Ronnie's views

The Lyttelton Hart-Davis Letters

2007-10-29T07:51:00.000+08:00

Recently I ordered 3 books from Amazon's used book market: The Lyttelton Hart-Davis Letters. They came into 3 volumes: from 1955-57, 58-59, and 60-62. It was quite a chance event that I came to know about them.

To be honest, I had always thought that reading others' letters wouldn't add too much to one's intellect. The other day I was reading the Daily Telegraph, one of the columnists there was lamenting that nowadays, pupils have lost their interest, and ability, to write decent English. The now generation can only type text messages, using acronyms, weird short-forms consisting of symbols and completely lacking style. He was very concerned that the art of writing is fading fast among the now generation, and that it seems nobody is willing to write letters anymore. At the end of his essay, he recalled how much he enjoyed the writing style of Evelyn Waugh's letters in the book The Letters of Evelyn Waugh, saying that it's an absolute joy to read; and in passing he also mentioned the Lyttelton Hart-Davis Letters, which the columnist considered the only possible collection of personal correspondence that ever got printed in 3 volumes.

I was intrigued and thus I searched on the Amazon.co booklist. Surprise, surprise. There were some second-hand books available at incredibly low prices. The books were in very good condition, and in fact, the prices were even cheaper than the post & postage!

So here they are: 3 chunky volumes of the Lyttelton Hart-Davis Letters and a comparble volume of Evelyn Waugh's letters. I would have a lot of reading materials before I go to bed every night from now on.

P.S. I only came to know recently that "Evelyn" could be a male's name! How naiive I'd been!

1089 and all that

2007-05-28T22:11:00.000+08:00

Talking about " π ", I just finished reading a small book "1089 and all that" by David Acheson, Jesus College, Oxford (First published in 2002, reprinted 2003, 2004, 2005, and 2006). It is a very interesting small book on Mathematics that brings readers into a journey of the wonders of Mathematics, or numbers, in laymen's terms.

I've always been fascinated by the magical number "e", which equals to 2.718... and I notice its omnipresence in the natural world, as well as in the realm of Accounting and Finance. What this book talks about is that, it links up "e" ," π ", and the imaginary number "i" (which equals to square root "-1"), the three most inexplicable figures; and demonstrates that a relationship amongst them exists:

e ^(i π) = -1

How fascinating!

I got the feeling that it seems to have an anology to the empty hole which is present in our Chinese Tai Chi symbol in the reverse colour!

Birthday of π

2007-03-14T23:52:00.000+08:00

I almost forgot -- today's the birthday of π -- 3.14.

Maybe I should consider eating a pie (π) to celebrate? Haha!

Politics in moving places

2007-03-14T23:22:00.000+08:00

Our department is finally going to move from the present, old, listed building on Southpark Avenue to the Main Building of the university. I haven't been to the new office to take a look yet. But I'm sure that the new office would not be as nice as my current one.

All the department staff have been busy packing their belongings. Though we were advised by Veda, the deparmental secretary, that staff from the moving company will help us pack our stuff (in case we overpack the cartons and make them too heavy to move at all), most of us would like to pack things up ourselves. The other day I went to Greg's room and found him in a T-shirt, already half-way finished in packing his books, files, journals, and mountains of sheets of papers into cartons. I have never seen his room so tidy before! He told me that he had been in the same room for 22 years. Blimey! "It's time to have a change now," I said to him.

Moving offices could have revealed a lot of politics. Who's going to sit with whom, and how big the room is, or even on which floor... etc., all of them can tell a lot about one's standing within an organisation. Greg told me that he wasn't too happy about his new room. By the location and the size of his new room, he felt being 'marginalized' and he knew it. Oh, tell me about it!

It's this kind of office politics that I dislike most. Sometimes, I wonder why people are so obsessed with power rather than brains, or with authority rather than knowledge. What kind of pleasure does it offer to an individual when he exercises some authority over others, when that kind of authority derives only from his rank/position in the workplace instead of his true self? If that individual holds his office no more, would others still take him seriously then? Would others still respect him anymore?

People come to workplace to work for a common goal. To achieve that goal effectively, members of the same workplace need to be organised. So some may become leaders, others followers. But that doesn't necessarily mean that the followers would have to remain followers all over their lives. In many situations, the group leaders can be, and are proven to be, inferior to their own members in many aspects other than the sole function in the workplace. So why the need to lord others over?

As AM wrote in her blog (it's a pity that she writes no more -- hope it's not due to illness or other mishaps?), why not let go of oneself?

Haven't they learned anything after all these years?

Another way to look at your mishap

2007-02-25T07:12:00.000+08:00

In 2007, the US country music singer Dolly Parton turns 61.

I had seen several of her movies. Her squeaky voice, golden hair (a wig), and -- of course, one couldn't possibly overlook it -- her shape of body are almost her trademarks.

She grew up in a poor and ragged family of 12 children living in a single-room shack in Tennessee, and had always wanted to look pretty. She admitted putting on heavy make-up even at home because "I never know who is going to come by, but I don't want to look like a slouch for my husband either."

People tend to judge her by her look. In fact, Dolly has more than what meets the eyes. Her song writing skills and singing had turned into a business worth millions of dollars. She even sets up her own Dollywood theme park in Nashville, the Mecca for Western country music. More than that, she sets up a charity body, Dollywood Foundation, which funds scholarships for poor students in her state. The Foundation also provides every child in the state with a new book until the age of five -- every month. Unable to have children herself, she is quite an extraordinary matriarch in raising 5 of her siblings and supporting 100 relatives with her wealth.

"Well, I try to be sharing and giving. They can have half of everything I got, I'm there for them. I think, God didn't let me have children, so everybody's children could be mine."

What an exceptional view on a mishap from an exceptional woman! She had received no higher education, and yet she has a bigger heart than any of the business tycoons in Hong Kong. May God keep on gracing her with blessings.

Quotes from Private Eye

2007-02-03T23:11:00.000+08:00

I couldn't help quoting funny mocking stories from Private Eye:

------

ONLY IN THE EYE

'Latin For Beginners'
by Harry Mountainofcash

Chapter 1: Conjugating Verbs (present tense)

Tesco = I build a superstore
Tescas = You go shopping there
Tescat = He closes down his local shop
Tescamus = We make even more money
Tescatis = You feel guilty about it
Tescant = They can't stop us

-------

Hahahaha!

The irony of Private Eye

2007-02-03T22:03:00.000+08:00

I went to Tesco yesterday and bought a copy of 'Private Eye' (issue 1177, 2 Feb - 15 Feb) off the shelf.

This is my first time I've ever bought it. What attracted me to spend a quid and 40p for it was its cover. It featured Tony Blair and John Reid who laughed heartily together as if they were sharing a joke.

In the text messages, Blair says:
"You can't send me to prison."
[Due to the cash-for-honour scandal, Blair had been interviewed by the police twice about his involvment of the scandal]

"Because they are full," replies John Reid, the Home Secretary.
[Reid had been criticised for not putting criminals behind bars because the prisons were already full. He had instructed the judges to sentence only the most dangerous criminals to jail.]

This is truly British humour: there's always certain degree of truth in the statement that makes the victims hard to defend. Here's another good example:

Channel 4 has been under fire from the outraged TV audience that some racist remarks against the Indians were allowed to be aired on the real-life show "Big Brother" -- named after George Orwell's well-known phrase "Big Brother is watching you" in his book 1984. Because of such racist remarks, the principal sponsor of the TV programme suspended its financial support at once. In addition, there was an outcry from the Indian sector who threatened to boycott Channel 4. Some even demanded the TV station fire the directors and top management who were responsible for such racist remarks.

In Private Eye, there was a small announcement like this:

------
A Pompous Statement from Channel Four

Channel Four is firmly against the bullying of minority groups and deplores any attempt to incite hatred against any person on the grounds of who they are or where they come from; particularly if the victims of this bullying are directors of national boradcasting companies.

These people have an absolute right not to be abused merely because they work for Channel Four and because they happen to belong to a small group of individuals who believe that Big Brother should continue to be shown on national television.

We believe that using insulting or pejorative language to describe Channel Four directors is unacceptable, particularly phrases such as 'cynical, greedy tossers' or 'cowardly, self-serving hypocrites'.

Worst of all is the intimidatory call for Channel Four directors to "Go home and get someone decent to run the Channel". Such remarks are merely the result of the kind of ignorance and stupidity that are all too prevalent in a society which has been reduced to watching Big Brother.

Channel Poor
------

Ha ha! I guess I'd become a long-time subscriber of Private Eye soon!

The way to get your advice heeded

2007-01-31T22:53:00.000+08:00

I went to the dental hospital this morning. Since Maz is gone now, I was under the impression that this appointment was with the oral hygienist that he had booked for me before he moved to Sheffield. To my surprise, it's another dental student.

Even more surprising was that this dental student was a Chinese Malaysian. She had a round, chubby face, and wore that distinctive Malaysian/Singaporean accent.

She started the normal procedure all over again, charting my teeth with the assistance of a proper dental nurse. I was lying on the dental chair, half apprehensive and half suspicious as I wasn't sure she was a dental student or an oral hygienist student.

And because she forgot to wear a mask, I was able to see her full face (but upside down). She had a full-moon face, an immaculate facial texture (while mine is like the surface of the moon) and she was not wearing any glasses at all. I could see her deep brown iris when she was looking deep into my mouth. But as the entire image was upside down, I could not form a mental picture to tell whether she looked pretty or not.

Well, all I could observe was that her teeth were for sure much better healthy than mine.

"Measles..., bucket..., gingivitis..., upper left 6; bucket..., no.7..." She kept murmuring to the dental nurse as she was charting my teeth.

I was appalled by the grave condition of my teeth.

"How could such a pretty face like hers utter such horrible words like these?" I kept wondering. Also I wondered which year of her study she was in, as apparently she forgot to put on any protective glasses, nor did she ask me to put mine on.

Anyway, after the charting, she summed up with the conclusion: "You've got pockets all over your teeth. You'd better brush your teeth more thoroughly."

"But I always do," I protested.

"Probably not the right way," said she.

She showed me how I should use the toothbrush properly as if I'd never learned to use it before. "Press the head of your toothbrush firmly towards the gum line. Let it reach into the pockets to brush away the plaque hidden there." She even demonstrated to me the proper way to use the floss. Then she asked her supervisor to come over and presented me to him.

The supervisor was a 50ish year-old gentleman. He listened attentively first to the dental student's presentation, and then carried out an inspection into my mouth himself. He then demonstrated how to offer advice in a professional manner to the patient so that the advice could sink in more easily:

"Suppose I have some problems in playing golf. I could hardly hit the ball at all. I asked my coach for help. My coach came to observe my grip, my posture, my stance, my swing...etc. And he noticed I had committed 5 mistakes.

He wouldn't spell out 5 mistakes all at once, because he knew that I could only rectify one at a time, or 2 at best. Instead, he'd concentrate on the most serious error that I made so that I could improve my results drastically. After I'd made some progress, he'd then address the rest one by one.

If you want your patient to take on board what you have to offer him, you'd concentrate on the most serious problem first. Let the advice sink in. And wait for the improvements. Then you address the others. There, you could achieve the desirable effect and be able to gain your patient's confidence in you."

How marvelous an advice it was for every consultant!

As I was lying on the dentist chair, I could feel the teaching going in between a superb teacher and his student. Not only did the student benefit from such teaching, I as a patient also had an eye-opening experience unfolding right in front of my eyes.

What a job well done, professor!

Ronnie
31/1/2007

Love songs at Burns Supper

2007-01-28T21:55:00.000+08:00

Last Friday evening (January 26th), I was invited to attend another Burns Supper at St. Simon's church. It was the second Burns Supper that I attended within a week, but neither of the two fell on the official date for Burns Supper (which should be January 25th every year).

Though we didn't have live bagpipe music at the entry of the Haggis, there was a recorded piece of such music. As usual, there were some traditional Scottish songs during the supper. I don't know whether these songs were composed by Robert Burns, but I do know that they are very touching in their simplicity. Here are two of them:

Red, Red Rose

O, my luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June,
O, my luve's like a melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair as thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I,
And I will luve thee still, my dear
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear.
Till a' the seas gang dry.
And I will luve thee still, my dear
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun.
O! I will luve thee still, my dear
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!

Tho' it were ten thousand mile, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile, my luve,
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

The Banks o'Doon

Ye banks and braes o'Bonnie Doon
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds?
And I sae weary, fu' o' care!

Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering throne,
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed never to return.

Aft hae I rov'd by Bonnie Doon
To see the rose and woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
As fondly sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lichtsom heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree!
And my fause lover staw my rose,
But ah! He left the thorn wi' me.

A close friend's leaving

2007-01-20T19:41:00.000+08:00

After the Burns Supper last night, with the tunes of Auld Lang Syne still ringing in my ears, I saw Masood off this morning.

He's my flatmate at Cooperage Place. The eldest son of an Iranian physician, Mas has been studying dentistry for 3 years at Glasgow. I guess he doesn't like here too much, as he had told me he was quite satisfied with the curriculum here. And after Christmas he told me he had applied for a transfer of study to Sheffield. I was a bit surprised, as I thought that was a bit too remote. He told me that Sheffield is closer to his home at Doncaster, and he could see his family, and his girl friend Victoria, more often. Moreover, Sheffied is glad to take him on, although this is already the second week into the second semester.

Mas had his car fully filled with his stuff. I saw him dismantle his bicycle, which had already taken up almost the entire back seat of his red sedan. The trunk was full of his dentistry textbooks, cookery items, TV set and clothings. On his passenger seat, there were so many other miscellaneous stuff that it reminded me of the trip that I took at Lancaster when I joined another flatmate to visit Paul, yet another Lancaster flatmate from Liverpool, after the term end. The car was full of our stuffs and it was so heavily loaded that it could only run at an agonizing speed on M6. We were soon stopped by a traffic policeman. I guessed he either suspected that we were thugs having stolen a full carload of booty, or he was very annoyed at our slow speed on a highway. I could still remember my flatmate driver (eeeek! I forgot his name now) explaining to the Boby:

"Well, officer, I'm just a poor student and this is a used car. It isn't a Ferrari and is carrying two adult students' stuff. It can't run fast and if we can arrive Liverpool safely before sunset that's already a blessing for us. "

As Mas had finished filling his stuffs in, I asked him to take a photo with me in front of the gate. He gladly agreed. And I got the moment freezed in my digital camera. When I watched the photo on my laptop later on, I realised a good friend of mine was leaving here but I looked forward to seeing a successful Midland dentist in years further down the road.

Burns supper

2007-01-20T10:06:00.000+08:00

Tonight I went to the Burns Supper held at Turnbull Hall, the Catholic Chaplaincy of my university. It was the first time I attended the Burns Supper, though it's been the third year I've come to learn about it in Scotland. I vaguely know that there's a specialty food -- the Haggis -- to be served in such supper, which Graeme, my former Scottish flatmate at Kelvinhaugh Gate, had introduced to me long time ago.

I wasn't all that fancied about Haggis. It's made of lamb's intestine, mixed with onions and to be served with mashed potato and turnip. But it's a specialty food only availabe during Burns Supper night, so I decided to give a try and buy the dinner ticket for 5 quid. Turning up at the Chaplincy centre at about 7:30 pm, I at once regretted my decision -- it was a rather formal dinner with all tables set, fully decorated with candles and flowers and I was probably the only guy that was in the wrong dress code, wearing jeans and trainers rather than shirts, tie, or kilts. The worst thing was: I knew nobody there.

I had expected to meet some international students, probably some from Hong Kong, Taiwan, mainland China; maybe some ethnic Chinese from Singapore, Malaysia; or even some Koreans or Japanese students. I was utterly disappointed. I was the only Asian face there.

The thought of leaving, after taking a glass of sherry at the reception bar, had crossed my mind. I had been in such an awkward situation before, knowing nobody in a social environment and tried to mingle with many a foreigners who didn't seem to care to notice a Chinese face on the outskirts of their social circles.

While I was pondering when to take my leave, a staff at the Chaplaincy Centre approached me. "Are you expecting somebody in particular or are you just looking for a seat at a table?" he asked.
"Well, I was wondering whether there's a chance I could take a seat somewhere..." I muddled through some impromptu excuses, trying to hide my uneasiness.
"You're welcome to take a seat anywhere except the head table. If you're just by your self, you could say join that table with those two gentlemen there. " The staff pointed at a table at the far end of the dining hall. "All the seats there are all available."
"Thank you," I looked at the two guests there. They were about fiftyish. One of them was wearing a kilt. They seemed to be knowing each other well and were engaged in a deep conversation.

I mustered enough courage to walk up to them, with my glass of sherry in hand. "Excuse me, is this seat taken?" I asked the old gentleman in kilt, who was sitting at the long end of the table.

"No, " said he. "Please take a seat."
So I joined in, decided to intrude into their social circle.
This old gentleman's accent was rather easy to catch, but his friend 's-- who's sitting across the table -- was unbearable. I could hardly understand 1/3 of what he said all over the meal.

Anyway, I was determined to enjoy the supper no matter what happened. Afterall, I'd paid 5 quid and I surely felt as an equal as any one of them.

The Burns Supper usually followed a specific programme. First of all, there would be a windpiper playing Scottish tunes accompanying the entry of the Haggis, which was followed by a recital of a poem written by Robert Burns in praise of the Haggis. During the entire course of the supper, there were songs, poem recitals, speeches and toasts to the lads and lassies. The speeches had to be in praise of the opposite sex by each of the male and female presenters, but were also required to be a bit ironical. I quite liked the lad's speech which included some ironies about the gentle sex:

Q: Why has the computer got to be female?
A: Because after you've got one, the next minute you'd realise there's a more seductive and highly desirable one becoming available.
A: You can never understand how their internal thinking logic works and yet they can communicate with each other trouble-free.
A: Once you have got one at home, you'd incur ten times as much expenses in the accessories.

The music group played some songs, and a recital of Robert Burns's poems followed. Again some Scottish songs were played, some of them were related to Bonnie Charlie, the beloved Scottish King who almost dethroned the English monarchy.

At the end of the supper, all the guests joined hand in hand in a circle and sang this famous song by Robert Burns, the Auld Lang Syne:

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne?

(Chorus)

For auld lang syne my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne. "

I could remember the first verse and the chorus alright, but the other verses escaped my memory. Fortunately, the organiser had provided lyrics on each table so I could barely followed with the other 3 verses:

" We twa ha'e run aboot the braes,
And pou'd the gowans fine.
But we've wander'd monie a weary fit,
Sin' auld lang syne.

We twa ha'e paidl'd in the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine.
But seas between us braid ha'e roar'd,
Sin' auld lang syne.

And here's a hand my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o' thine.
And we'll tak' a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne."

This is truly a universal song, the melody simple but memorable, the mood highly touching. As all the dinner participants sang along, all of us crossed arms in a chain and we stepped forward and backward in unison. One could feel the friendship flowing from one's hand to another's and the bonding was so palpable that one could hardly wish to break the chain. Of course, if your neighbours are some handsome lassies, it would be the last thing on earth to let go your grip and you surely treasure every minute of it!

A close encounter with a cellist

2006-12-08T09:00:00.000+08:00

Out of so many musical instruments, the sound of the cello resembles most of a human's voice, people say. Tonight, I was very fortunate to have a close encounter with a young cellist, whose skills on the cello more than convinced me of the truth of the beginning statement.

I went to attend the Royal Scottish National Orchestra this evening at the Royal Concert Hall. I wasn't prepared to be able to sit so close to the musicians -- it was the 3rd row and right in the middle at the front. The RSNO played 2 concertos: the cello concerto Op85 in E minor by Edward Elgar (1857-1934), and the symphony No.4 (a.k.a. The Inextinguishable) by Carl Nielsen (1865-1931). The conductor was James Lowe, and the cellist Guy Johnston.

Right from the moment Guy Johnston set his bow on the strings, it was like listening to someone's inner voices that would go straight into your heart. Every musical note he made was like murmuring, unabashedly revealing his true feelings to the audience. The RSNO was accompanying him in the background, notes popping up here and there, always at the right moment. The musicians must have practised a lot, as they were almost syncronised in every movement (I was a bit unused to the floor plan: unlike those orchestras in Hong Kong, the RSNO had its 2nd violin and the viola sections located on the right hand side of the stage, whereas the cello and double bass sections sat behind the lead cellist -- at the centre.) Sitting so close to the stage, I was unable to see the wind section; but I could tell that they were sitting behind the strings. Then on both sides of the stage, there were the percussionists.

From the programme, I learned that Guy Johnstgon is only 25 years old. He began his cello lessons at the age of five and made his London debut at the age of 19. He has since appeared with London Philharmonic, BBC Philharmonic, City of Birmingham Symphony, BBC Scottish Symphony and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. No wonder he was so confident and well at ease when he was being accompanied by so many outstanding musicians. I think he was even better when he was soloing after the concerts, during thr bonus post-concert recital of Bach's solo cello site No. 3 in C major.

All through the concert, I kept thinking about the author of a book "Never too late" -- John Holt -- an educator and a self-taught musician. He was an accomplished cellist, and he only started teaching himself to play cello at the age of 40! I can't imagine how a mature person could ever handle such a musical instrument like cello, not to say to play it so well, without the long and ardous musical training since childhood. Was it really because, like John Holt said in his self confession, a person needs to be single, unmarried, and imbued with determination in order to pursue one's interests and instincts to the fullest?

My front tooth

2006-11-10T08:28:00.000+08:00

Today, after the tutorial, I went to the dental hospital to see my flatmate Maxsood who's a student dentist there. This was the 3rd meeting with him so far. The first time, which was 3 weeks ago, he gave me a preliminary inspection of my teeth, and then gave an oral report to his supervisor there.

His supervisor was a Scottish woman dentist/professor. She treated Max as if he was already a fully qualified dentist. She listened to his presentation (in front of me) attentively, and fired series of questions at Max about my condition. "What do you think of that?" "Why do you think so?" "What would you recommend to do?" Max simply couldn't have the time to think and hence seemed a bit cautious in answering her questions. At last she said to him, "You're supposed to have confidence in presenting your patients. You should guide your examiner to the issues that you think important at hand. But you paused a lot and seemed uncertain in your diagnosis. Lucky you to have me as your examiner. If you were examined by someone from London, you would have failed straight away."

In all honesty I think she was too severe in her assessment of a student dentist. Afterall, Max was only in his 4th year in dental study. I felt embarrassed for Max because I didn't think it's fair to him to receive such rebukes from his supervisor in front of his patient.

At the end, it was Max himself who came to comfort me. He said, "Well, she was not getting personal at me. She does it to everybody else. If I'd mind her remarks that much, I wouldn't have been able to survive so far." When I left the dental hospital 3 weeks ago, Max saw me off to the X-ray room. His remarks on her finally came out, "Oh, she's such a bitch!"

The second appointment took place last week. I went there because Max wanted to follow up with my X-ray photo. He pointed out that one of my molars was infected (no wonder I felt local pain on my cheek) and suggested either a root-canal operation or extraction. Neither option was what I desired. He asked another supervisor -- this time it was a younger guy, who seemed to agree with Max about the diagnosis AND the proposed treatment. When Max saw my reluctant face, he decided to seek a second opinion. This time, again, he sought the expertise of the woman dentist supervisor.

She remembered me alright, and inspected my X-ray negative attentively. She said that a root-canal wasn't urgently in need. She turned to look at me, and having noticed my reluctance to lose my tooth. said to Max, "See? Your patient doesn't want it to be extracted. And it isn't that necessary either. You should take your patient's will into consideration as well." Anyway, she volunteered to ask for a second opinion from her peer -- an old gentleman who obviously was in charge of the entire dental ward there. She beckoned him to come over to my chair, and briefly presented my case to him. That gentleman concurred that while a root canal operation could solve the problem once and for all, it wasn't that necessary in my case then.

Finally, Max agreed to chart my teeth only for that day and decided to refer me to an oral hygienist for a scaling the following week. He asked me to come to the dental hospital for the 3rd time.

So I turned up at the dental hospital this afternoon, expecting to have my teech scaled by the oral hygienist. Surprise, surprise! Max had instead arranged to do a small operation on my front tooth this afternoon. I wasn't psychologically prepared for such task and so I was a bit apprehensive about it.

I have had a broken front tooth since I was 8 or 9 years old. I can still remember how I broke my front tooth (a permanent tooth): I was playing on a slide one late afternoon in a playground after school. There was a child who was before me. She slid down first and I was following her. At the end of the slide, she didn't get up to clear the pathway. Instead she just lied there. When I was beginning to slide down, I didn't want to kick her in the back. But I couldn't stop the momentum either despite I tried hard to grasp both sides of the slide. As a result, my upper trunk spurred forward and I felt my teeth firmly hit her skull. In an instant there was full blood in my mouth as well as her head at the back. I ran home quickly, but I'd already lost a corner of my front tooth.

Of course I regretted breaking my front tooth. Back then, my parents weren't that affluent enough then to have it fixed for me so the broken front tooth stayed with me for almost 4 decades. Now, all of a sudden, I found myself lying in a dental chair, trying hard to persuade myself to let a student dentist work on it (probably for his first time ever).

Was I anxious about the whole operation? You bet I was! But judging from the skillfulness and dexterity of Max's hands -- he was not being assisted at all by any dental nurse throughout the entire operation-- I couldn't tell whether it was his first time or not to do such cosmetic operation alone. Anyway, after an hour-long session with my front tooth, he finished the job and proudly presented me with a mirror to let me see for myself. I couldn't believe my eyes. It looked so natural that I just couldn't detect that there was ever any alien material attached to my broken front tooth.

After inspecting my tooth for a while, I congratuled Max: "Hi, doctor. That's a job well done. But you forgot one thing."

Max was shocked. "What?" his eyes above the mask revealed his anxiety.

"You should have taken a photo of my tooth before the operation," said I. "Then you could offer your patient a before-and-after comparison."

He laughed heartily.

"Oh yes," I said, "I mean it. It's good for your credentials too!"

I told Max that it's a 100-quid work, or possibly worth 500 guids given that the result was so good and looked so natural. He was very pleased. And I was very glad to have him as my dentist.

Be grateful having met people so good

2006-11-06T05:55:00.000+08:00

The sermon that Fr Slavin delivered in St. Simon's during the Mass this morning was very inspiring. He spoke of his old school boy days when the school syllabus prescribed students to recite poems. One of the poems was written by a Muslim poet (and I forgot his name though it's mentioned in the sermon), who wrote about a vision that he once had.

He saw an Angel coming to his bed, writing on a kind of plate. Curious about what the Angel was writing, this poet asked, "May I know what you're writing about?"

"It's a name list of people that love God," said the Angel.

The poet, thinking himself a very devout believer of his God, said, "I love my God very much. Could you please add my name to it?"

"Oh no, " said the Angel. "Not yet. There are so many names before you."

Not deterred, the poet said, "Then could you please tell God that I love people -- that I truly love them all?"

Without saying any thing, the Angel faded away.

Next morning, the poet had a vision again. He saw the same Angel sitting by his bed side, writing another namelist.

"May I ask what you're writing about this time?" asked the poet.

The Angel smiled at him and said, "This time I'm preparing a namelist of people that God loves."

And the Angel showed the list to the poet, whose name led the others' at the top.

Fr. Slavin didn't elaborate much on this poem. He did, though, choose this poem to underpin the preaching from the reading of St. Mark -- love thy neighbour as you love thyself.

It reminds me of an incident in Saturday evening. It was about 6 o'clock and I was riding my bicycle home. My front light wasn't on, because the battery was exhausted and I forgot to replace it. I had bought a hi-vis jacket and switched on the red light on my backpack in addition to the rear light on my bike, as I was more concerned about the motorists coming from my rear than those coming towards me. When I rode along Kelvingrove Park, I passed along a car which signalled to come out from the kerb. The driver must have noticed me approaching, as the car stopped midway and let me pass by. When I stopped in front of the traffic light several yards further down the road, the car stopped by me. The driver was a local girl. She shouted at me to indicate that my front light was not on.

"You forgot to switch on your front light. You should put it on to let others see you." She was so eager that she actually jumped out her car to press the button of my front light.

"I know, I know.., " I was a bit embarrassed and tried to defend myself. "It's just the battery runs out."

She was embarrassed too. "Oh, sorry!" she couldn't help laughing. "I thought you didn't notice."

"I appreciate it," said I. "Thanks very much."

The traffic light having turned green, I sped my bike off.

Once a while when you bump into a stranger and offer a helping hand, chances are that your kindness won't be welcomed. Very often your helping hand would be rebuked. I hope that my explanation would not deter that young lady's kind heartedness to others. I just wanna be grateful to have met some people so good to me.

Royal Qualifications

2006-11-01T09:10:00.000+08:00

The Daily Telegraph recently uncovered the acaedemic qualifications of the British monarchy (October 16, 2006). It was triggered by Princess Michael of Kent, a cousin to the Queen, who boasted in an interview of her siblings' academic achievements in over other royal family members:

"They (My children) are good-looking, they come from a good family and they have good degrees from top universities. They are more educated than their cousins. No children in the Royal Family have got as good degrees as they've got."

Apparently, such comments would not make Princess Michael of Kent ver popular, as "it is most unroyal to be highly educated and most unroyal for one's mother to brag about it," says the royal biographer, Robert Lacey.

Well, compared with the peers, Princess Michael of Kent has every reason to be proud of her children. See for yourself the summary list of the Royal Family members' qualifications:

1)The Queen:
Educated: by governess, Marion Crawford, and later by the vice provost of Eton.
Qualifications: none.

2) Prince Philip:
Eduacted:Gordonstoun, Headboy.
Qualifications: none.

3) Prince Charles:
Educated: Gordonstoun, Headboy.
Qualifications: 5 O-levels, 2 A-levels (History B, French C), 2:2 degree in History, Cambridge.

4) The Princess Royal (Princess Anne):
Educated: Benenden.
Qualifications: 6 O-levels, 3 A-Levels (English, History and Politics).

5) Prince Andrew:
Educated: Gordonstoun.
Qualifications: 6 O-levels, 3 A-levels (English, History and Politics).

6) Prince Edward:
Educated: Gordonstoun, Headboy.
Qualifications: 9 O-levels, 3 A-levels (English C, History D, Politics D), 2:2 degree in History, Cambridge.

7) Prince William:
Educated: Eton.
Qualifications: 12 GCSEs, 3 A-levels (Geography A, History of Art A, Biology C), 2:1 degree in Geography, St. Andrews.

8) Prince Harry:
Educated: Eton.
Qualifications: 11 GCSEs, 2 A-levels (Art B, Geography D).

9) Princess Beatrice:
Educated: St George's, Ascot.
Qualifications: 9 GCSEs (History A*, Drama A*, French A, Art A, and 5 Bs)

10) Peter Phillips
Educated: Gordonstoun, Headboy.
Qualifications: 2 A-levels, degree in Sport Science from Exeter.

11) Zara Phillips:
Educated: Gordonstoun.
Qualifications: 3 A-levels (Geography, Biology, PE)

12) Frederick Windsor (son of Princess Michael of Kent)
Educated: Eton, King's Scholar.
Qualifications: 2:1 degree in Classics, Oxford.

13) Gabriella Windsor (daughter of Princess Michael of Kent)
Educated: not disclosed.
Qualifications: degree in Comparative Literature, Brown University, USA.

Given such flying colours from the kids, how can you stop a proud mother from bragging about, "My children are smarter than the average royal" then?

Conspiracy of Fools

2006-10-26T07:31:00.000+08:00

Newspapers around the world reported on October 24th that the former Enron CEO Jeffrey Skilling, aged 52, was sentenced to 24 years for frauds. If no parole was to be given, he would be locked up in jail until he was 76 years old.

Just 6 years ago, who could have believed the most powerful executive in the biggest blue-chip energy trading company in the US would end up his career like that?

According to the non-fiction 'Conspiracy of Fools' by Kurt Eichenwald, Jeffrey Skilling graduated as a Baker Scholar (the top 5% of the class) from Harvard Business School in 1979. He was soon offered a position at McKinsey & Company (the cradle of many super-egoistic top executives) renowned for "arrogance that matched his own" ~ to paraphrase Eichenwald's words~ before he met his future mentor and boss at Enron, Ken Lay, on a client's meeting when Skilling was about to present his recommendations as a management consultant. His assignment: should the client move its headquarters from Omaha in Nebraska to Houston in Texas (I wonder how much McKinsey would charge for such consultancy work!)?

Skilling came from a modest family. His father was happy-go-lucky but his mother was a chronic complainer, putting all the blame on her husband for a life that didn't go her own way. Even when her son got a stellar report card from school, she would tell him, "You think things are going well now? Just wait. Things 'll fall apart. Sooner or later, they'll get you!" Sometimes I'm amazed how terribly insightful a mom could be about her offspring's future.

I haven't finished reading the book 'Conspiracy of Fools' yet. But when you read from the news, or on TV, about what's the latest happening in real life to the characters portrayed in the book, you'd get a feeling that the characters' lives were unfolding to you. And you couldn't help but think aloud: "Oh, Christ! Is it that real?"

Beginner's Luck

2006-10-22T06:38:00.000+08:00

Wiyono came to pay me a visit after lunch today. He was remarkably thinner than before, as I could remember when I last saw him. Having graduated from our uni last September, he has been working at a small IT firm in Braehead writing software programmes for mobile phones. His direct boss, a Singaporean, is more like a high-pressure cooker than what one could expect a reasonable manager to be. Wiyono told me that, under the scrutinizing management style of such an unreasonable team-leader, the members of his team had been quitting their jobs one after the other, some being with the company for less than a year. I wouldn't be surprised at all if Wiyono quits his job after Christmas when his annual bonus will be available, given such horrid a working atmosphere prevailing in his own team.

Anyway, I was pleased that he came. And so was he. We went together to the driving range at Drumchapel, which was at the far west end of the Great Western Road. I told Wiyono that it'd take at least 45 minutes to go there by bike. He said it was OK for him. He hadn't been riding a bike since his bicylce had a problem with the bearing in April, and I thought he must be longing for that cycling experience again.

We left my place at 2:20 pm. It was starting to rain then. By the time we got to the driving range at Drumchapel, I could see his hair was fully soaked. I had my base ball cap on all the time during the ride, but Wiyono had only the hood of his raincoat to cover his hair. Given the wind speed and the bicycle speed, there's absolutely no way to keep his hood on for the entire journey. I guessed he hadn't anticipated the rain at all.

It was 3:05 pm when we arrived at the World of Golf. And Wiyono reminded me that my forecast was right -- it took 45 minutes to ride there. I gave him a good laugh, cracking a joke that we're probably the only ones who rode a bike, without a car, to play golf on a rainy day. In fact, I could sense some wierd looks from the customers at the entrance there.

Golf was new to Wiyono (and so was to me). He confessed that he'd never played golf before. I reassured him that I was no better -- I'd just begun to practise and it was the 4th time I'd been there. In fact, I got a feeling he'd be quite natural in playing golf, given he's so good at basketball.

I paid 6.5 quid for 100 balls. Like me, Wiyono was surprised that we didn't need to become members of the club first. You just simply walk in and play, and take whatever length of time to finish the balls. They don't charge you on an hourly rate. We both liked the idea.

The golf centre runs a very effective system too. You pay for the balls at the counter. The staff will issue a receipt, on which there is a code. Then you go to the dispensing machine, hang a basket underneath the spout, and key in the code on the keypad. The machine will churn out the exact number of golf balls that you've paid for. If you are willing to buy a pre-paid card -- ranging from 20 quid to 100 quid--the machine will give you some balls extra as bonus for your faith and cash-in-advance support to the Golf centre.

We shared the 100 balls between ourselves. I showed Wiyono how to hold the grip, from what I'd just learnt from the student coaches over the past few weeks. He picked it up very quickly, and practised the swing several times without using the ball first. From the way he moved his limbs, I could tell he's just a natural at golf -- he knew how to switch his centre of gravity as he swung the club along a plane. And he knew it's important to follow through the swing with both hands, but never with the right foot. I'd made that mistake unconsciously many times, only to be told later that it would reduce my prowess in the hit and would most likely bend the ball towards the wrong direction. I guessed I must have long been under the influence of my past experience with tennis and table-tennis playing.

Then we started our practices. To my amazement, Wiyono was able to hit the balls into the nearest hole -- not once but twice! I was beginning to doubt if this was his very first lesson at golf. I told Wiyono that he should buy me a drink for such accomplishment. He laughed heartily.

I was eager to show my colour as well. But the more intending I was, the worse my hit rate became. At last, I stopped playing at all and decided to observe Wiyono's play. I just wanted to know how he managed to coordinate his movements in so graceful a manner.

After observing a few shots from him, I re-started my swing again. I told myself to relax, and let my arms swing in a most natural way towards the tee. Bingo! I hit the ball squarely and I could see it go up a parabola, then fly off straight into the sky and fall down towards the hole with a yellow flag within. Then a strange incident happened: the golf ball dropped straight into the hole, and bounced out from the hole and ran down the slope. I simply couldn't believe my eyes!

I looked at Wiyono. He was amazed too. He was smiling at me. As if he could read my mind, he said, "Yeah, that's YOUR ball. It looks like it's got zero gravity. First it fell vertically down into the hole and then bounced out straight from it."

That must be the beginner's luck to me, and hopefully not to a natural player as Wiyono. Maybe the twin rainbows that I saw when we arrived at the driving range were a good omen for that?

New Chair

2006-10-02T07:30:00.000+08:00

Patrizia is going to move to London School of Economics to go on with her PhD there. Before she left Glasgow for good, she came back to the department to tie up some loose ends. To her surprise, she could still receive her stipend for October 2006. A German true to her bones, she said to me: "What am I going to do with this money? I've got GBP 1,000 in my bank account but in actuality I'm broke."

"Why don't you use the money first and then send a cheque back to the department when you've got paid from your tutoring in London?" I proffered an interim solution.

"I got paid every 2 weeks alright," she said. "But I'd really want to set the records straight here. I just wanna everything clear-cut."

Then I saw her carrying a huge backpack full of books that she had borrowed from the library. "I'm going to drive to London tomorrow and I'd like to return all these damn books today." She had taken all these books to London just 4 days ago for her pilot visit there, hoping to use them for her MRes dissertation on her way to and from London. Eventually she managed to finish her MRes dissertation, but had not had time to submit it. She gave me a call, but since I had not switched on my mobile for days, she couldn't get in touch with me. In desperation, she sent an email to Linda, attaching the dissert file with it, and asked for her help to print it out using the department printer. Then she requested Linda to help her bind the thesis in hard covers, promising to pay her back when she returned from London.

Now that everything was settled, she still had one thing bothering her. "Would you like to have my leather-faced black chair?" she asked in her text message to me. "I don't want to leave it behind to the next occupant of my flat. You can have it for free."

But the problem is: I already had one, in fact, an identical one with the same brand and colour in my room. In fact, we both bought our chairs from the same retail outlet: the Staples.

"How much did you pay for it?" I was curious, as I knew she had bought it much earlier.

"About 50 quids," she said. "The original price was about GBP90. I bought it less than 6 months ago."

"That's quite a bargain," I said, although mine was even cheaper. In any case, I had just bought my chair in mid September. Staples must have been liquidating the stock for some time now. "OK, take it to my place and see if I can find someone in my block who needs a chair then."

Then to my place she drove her car, with the black leather-faced, high back, chair tucked in the back seat. Now I understood why she didn't want to take it down to London: there simply wasn't enough space in the Toyota for her other belongings if the chair went in as well.

I tried her chair. In all honesty, it was more comfortable than mine. Perhaps the seat was a bit used to her body shape after 6 months to make itself more ergonomically agreeable to any human body shape now.

But there was a small problem: there was a residue of cigarette smell all over the chair. I know Patrizia is a chain smoker. She must have been sitting on this chair, smoking her cigarettes one after another, and another...

I kept her chair in my room for just one night. During that night, I could detect the cigarette smell even in my dreams.

The next day evening, I chanced to meet some of my flatmates in the kitchen.

"Hey, do you guys fancy a black-leather comfy chair in your rooms?" I asked, jokingly.

Yannis, the Greek, shot me an apprehensive and dubious look, half-expecting me to offer something for sale at a price much higher than its true value.

"I've got a chair whose owner is going to London. It's an office/study chair which is exactly what I'm having now in my room," I explained.

"But we've got our study chairs already," smiled Max the dental student. "Anyway, there's not enough space in our rooms for so many chairs!"

"Oh yes there certainly is!" I argued. "I got 4 chairs in my room now."

Max was the more daring one between the two to try. "Well, let's have a look and see how your 4th chair looks."

I returned to my own room, and fetched the chair back to the kitchen.

"Ahh... it looks quite good," said Max.

I wasn't surprised by his reactions. In fact, I knew it for sure that anyone would like the chair once they cast an eye on it. I kept my cards to my chest.

"Try it and see if you like the feeling, " I encouraged Max to sit on the chair, which he did.

"It's quite comfy too," he exclaimed.

"Well," said I. "If you like it, you can have it ... for FREE." Immediately I could detect Yannis's jaws falling. He was wearing either his surprise or remorse on his face.

"My friend gave it to me free. So you can have it for free too, if you like it," I explained. I remembered the sermon this morning at church: Ubi caritas, et amor. Ubi caritas, Deus ibi est.

My dental friend was apparently overjoyed for such a gift. "However," I cautioned him, "the only concern with this chair is: its former owner is a chain-smoker. So it has the smell of cigarettes all over the place."

"There's a little indeed,"Max agreed. He didn't want to relinguish such a nice chair. "But it's no problem. Maybe some freshener will get rid of the smell alright." I almost forgot Max had been immune to pungent smells, as he had been spending days in days out at the anatomy lab dissecting corpses and dead fleshes.

Gleefully, he pushed his new gift back to his room. "Thanks!"

While his last word echoed in the kitchen, I could only hear the sermon that I had received from St. Simon's this morning: Where there is charity and love, our Lord is also there.

Computer Fair at Convention Centre

2006-08-30T00:54:00.000+08:00

I went to the Computer Fair on the very last day held at the Convention & Exhibition Centre, Wanchai, on the spur of the moment. I took the cross harbour tunnel bus there. By the time I reached the main entrance, it was already 3:00 p. m. The Fair was going to end by 6:00 p.m. but I could see a lot of people still moving up the escalators to enter the halls.

As expected, the hall was fully packed with people, and I could hardly get the chance to move closer to any stall there. Judging from past experience, even if I did manage to come any nearer to a stall, I knew the merchandise displayed there would be disappointingly unattractive.

As I wandered around, I saw a counter with few people in front of the desks. It was a stall selling printers. On one of the display samples was attached a price tag in bold letters: HK$599. It's a B/W home office laser printer. The original RSP was HK$899. I was tempted, and I asked the sales lady there whether the price was truly what it said for that particular model.

"Yeah," said she. "But we just run out of stock now."
"How about this last model? " I asked. "Is it for sale as well?"
"Oh, you don't have to buy this display model," she promptly reassured me. "We've got brand new ones coming. My peers are just going to pick up fresh stock from the storeroom. Come back in an hour's time."

"In an hour's time?" I looked at my watch. It was almost 3:50 p.m. Anyway, since it was pointless to linger there, I walked away and continued with my window- (or strictly speaking, distance-) shopping.

So I drifted along the fully packed aisles, almost to the point of coming to a standstill as I was being pushed by people from all directions at the same time. Then I found myself pushed in front of a stall where the same brand of laser printers as the previous stall's was on sale. Only this time, the price tag showed HK$499.

I couldn't believe my eyes. So I asked the sales staff there,"Is this printer selling for HK$499?"

"Yes," said the salesman. "But it's own pick-up price. If you wanna home delivery, an extra HK$100 applies."

I looked at the outer box. It was about 2' x 1.5' x 2', quite sturdy a carton box. I tried the weight. It was manageable. But to carry this outer box and cut through the crowd would dictate the determination and the prowess no less than Moses' in splitting the Red Sea.

"Do you accept credit cards?" I probed, since I had no planned purchase at all I did not come fully loaded, half-heartedly expecting a negative response.

"Sure," answered the salesman gleefully. "For just one or two items, I'll waive any surcharge this time provided it's a Visa or MasterCard."

So up I gave my last line of defence and ended up with a buying spree just within a duration slightly shorter than an hour.

When I came home and began to think about all my unbudgetted purchases, I thought I'd vote for the GST now more than ever. A hefty GST would surely salvage me from such financial havoc!

History of the Peloponnesian War

2006-08-28T01:26:00.000+08:00

Thucydides' History of the Peloponnesian War is one of the Great Books recommended by M. Adler. For centuries, it has received very high acclaim in the Western world of classics; however, its influence on the minds of Asian readers does not seem to match that on the Europeans.

I read the Penguin classics edition which is translated by Rex Warner (1954) with an Introduction and Appendix by M. I. Finley (1972). All in all, this edition is a very good translation -- its English is very lucid, simple, and sufficiently clear. One doesn't need to consult too frequently a dictionary to find out the words Warner used in order to understand what originally Thucydides was trying to portray about the causes and consequences of the war. Yet, when I came across the speeches and the debates (e.g. Pericles' famous Funeral Oration), I found it hard to share emotional effects intended by such great orator.

Luckily, I had an opportunity to find out that there are at least 4 English translation versions:
1. Thomas Hobbes (1628)
2. Richard Crawley (1876, 1910)
3. Benjamin Jowett (1881, 1900)
4. Rex Warner (1954)

In the complete set of Adler's The Great Books, the one translated by Richard Crawley was adopted. I don't know whether his choice was purely out of convenience, or after much deliberation. So I decided to compare Crawley's version and Warner's version, using Pericles' Funeral Oration as a sampler. Here's what I've found:

1)
Warner's version:
"Let me say that our system of government does not copy the institutions of our neighbours. It is more the case of our being a model to others, than of our imitating anyone else. Our constitution is called a democracy because power is in the hands not of a minority but of the whole people. When it is a question of settling private disputes, everyone is equal before the law; when it is a public responsibility, what counts is not membership of a particular class, but the actual ability which the man possesses. No one, so long as he has it in him to be of service to the state, is kept in political obscurity because of povery. " (Book II, 37)

Crawley's version:
"Our constitution does not copy the laws of neighbouring states; we are rather a pattern to others than imitators ourselves. Its administration favours the many instead of the few; this is why it is called a democracy. If we look to the laws, they afford equal justice to all in their private differences; if no social standing, advancement in public life falls to reputation for capacity, class considerations not being allowed to interfere with merit; not again does poverty bar the way, if a man is able to serve the state, he is not hindered by the obscurity of his condition."

On this part I think both of them are equally good.

But let me show another part, arguably the most famous sentence in Thucydides, to compare the two translators:

2)
Warner's version:
"Our love of what is beautiful does not lead to extravagance; our love of the things of the mind does not make us soft. We regard wealth as something to be properly used, rather than as something to boast about. As for poverty, no one need be ashamed to admit it: the real shame is in not taking practical measures to escape from it." (Book II, 40)

Crawley's version:
"We cultivate refinement without extravagance and knowledge without effeminacy; wealth we employ more for use than for show, and place the real disgrace of poverty not in owning to the fact but in declining the struggle against it. "

Jowett's version:
"For we are lovers of the beautiful, yet simple in our tastes; and we cultivate the mind without loss of manliness. Wealth we employ, not for talk and ostentation, but when there is a real use for it. To avow poverty with us is no disgrace; the true discgrace is in doing nothing to avoid it."

How concise and sharp Crawley is! On this count, I would have to vote for Crawley. But Jowett's versionn is equally succinct.

Here I quote another paragraph to illustrate which translator's work is better:

3)
Warner's version:
"When you see other people happy you will often be reminded of what used to make you happy too. One does not feel sad at not having some good thing which is outside one's experience: real grief is felt at the loss of something which one is used to." (Book II, 44)

Crawley's version:
"You will constantly be reminded by seeing in the homes of others blessings of which once you also boasted: for grief is felt not so much for the want of what we have never known, as for the loss of that to which we have been long accustomed."

And how about Paul Woodruff's version:
"You will often be reminded by the good fortune of others of the joy you once had; for sorrow is not for the want of a good never tasted, but for the loss of a good we have been used to having."

Which one is better? Well, honestly I really can't tell now...

Lastly, let me quote the sentences concerning the Greek's expectations about woman:

4)
Warner's version:
"Perhaps I should say a word or two on the duties of women to those among you who are now widowed. I can say all I have to say in a short word of advice. Your great glory is not to be inferior to what God has made you, and the greatest glory of a woman is to be least talked about by men, whether they are praising you or criticizing you."(Book II, 45)

Crawley's version:
"On the other hand, if I must say anything on the subject of female excellence to those of you who will now be in widowhood, it will be all comprised in this brief exhortation. Great will be your glory in not falling short of your natural character; and greatest will be hers who is least talked of among the men, whether for good or for bad."

Paul Woodruff's version:
"And now, since I must say something about feminine virture, I shall express it in this brief admonition to you who are now widows: your glory is great if you do not fall beneath the natural condition of your sex, and if you have as little fame among men as is possibloe, whether for virture or by way of reproach."

Here's yet another, a 4th, version:
"To a woman not to show more weakness than is natural to her sex is a great glory, and not to be talked about for good or for evil among men."

See? Different versions of translation of the identical sentences can and do project different moods and even slightly different meanings.

Therefore, one must be careful in selecting one's choices in any translated work of masterpieces.

Great Books and Great Ideas

2006-08-27T01:58:00.000+08:00

Recently I came across a book by Mortimer J. Adler: 'How To Think About The Great Ideas' (edited by Max Weismann, Open Court, 6th edition, 2003). It is in fact a collection of 52 TV interviews given by the philosopher Adler (1902 - 198?), whose name is always associated with The Great Books, The Great Ideas, and the University of Chicago.

It has been a wide known fact that Adler, together with the then university president Robert Maynard Hutchins, introduced a compulsory reading scheme to the students of the University of Chicago, asking each and every undergrad to read some classics to enhance their liberal education. What I didn't know is that Adler et al had encountered so much opposition, not only from the students, but also from their peers there.

In one of the 52 episodes of this TV series, Adler advised the viewers on "How to Think about Learning". In this episode, Adler states very clearly that 'the student's interests should not govern learning', a concept which ran contrary to most educationists and philosophers. Adler thinks that the child-centered schools have a misconception: they believe that the child comes to school with certain interests and we (the educators) ought to take those intersts as dictating to us what the child should learn and what the child should be taught.

In fact, Adler says that it is up to the teachers and the educators to decide what should be taught. And then having decided what the student should learn, their duty, their task, is to arouse a deep and lively interest in the very things that should be learned. "If there are certain things fundamental to human life, if there is a body of wisdom which all persons should have, if there are certain kinds ofknowledge, certain arts that all persons should acquire, then they should be in the possession of all, regardless of their individual differences, regardless of what their talents or their interests may be."

I guess this is the cornerstone of his ideas of The Great Books, which Adler believes everyone of us should read, young or old, child or adult, in our life time.

OK, I shall start such reading scheme now, in this Year of the Dog (2006), 'cause I was born in a Year of the Dog many decades before. Would I be finishing the entire Great Books collection by the next Year of the Dog (2018) ?

I don't know, but I'd certainly hope to have finished at least half of them by then.

On reading someone's diaries

2006-08-26T01:23:00.001+08:00

Many years ago I watched a movie "Thief of Hearts"（港譯：用愛將心偷）which tells of a burglar who stole away the diaries of a handsome married woman together with some valuables and a beautiful portrait of herself. Reading her diaries page by page, the thief was then able to read the mind of the woman, and all her fantasies for a dream-lover as opposed to her husband whom she felt increasingly dull over her marriage years.

The thief was soon captivated by the secrets of this pretty woman. Without letting her know of his true intention, he decided to present himself to her as an attractive, vibrant entrepreneur appreciative of her talents in interior design. Most of all, he projected an image of her ideal lover with all the admired traits and matching qualities fantasized by her. He succeeded in seducing the woman, and the movie ended with a twist with a shade of sadness.

Would I do the same if I had the chance of reading someone's diaries, especially those belonging to someone I aspired?

It would be very hard to resist the temptation indeed. When I was young, I did come across such an occasion -- I failed the test and I flipped through some pages of my then girl friend's diaries. Before soon, I regretted doing it - not because I was noble but because I felt ashamed of myself. I found out something I didn't want to know, some remarks I wasn't supposed to know, some secrets that would do nobody good if divulged.

I never realised it was so burdensome to come to know someone's deepest secrets, especially those belonging to the one you loved.

So now, I can say for certain: if I had the chance to peep into someone's diaries, I'd choose not to. I'd put them in a box, tie it up, and return the entire box to the owner, saying "You may find it light reading, but it's too heavy for me."

Why another blog?

2006-08-26T00:30:00.000+08:00

This blog is the second one that I open with www.blogger.com within a month's time.

It differs from my first one www.myWYKposts.blogspot.com in that it contains my inner thoughts which may not be suitable for publishing in my alma mater's News Forum, an open forum to the public domiciled at news://news.wyk.edu.hk/wyk.forum.

Some of the posts 'published' here -- if 'published' is the proper word at all -- are meant for capturing my honest inner feelings at the moment of my writing. So strictly speaking, they may be too revealing to be disclosed at all.

The very thought of disclosing my innermost feelings always sends a chill up my spine -- it feels like revealing my diary to strangers, and, though I ain't a girl, I share with Oscar Wilde's comment that a diary is 'simply a very young girl's(?) record of her own thoughts and impressions, and consequently meant for publication.' (The Importance of Being Earnest)

Oh yeah, Oscar, what you said has come true indeed!