Sink me, mon cheri! Le fanfiction!

I was searching for old files to delete so I could have enough room to back up my current (and more important) stuff, and I found some old fanfics of mine that never quite saw the light of day. Some were a couple of half-finished stories, others were plot outlines, and still others were words or phrases that were supposed to be reminders of plots that sounded vaguely interesting but were not fleshed out enough. All belonged to either Les Miserables or The Scarlet Pimpernel.

I'm actually considering taking up some of these plot lines and writing them out. Obviously the ideas I have won't be exactly the same as my 16 year old brain, but it's worth a shot. There is one particular plot involving madness in the Blakeney family, but I can't for the life of me remember how it was supposed to go. I did, however, write down something about how it was going to end, which is weird.

This is merely a writing exercise; I don't intend for these stories to be published for the time being. (Of course, now that I've blogged about it, I really should post them eventually.) It's a mix of serious and light-hearted stuff, no romance or horror.

It's also a little journey back again into memory lane, when I was at the height of my Les Miz/fanfiction/musicals obsession. The passion has cooled down to about 50º now, and I've moved on to other interests for the most part. In a way, I miss the insane love for Les Miz and musicals, which has become more of a detached appreciation, but I care less for fanfiction. Especially fanfiction.net. I have not visited that place for years, mainly because I'm scared of what I'm going to find there. And even then, I'd probably only dare to look in the comedy section. I seem to have a degenerated attention span, since I can read long works of humour fanfiction, but balk at reading long works of drama or adventure fanfiction. I swear it used to be the other way round.

Anyway, hopefully I'll have time to write when I'm not cranking out papers or cramming for tests. I certainly do have moments, otherwise I would not be blogging.

Airplanes

Jetting off to Philly in a couple days, so I'm pretty excited about it all.

What I'm not so happy about is that I've developed a small fear of flying. Specifically, flying alone. Which sounds a little bit ridiculous since I've been on long-haul planes since I was a kid, and I was flying alone by 15. I honestly blame the combination of 9/11 and Lost. I still refuse to watch the pilot episode that has the plane breaking up in mid air, because that's the last thing I want dwelling on my mind on the next trans-Pacific flight I'm on.

Since then, every time I get on a plane, I get this sudden rush of apprehension that something absolutely terrible is going to happen on this flight, and during bouts of turbulence I find my pulse going up slightly. It's never nearly as bad when flying with someone else because it takes the mind off such trains of thought. It also seems to be worse when I'm on a domestic flight for some reason.

Hopefully, writing about it might make me feel better for my next flight. I want to look forward to seeing my friend and eating Philly cuisine, not worry about whether there's going to be anything left of me to identify.

Another weather post

Found this from a couple years back when browsing my old Xanga. It pretty much sums up a good chunk of my high school days:

Reason # 23493826 why I hate Hong Kong weather

12:20 am: Last minute cramming for C3 test. Notice flashes of lightning through curtains.

12:35 am: Hear distant rumblings of thunder. Switch to S1.

12:45 am: Am getting slightly nervous. Turn off light and go to bed.

12:50 am: Rumbling getting louder. v. nervous, but still drowsing off.

1 am approx: Hear something akin to bomb falling on top of apartment. jump a foot in the air.

1:01 - 2 something am: Futile attempts to block out sound by plugging ears and hiding under blankets. Thunder now sounds like reconstruction of London Blitz. Flashbacks to Doctor Who. Thankful for once that I don't own a dog.

Time unknown: finally fall asleep.

7:00 am: Slowly wake up. Eyes refuse to open. Silent plea for at least a red rainstorm.

7:15 am: Hear maternal unit bustling about making breakfast. Much silent cursing occurs.

7:25 am: Haul tired butt out of bed and out to dining room. Look out window: rain-free, if cloudy, sky. Groan. More swearing.

Netspeak

I went back to my old Xanga page to take a stroll down memory lane, so to speak. The last entry was on my 17th birthday, so it was interesting to see if anything changed in between then and my last birthday in Chicago:

Thursday, October 19, 2006

BDAY!!! whoa, 17 now. aaaand actually i don't feel that much different except that i only have 1 more year now before i'm legal. a big, BIG THANK YOU to those who wished me happy birthday and to those who gave me a card and/or present...despite the fact i'm an insane anti social cynical "British arrogant" coffee addict who rarely gives out presents or cards. Thank you for putting up with me all these years.

Reading that, I'd like to say very little has changed, that I'm still very very grateful that my friends are my friends and enjoy putting up with this crazy caffeine-hyped kid.

Going back even further, we've got some decently written posts (if a lot shorter than the ones I'm writing now), funny lists and photos, random inside jokes that only certain friends and classmates would get, random imagery such as "paraplegic turtle", aaaaand.....

*looks at posts from 2005*
*rubs eyes*

ABKLJGLBHKTLKC the netspeak. Yeah, 3 years from now, it's just painful to look at. I'm not a grammar Nazi, but sometimes I wonder where the gene coding for reading netspeak went after reaching the late stages of puberty. I am not missing it at all, frankly.

The sea of history

...is so because you have to take every bit with a grain of salt. 

Those who have seen my bookshelves will know that the majority of my literature consists of history books, ranging from timelines of world history to Stephen Ambrose and Ian Kershaw. Recently I've gone on a spending spree again: I rented Gettysburg, bought the Gettysburg soundtrack, and bought the book the film's based on, Killer Angels. My Freshman Seminar professor recommended the film to me, my history professor recommended the book.

From what I gather, the film follows the "not as good if you've read the book first" trend. Having seen the film first, I'm really looking forward to the book now. As a film on its own merits, I can see the time they devoted to detail and the effort at authenticity. Although they seem to have gone a little overboard with some of the beards. The dialogue also raises a lot of questions about the nature of war that, unfortunately, still haven't been answered. The book is apparently one of the better works of historical fiction because of Shaara's recreation of dialogue between the historical figures and their inner thoughts (again, according to the prof; I'll have to see once I get my hands on the thing). All in all, Gettysburg is rather compelling and worth watching; at least, I could handle the three hours of this compared to Gone with the Wind. That's probably a matter of personal taste though.

On a different note, it's sad when a historian is tainted through carelessness or a desire to appear more than they are. I like Ambrose's books, and even though I know he made the big screwups only in his last few books, I now read D-Day and Band of Brothers with the nagging thought as to whether he made similar, smaller slips in his earlier works too. Joseph Ellis is another case. Lying about his Vietnam war experiences while teaching a class on the Vietnam war? Hoo, boy. Again, his writings may be factually accurate, but people will read them with more skepticism than before.

With stuff like this, If I continue this hobby, I'll probably need the whole damn salt cellar.

Who wears the trousers?

I was reading the newsletter distributed by the Office of International Services, and the feature article was the viewpoints of international graduate students on the upcoming election.

I'll quote once I get hold of another copy (I threw the first one away by mistake), but basically the Indian students said that they were surprised that some of their American counterparts would not vote for Clinton because she was a woman. In India, female and minority officials have been elected for a number of years already with no question on whether their status affects their performance, and the students expected that American ideas would be more liberal.

I'm not going to comment much on this, but I was reminded of a joke I found a while back (context, 1980s...oh and I'm paraphrasing again). 

A Brit is applying for a job, and during the interview, the manager asks him, as a final question, whether he would be comfortable working under a female CEO.

The man replies,

"We have a queen on the throne for the fifth time, we have a female Prime Minister, and I've been married for 20 years. I know how to take orders from a woman."

He got the job.

-----------------------------

I've decided to include a pic of something random when I post. Just little things I find interesting/cute.

Pigeon bathing in the reflecting pool

The drawbacks of a mild climate

Being British, at least one of my posts has to be about the weather, no?

It's most likely because I'm not from around here, but I can pretty much count the number of weeks I haven't been sick while at USC on one hand. If it's not the varying degrees of the common cold, then it's the mysterious chest-rattling cough, the sore throat, or the voice that decides to take a holiday after a football game.

California weather is definitely milder compared to Hong Kong. You don't get the monsoons where your school floods and every road that's on an incline of more than 10º becomes a flash flood, or the typhoons (hurricanes to you) that threaten to rip off your windows and separate your head from your neck if you're daring enough to step out during Signal 8. Nope, it's nice to have a dry sunny climate during August for a change.

Bad thing is, it gets much colder at night than what I'm used to. One minute you're in a T-shirt and thinking it's too hot, then the next it's ARGH I'M FREEZING. And I'm still trying to adjust so that I wear the right number of layers of clothing for the right kind of weather. So far, I'm failing miserably. And the climate's deceptive. A spell of fine sunny weather, with very little change, and you get lulled into a false sense of security, then Mother Nature decides to strike. The fact that nearly all the rainy days I experienced last semester happened to be on days with band related activities is evidence that God, or Mother Nature, is a comedien/ne with a very interesting and somewhat sadistic sense of humour. At least I didn't have to pay for dry-cleaning.

And I'm out. I have Shinkendo in less than an hour; bring a jacket or no? Whichever I choose, I'll probably get it wrong once I step out.

P.S. Could someone help me with the spacing on my posts? After the first paragraph, everything gets squished together.

animals and me

My mum often compares me to the following animals:







I took that last photo in 2006 when I was on holiday in England. The owl wasn't too happy that I woke it up with the clicking of the camera shutter.

photo

I seem to be incapable of projecting my own thoughts in the form of print without using something else as a medium to analyse/act as a memory jog/take the place of what I wanted to say. Anyway.

For the record, the photo that serves as my title background is one I took myself, back in April when I was visiting universities. And the figure walking pensively on the beach? That's my dad. He just happened to be in front of me as I was going shutter-crazy and taking random photos of the Newport sunset. And a lot of the photos I took reminded me of those inspirational postcards, where the sun blares out from a gap within the clouds and stuff like that. So I swung the camera over to where Dad was, and clicked the shutter.

I think it captures a facet of him pretty well. Lost in thought in the middle of nature's wonders. Mum says that I tend to walk almost exactly like him; that's probably because when the family's walking in a group, for some reason I always end up 100 feet ahead walking with my dad and chatting about random topics. Probably copied his walking style unconsciously from there. Mum finds it hilarious.

I wish I had more of his brains though. 

I also wish I'd spent more time with him when I went back for the holidays. Because when I found that photo again, I remember those walks along the beach or down country paths, and the talks. Sometimes I don't even remember what we were talking about exactly, but I remember listening and not growing tired of it. (This is a far cry from 10 years ago when I would run from the room the minute Dad started giving a lecture in response to one of my simple questions.) 

That's what I plan to do when I go back home this summer: just take a walk somewhere, and chat. Just a little thing, really. But see, I may not go back home after sophomore year, not if I'm looking for an internship. I still have the memories from previous years. But I'd like one more. 

Harry

So it appears that our wayward prince has been fighting in Afghanistan for 10 weeks. And now that we know this, he's on his way home.

I'm torn. I admire him, really I do. (He's pretty wayward compared to William when they were teens though.) Especially his willingness to risk his life and serve as an ordinary soldier. But at the same time it's not the same as when his relatives served in the army. Back then, you wouldn't be able to tell who was deployed where, and the media coverage was about a tenth of the size it is now. At least he's aware that he's a "bullet magnet" out there. 

I guess I would prefer not knowing. Unless he got KIA, and then we'd have a whole new media uproar of "OMGhewasoverthereandthemedianeversequealedwhichissurprisinglynobleofthemandnowhe'sDEADwhatistheroyalfamilygoingtodo"