Goodbye, Bertelsmann
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Gifts of the Magi
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."
The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"
At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."
The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"
At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Shopping list in 2007
2007 is a big big year. I'll do something of my own.
no job, no income, just for my dream to establish my own Podcast Website and Programs.
What's for? Money? Fame? I have no idea. I'm just driven by passion that I cannot feel from the people around me.
This is my shopping list of 2007. Actually it'll cost me a lot of money. But I think they're worth it.
New Computer with Above 3000 Mhz CPU, at least 1G RAM, professional Sound Capturer (a good Micphone, sound card)
Digital Camera
Target:
Internet Podcast No.1 in Shanghai...... Step 1
Internet Podcast No.1 in China...... Step 2
Step 3......(to be contiued)
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Podcast Logo Preview
Leave your comments about this Logo I posted this morning, pls. Thank you very much.
Friday, October 06, 2006
My Podcast Intro
After listening to some very good podcasts, I decide to make my own podcast Radio Program.
Obvisouly, I really have no experience in making it. No topics defined, no good Mic Recording System. no high-speed computer supportive like iMac. All I have is to believe that I would make it someday, making my podcast programs welcome to any person who listened it.
And the first of all, I hope you like my blog first and for good.
God with me!
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Phase Two
After finishing the phase one, Listening and Comprehension of English Language, I'm getting to step to the next Phase, Phase Two, Speaking.
I'm often asked how to study English, and my answer is to follow the natural studying procedure, namely Listening , Speaking, Reading, Writing. I'm as well using this method on my way of studying anything besides job, and I found that is a very practical way of getting new knowledge. Each Phase must be kept at least one year.
One handy study material I recommend you is Studio Classroom from Taiwan.
If you have any interests in it, you can log on the offical website: www.studioclassroom.com to get more information you need.
Remember, Real Friends last a lifetime.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Sprites from Superman
Superman, a comic character from America, inspring over several generations.
As for me, too, I have to admit I'm really a Superman Fan.
Some sprites such as Bright, Integrity, and always Gentle.
I admire that good qualities, I aspire to be the man like that.
Will somebody accept the perfect man.
After watching the move Superman Returns, I felt sad.
When the world is in peace, nobody needs Superman, and Superman became a threat to the human beings. When the world is in danger, Superman show up again, a responsibility always fell full of the man of steel.
Yeah, that's responsibility, lost in my world. Peope taking care of others seems like a luxury.
Watching movie, in what perspective? Just watching? Feeling ? Talking the deep meaning from it? or just get entertainment from the motions?
More... I can learn much from movies, from Superman, from comparsion between U.S. Society and Chinese Society.
I need Role Model, You too, Friends.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Monday, September 11, 2006
911! The Day We Remember
Some people are surprised that five years have gone by. For others, it all seems like a long time ago.
On the fifth anniversary of the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, America is at war, suicide bombers appear in video games, Osama bin Laden is still at large, and bottles of shampoo have replaced box cutters as potential weapons of mass destruction.
Americans feel vulnerable, their complacency erased by the realization that a lot of people don't like us.
Not unlike Pearl Harbor more than six decades ago, Sept. 11 has become a frame of reference, almost impossible to avoid. Even today, a glimpse of the New York skyline in a film or photograph can prompt a search for the twin towers. It's chilling when they're there -- and also when they're not.
Sept. 11 changed people's lives, and its impact continues to be felt. A San Francisco firefighter acquired a tattoo to commemorate the disaster. A San Jose flight attendant thinks about it every time she flies. A young Muslim woman, born and raised in Los Angeles, has embraced her religion and now wears a head scarf. A Fremont emergency responder who extracted body parts from ground zero no longer rides BART -- too risky, he says.
They are among nine Bay Area residents whose worlds have been reshaped by what happened five years ago.
God Bless America!
God Bless All of Us People!
We Love You, Heroes!
Amen!
Friday, September 08, 2006
Dear Ms Manager!
Dear Ms.
Thank you for your advice when I need them.
I am a rookie to my career.
And you are my mentors when I made mistakes, felt lonely, suffered pressure.
May God bless you all.
Amen!
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Feelings 感受
打开窗，望着远方，天空稀稀拉拉的云遮不住圆圆的月亮，很亮，很漂亮！ 似乎有种召唤，驱使我伸手去抓。风拭过皮肤，很凉，很凉！
远处的车声开始驶进左耳，却很快渐失在右耳中。
闭上眼，感受平静，任凭感觉游走，在城市喧闹和内心的安宁之间，心如止水！
Game Time! 游戏时间！
吹泡泡
原料：water*1 cup，肥皂粉少许， strew *1
做法：将少许肥皂粉倒入清水中，均匀搅拌直至肥皂粉完全溶解
游戏：将strew放入肥皂水中沾一下，通过口腔慢慢吹气，一个泡泡会慢慢的出现在吸管的另一头。在阳光下或许你还能看见泡泡表面五彩斑斓的旋文。
Enjoy it! ^_^
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
I, Bad News Mr. Jonathan！我，差劲的乔纳森！
每每看到自己培训的新人离开时，总会感觉很痛苦。
发现原来自己什么都做不了，什么都没办法做，自己的渺小顷刻间化为无限。
我知道你和我追求的，心里渴望的东西，
但每天都在自己想要的和永远都达不到的目标间游走，失望，满足着
笑容在脸上浮现的次数越来越少。
哪里不对劲了呢？
或许这就是职场，无须过多的感情，只需机械般完成工作。
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Routine Shopping Back From Trust Market 惯例性好友多超市采购
Just coming back from the Trust Market.
Sunday, is a shopping day, even in the evening.
Everytime I go to Trust Market, I just buy something regular.
Bread, Donuts, a big bottle of milk, some fruits.
What do you think of my diet?
I think I'll never understand why people like shoping at night.
My life tends to be effective, routinly, just like a old Englishman, obeying some Knight's Spirits.
Would you like to tell me what you often purchase in Supermarkets?
刚刚从好友多超市回来
星期天是一个购物日，甚至到了晚上。
每次我去好友多总只是买一些东西。
面包，甜甜圈，大瓶牛奶以及一些水果。
你怎么看我餐饮习惯？正常么？
我从没有弄明白为什么人们喜欢在夜晚购物。
我的生活开始趋向于效率，有规律，就像守旧的英国老男人，尊崇着自己的武士精神不肯改变。
你愿意告诉我每次去超市时都会买些什么东西么？
September 3, Sunday
上海的天气阴沉沉的，这几天每天下午四点左右都会下一场不大不小的雨。它并没有给上海的气温带来少许凉意，反而更加重了空气中水分的含量，让人感觉就像在水中呼吸一样，透不过气来。
很喜欢BJ单身日记，主人公BJ的生活一样的糟糕，我和她一样，糟糕的房间，不良的饮食习惯，还乱花钱，但没有总是换不完的异性伙伴！
或许是时候静下心来写一些东西，并不完全为了给自己看，还想给别人看，有人会看么？有点怀疑，毕竟国情不同，公司销售得最好的校园爱情类小说本就不是我所拿手写的风格。
期待创意之神可以给我点什么启示，哪怕一点点，生活的点滴可以让人些许地停下繁忙的脚步来细细品味逐字逐句中的微妙情感变化，而更好的是能和作者的思绪互动，交流！
Announcement 公告
According to some friends' requirements, my blog will be posted in two languages, English and Chinese. Thanks for your supporting.
应一些朋友的要求， 我的博客即日起将以英文和中文两种文字发布。感谢大家一直以来的支持。
Saturday, September 02, 2006
An Expired Birthday Celebration!
Dear Ms.Jiang
I hope you will log on my blog someday, and read this post.
Dinner tonight was really awesome.
I just mean to the dialog and the topics talking between you, xiaokang, chen Jun and her husband and me.
But the food serving was not good. The servants were worse.
I think birthday celebration is a very holy ceremony.
It makes us happy, and feels good, people anticipate the wonderful day next time friends gathering together. Everyone deserves birthday cake and birthday gifts.
Real friends last forever, and I think we will be.
Respects and thinking for others are the real foundation for good friendship.
Sorry for celebrating your birthday for 23 one month later than the actual day.
Forgive me! Forgive all of us!
Please!
To Xiaokang, it's nice seeing you again after that 9 years long time!
Best Regards!
Would You Mind Sharing Your Experience in Your Own Territory with Your Friends?
Life is very short.
We can't do everything in about 80 years.
You're maybe a female.
You're maybe a male.
I wish some animals would get access to my blog and leave their messages here.
So friends.
Experience we everyone has vary greatly.
Will you be happy to share these treasures with your friends, or even me?
Looking forward to your opinion!
Friday, September 01, 2006
Hangout with one of my favorite bosses
A experience is a experience, even hanging out with one who is your boss.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
A Experience About A Experience
Training Course was very successful.
The Trainer is a Consulting Company's President from Hongkong.
He's a very nice person with a little bit bad Putong Hua
I was an activist asking and answering the questions he asked out.
I just can remember the feeling when I was at college.
We talked with teacher, sharing our own opinions about the operation of some other companies, such as Starbucks and IKEA.
How to serving the customers?
How to seperate the customers?
How to manage them and how to calcuating the benifit from our protential customers.
This I've never been heard was a new experience about other companies experience, broadening my horizon at times.
I thank the trainer, Mr. Lee.
I thank my manager Ms. Song for letting me in this rewarding training course and learning some new concepts about how to satisify my customers.
I appreciate you very much.
Thanks.
I want to be an artist!!!
So what do you guys think of my niew Template.
Is that cool?
I hope you will have the same feeling like mine.
I love it very much!
Last night. I got a very bad stomachache.
I went to the bathroom serval times.
Actually I didn't know the times I went that small room, becasue my mind was vague. But This morning, I suddenly realize I really want to be an artist, drawing something beautiful. So I get up now, install a huge software ADOBE Creative Suite in my computer. I remember I installed that before, but removed it because of the computer equipment can't support this software minimum requirement.
Remember talking to some of my friends.
They talk to me they don't have actually clear dream.
I don't understand why the older we grow, the less we dream.
Is that the realistic?
What really can make us happy, and let us smill shown on face?
Friends!
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Good, Nice Turesday!
Hello，I like this greeting words, hello!
Something happened so quick that I can't tell what I should do or what I want to do!
Company offers an attracting internal taining course about the customer experience on August 31, a.k.a this Thursday. The participants must sign a training contract with company for 2 years more serving it. I was really confused. I love my company, actually, but I can't really understand. Maybe that's the really workable way to keep the best employees to stay in the company--by law-method strictness.
What's your opinion on this issue.
Worth participanting or not?
Blog Me!
Monday, August 28, 2006
Hello, Monday!
Conditions for Shanghai, China
Clear, feels like 36.1 degree
Humidity 59%
Wind Speed VAR 4 mph
Barometer 29.74" Steady
Dewpoint 22.8 degree
Visibility 4.3 mi
UV Index 0 Low
Sunrise 5:28 AM
Sunset 6:23
Hello, Hello
oHello,hello. City!
A fine new day, a fine new week, a bad hot day again.
I didn't sleep well last night.
It is said the temperature will be up to 36 degree again.
My God. I can't feel anything should be in Autumn--Cool freshing Air.
Then time's up. I got to work.
Company is near my apartment. So I just need t0 take a 10-min walk to get my office desk.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Shanghai, The City I'm Living
I was born in the city, called Shanghai, situated on the Huangpu River, a tributary of the Yangtze River, near the Yangtze's mouth to the East China Sea.
This city is very big, not only the area I mean, but the number of people who live here, stay here, visit her or some other ones. So you can call it a metropolis as well.
I'm 24, 25 maybe, it depends on the different calculating methods of every country.
I can never figure that out, I was graduated from a Singapore College, major in CS (Computer Science). But now I am working as a CSR Training Specialist in one of 500 top fortune companies for almost 2 years. Some people think that's a waste of time on the territory that never have so-called bright future. You maybe want to know my opinion. No, that's my answer for sure. I have some feeling about this city, this company, as well as me and the job I am working on. But now, big problem on the horrizon I could strongly believe will be a culture attack from some place, which makes me fell not fit in the surroundings.
New comer with new stories
Nice place, I have to admit.
Thanks God offers this wonderful place to me.
I'm an ordinary man with an ordinary life.
Maybe someday will happen some adventure.
Life is like a chocolate box, just as the words in the movie.
But I think I should record something.
And now, here I go.
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