how my gigantic wallet would tear and sink those dainties with its scarlet distension.
I should run to school (quite literally) and rescue the Pink Panther from another night in the parking lot. It is perfectly safe, but I don't particularly want to scramble for the bus in the morn. It comes so seldom and half-winked on the schedule. It's good to have the Panther at home. Those couple of days riding that fancy "20 years of innovation since your bike" rental were fine, though at first I felt quashed between the handle bars RIGHT THERE and the downward-dipping seat. It was a foreign experience. But then I got used to it and the non-sweat-involving trek up the hills back home due to the easily efficient gears. However, I did miss the tallness and largesse of my pink first real bike. (That aqua boy's bike in Holland was really my mothers, from the 80's, though it was perfectly nice.) When I turned in the thoroughbred rental and recovered my heavy metal love, however, I realised just how LONG its body was: getting back on it, I felt miles away from the steering and the arms fully extended to cover the distance were ambassadors to another place, another time.
And in other news, which started this post, it seems my love no longer likes me very much. It's understandable, in the light of all things, and yet... And yet the season continues to fail and sun grow short and all those things that point to the stop, before everything begins again.
At least, I can plan my murder mystery dinner party now that I've got the story and plot figured out. O how I'd like to play Agatha Christie! And put my flapper dress to use with jet and pearl strands...
posted by greenyew at 4:43 PM
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