Sushi-go-round: Life on a 2 dollar yellow plateMarch 11, 2009 at 10:03 pm | Posted in Thoughts | Leave a comment
Tags: 祝儀袋, George Mikes, Hong Kong, How to be an Alien, JAL, Michael Zander, Psychology, shūgi-bukuro
I was handed last Sunday’s paper last night. More specifically, the education pullout, which I never bother with because it’s mainly filled with advertising drivel. How else can they have articles about the same colleges every other week? Sometimes, though, it might be worth a look…
I’d missed out on an interesting advert- about scholarships from Japan Airlines for some sort of homestay cum youth forum thingy. Free accomodation, return tickets, domestic transport. What’s not to like about it? All I’d have to do is write a 600 word essay on ‘international cooperation’. How hard could that be?
The idea of churning up a miniature magnum opus on the fly and netting myself a free holiday filled up almost every single free moment my mind and ears was given during today’s classes. I was really faced with the awful yet oh-so-delectable threat of ditching my revision and thinking only of an impending vacation…
Until I got home and was told that it was only open to public institutes. The whole thing reeks of governmental pressure. Whatever happened to meritocracy? “Oh it’s just an English word, it doesn’t exist in our language…” What language would that be? Feel free to look up a thesaurus for the word stupid.
Well, what else? Let’s lighten things up- I’ll pretend I’m a teacher’s pet for one paragraph. I went up to the lecturer after class and asked her why a certain someone referred to the Brains Trust as the third chamber of British Parliament. She was pretty intrigued- apparently she’d was on the verge of reading part of a book by this bigwig legal commentator Michael Zander, and the Brains Trust was somewhere there. She said she’ll get back to me in a week. So what does this mean? Brownie points. Teacher’s pet paragraph fin.
You’re probably yelling “out with the truth!” at the top of your little lungs right now. That statement I asked her about came from a satire on the English way of life by George Mikes– ‘How to be an Alien‘. That I told her. But there’s absolutely no way I’m gonna tell her that I have absolutely no interest on how this impacts my studies and that the only reason I asked was because I like that book and hate understanding everything in it except for that little bit. Truth out.
I walked over to this mamak restaurant. 5 minutes to get there, and another 5 to get back. Quite an accomplishment, as normally I just walk around aimlessly for up to half-an-hour looking at various restaurants before deciding that nothing’s worth it and end up on an impromptu diet or a chocolate bun. All scream yay now.
The rain came on time, as usual- just as class was about to finish. I had to go and see the BM (LAN) lecturer anyway- ended up spending about one extra hour there. Apparently I’m not alone in the class, which is always good. Problem is, there is a huge problem with admin- everyone knows only what they’re supposed to know. So my classmates don’t know about impending classes. Actually, there were supposed to be classes before this. No one knew except for the BM lecturer. How’s that for coordination?
I gussed right. She had a major in psychology. The whole process was, since I was the only one there, to converse in BM, which went rather well. However the topics of conversation flowed from the language to my goals in life (don’t ask, I don’t really remember- nor was I paying exquisite attention), which of course tends to infuriate people who hear it, the standard recycled prose being:
I don’t need any goals. My interests don’t directly translate into a degree. That’s one reason I’m doing law. I don’t have anything else to do. This degree is just one gateway to money, money which will be used for personal enjoyment. End story.
Yes, it does annoy people, especially relatives and sometimes, even friends. She doesn’t really have to bother about it as a teacher, does she? It’s all the fault of that blasted Psychol major- making her take an interest in people, enhancing that basic ‘teaching is a higher calling’ concept. Even worse is that she intends to do her job properly– no simply taking attendance and the like. Attend classes. Adhere to the entire program.
So what if I don’t enjoy what I’m doing? I’ve made it pretty obvious to everyone who cared to ask that I don’t give a fig about law even though I’m doing a degree on it. I know that it’s always nice and actually rather enviable to make money out of something you enjoy- but let’s be realistic about it, not everyone manages to pull off a stunt like that. Most people just deceive themselves into thinking that they do so adore what they do for a living- I don’t see myself concocting a fake reality for myself anytime soon.
A break from college life: pop and sis came back from Hong Kong on Tuesday- there was a huge fuss on account that she’d lost her bag, which had all the clothes she loved and the things she bought there, plus a thousand HK dollars (about RM700) shūgi-bukuro. Plenty of chaos at the HK airport, coupled with them having to care for an old lady (my grand-aunt) who tagged along, idiotic airport personnel with bad hearing, and her (sis) own laziness, it really was an accident waiting to happen. Quite understandably, she’s pretty upset. And as a result rather explosive.
Took the bus back from college. Got a little wet in the rain, but it wasn’t as heavy as it was earlier. The bus ride was rather unpleasant- this irritating man seemed to enjoy swinging around like an orang-utan with every jerk the bus made. Having smelly, soft, vaguely repulsive male flesh of unknown genetic origin repeatedly push itself into you every 20 seconds is no laughing matter. I bore with it for several minutes, frequently adjusting my position to minimise mental stress, and making vague irritated sounds.
Eventually I got fed up and arranged my body so that my steel-hard elbow was placed directly in the path of his overflowing lard. Bone that had repelled innumerable violent attacks made contact with his intrusive presence. His invasive body got the message and swung out of elbow range, even if his obviously seminally retarded mind did not.
Note: So what if the word seminal doesn’t seem to fit. Think your way around it!