<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445</id><updated>2011-07-08T03:45:59.261-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Random Thoughts</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>16</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-6535997201333072655</id><published>2010-01-24T08:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-24T08:56:01.750-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunday Anecdote</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;Since it's Sunday today, I decided to make something very simple for my 3pm-lunch-- noodles. I walked into the kitchen, thinking about the paper I need to write, opened the refrigerator door... "Hmm, what should go with the noodles?"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Tomatoes? Yes. Cucumber? Yes. Prawns? Well, had enough in the past few weeks. Nah, not this time. Crab meat sticks? Don't feel for them right now. How about some eggs? Err, just had two fried ones earlier. OK, one egg then.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p&gt;I reached the egg case on the upper layer of the fridge, and grabbed two lovely ones like I usually do. Before closing the fridge door, my mind suddenly switched back from the papers. "How stupid!" I commented on my short memory. When my left hand was on the way to the egg case in order to put the extra one back, something happened so quickly that I didn't even have the time to make any noise or to blink.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p&gt;Thanks to the almighty gravity, which always lets us take the blame for dropping things, was strong enough to suck the egg out of my moist palm, and without any exception, it dropped, falling all the way down straight. During that split second, I was thinking to myself, "Please, don't get on my slip..."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Crack! T-U-I!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;I knew it was all in vain before finishing the sentence, but the voice still continued, "...per, please?"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p&gt;I waited it patiently till the falling completed, then I actually could take the opportunity and time to look downward at the "incident" spot, and see what a mess it would turn out to be: a bright yellow heart in an abstract form twisted with clean and crystal egg white and a few sharp shells scattered perfectly enough to make you call it "art" on the kitchen floor. Since everything happened so fast that it was still in the motion of shaking after the landing. Not a very soft landing, I have to admit.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p&gt;I looked at the hopeless broken egg, picked up one lily-petal-like shell from my innocent left slipper, and laughed like I never did.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-6535997201333072655?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/6535997201333072655/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=6535997201333072655' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/6535997201333072655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/6535997201333072655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2010/01/sunday-anecdote.html' title='Sunday Anecdote'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-2275891847810207490</id><published>2009-12-21T06:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-21T08:40:44.358-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dophins = "Pests"??</title><content type='html'>There is a documentary movie released in 2009, called &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4KRD8e20fBo"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Cove&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. It reveals how dolphins in a small town-- &lt;a href="http://maps.google.fi/maps?q=Taiji%2C%20Wakayama&amp;amp;oe=utf-8&amp;amp;rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&amp;amp;client=firefox-a&amp;amp;um=1&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;ie=UTF-8&amp;amp;sa=N&amp;amp;tab=il&amp;amp;tbo=0"&gt;Taiji, Wakayama&lt;/a&gt; (Japan) were slaughtered massively on a daily basis under the glorious name of "national pride", namely, "Japanese people will no longer listen to what they were told to do and when to do it", even including killing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The official reason of killing is that the fishermen were told dolphins are "pests" by the government. How can one connect dolphins with such a title  even with mere elementary school knowledge?! They certainly had their way: "Dolphins, along with whales, consume too much fish by nature, so that if their number decreases, we, human beings, will be left with more fish on our table." As the representative from Brazil commented during the IWC 2007 Meeting (International Whaling Commission), "... it is purely nonsense!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Personally, I don't see the point of Japanese people trying to "defend" themselves by claiming this is just a different "ethic" in the far east, or criticizing other nations for slaughtering cows and such in order to find an excuse for themselves. Picking other people's wrongs doesn't help to correct our own!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.francethisway.com/wildlife/dolphin.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://www.francethisway.com/wildlife/dolphin.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dolphins are commonly known and accepted as intelligent animals with feelings and emotions that are close to humans, but an innate smiling-face does not mean an invitation to their death or being eaten!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As to say "dolphin meat", we already learned that dolphins and many other sea life absorb &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mercury_%28element%29"&gt;mercury&lt;/a&gt; from the increasingly polluted oceans, and it is quite difficult or almost impossible for them to get rid of it even till the day they die, and a dolphin's body contains very &lt;a href="http://www.theage.com.au/national/mercury-poisoning-linked-to-dolphin-deaths-20080605-2mbw.html"&gt;high mercury&lt;/a&gt; in general. Not all fish producers will label their products honestly in the market, so you might be eating dolphin meat while believing it was some other type of fish as the movie shows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only way to improve ourselves as human beings is to correct our wrong behaviors as soon as we realize it. Or are we so full of ourselves that we need no further improvement any more?!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-2275891847810207490?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/2275891847810207490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=2275891847810207490' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/2275891847810207490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/2275891847810207490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2009/12/dophins-pests.html' title='Dophins = &quot;Pests&quot;??'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-8793524059167237759</id><published>2009-11-01T10:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-01T11:18:11.950-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Beyond the Arctic Circle</title><content type='html'>Minä olin Rovaniemellä lokakuussa, koska joulupukki lähtee kaupungin kahden kuukauden kuluttua.&lt;a href="http://www.santaclausvillage.info/fin/video.htm"&gt; Joulupukin Pajakylä&lt;/a&gt; on vaan 8 kilometriä Rovaniemeltä pohjoiseen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/Su3WsTM5auI/AAAAAAAAAC4/NwPcVlxTeLU/s1600-h/024.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/Su3WsTM5auI/AAAAAAAAAC4/NwPcVlxTeLU/s320/024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399207584844049122" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Oli jo lunta kun saavuin. Ei ollut niin kylmä-- noin -4 astetta, mutta oli pilvistä koko aamun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/Su3Zd8419GI/AAAAAAAAADA/7o3lG_LawvM/s1600-h/050.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/Su3Zd8419GI/AAAAAAAAADA/7o3lG_LawvM/s320/050.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399210636871070818" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Minä kävin joulupukin pääpostissa:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/Su3c6hc89oI/AAAAAAAAADI/hhXjI1W1ui8/s1600-h/056.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 176px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/Su3c6hc89oI/AAAAAAAAADI/hhXjI1W1ui8/s320/056.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399214426257421954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ja kerroin hänelle toiveeni tälle vuodelle on revontulet...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-8793524059167237759?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/8793524059167237759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=8793524059167237759' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/8793524059167237759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/8793524059167237759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2009/11/beyond-arctic-circle.html' title='Beyond the Arctic Circle'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/Su3WsTM5auI/AAAAAAAAAC4/NwPcVlxTeLU/s72-c/024.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-8089628237705321131</id><published>2009-07-05T12:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-05T12:20:50.212-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Strawberry Revenge</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"&gt;It was a cool sunny Saturday afternoon, so I went to the nearby strawberry farm to pick organic strawberries. They are much fresher and sweeter than those from &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"&gt;supermarkets, although more expensive as they are well taken of since as seeds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was my second time in life DIY on a farm. For a city girl like me, it is fun and exciting to be so close to the nature-- Huge strawberry farms with those little white strawberry flowers nodding their heads, I can't resist the wonderful scenery and not to be part of it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Usually there are four to five volunteer "instru&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"&gt;ctors" a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"&gt;t the end of farm, who will tell newbies 1. How to pick-- Walk to another end of the farm and start from there, and don't jump to other "lanes" until you finish this one; 2. What kind of strawberries to pick-- Always choose the 100% ripe ones, and leave those with even slight white alone as they are not as sweet. You can eat some as well, but for me, I'd rather take the strawberries home and wash them first, even though there is no chemical on them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We started from the far end "lanes", where fewer people would bother walking so far away to get there, which means more big juicy strawb&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"&gt;erries are waiting for us!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After half an hour, I was already sore and ti&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"&gt;red, but my friends seemed still very active. I decided to sit down and rest a bit. Wind blowing by took my sweat away, and I was enjoying myself in the green under the sun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/SlD7722556I/AAAAAAAAACI/p8Dra30742M/s1600-h/011.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/SlD7722556I/AAAAAAAAACI/p8Dra30742M/s320/011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355056962700175266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"&gt;"Check out this big baby!" My friend screamed while running towards me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What?" I opened my eyes and pulled my mind back to the reality, "Wow, that IS a fat babe!" I stood on my feet immediately, as if the dark red crystal juicy strawberry was calling my soul-- My mouth was watery. "Can I have it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You dream!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*pout*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend hesitated, "Okay, just this one."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*smile*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took the strawberry, washed it quickly but gently with the water I brought to drink, and swallowed it immediately as I was afraid that my friend would change their mind at any second. The sweet juice flowed around in my mouth, satisfying every single taste bud; the fresh fragrant fulfilled my sensations that I could fly like a butte&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"&gt;rfly...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the strawberry should be safe in my stomach. Very content, I sat down and let my mind keep flying. After a few seconds, there was some cold feeling on the bottom, I looked down, "Ah, what the hell?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you alright?" My friends ran towards my direction. I bet everybody on the farm heard me, since they all stopped and looked at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm NOT alright. Look what the strawberry d&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"&gt;id!" I pointed at my pants madly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They saw where I was sitting and then burst into laughter simultaneously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's NOT funny, people!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They laughed even harder. I noticed their moister eyes from laughing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How did you not see the strawberry before sitting on it?!" One managed to ask that with broken laughter.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Because of your stupid fat strawberry! I didn't pay attention at all."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Serves you right, greedy pink pants! Hahaha"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had no interest to care about their teasing or laughing any more, because I was more worried how to cover this pink spot on my shorts back home-- Apparently, the shirt was not long enough to reach that low.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"&gt;After 5 minutes "insanity", one went back to "consciousness" and suggested me carry their pack bag, which was the only thing we can find "appropriate" and "natural" to cover the spot. At least it was better than none. I dragged their heavy bag all the way back, and couldn't complain about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, this is a picture of the "criminal's" relatives...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/SlD8deSsYZI/AAAAAAAAACQ/y2B-kXq-qxY/s1600-h/007.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/SlD8deSsYZI/AAAAAAAAACQ/y2B-kXq-qxY/s320/007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355057540221395346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And I ate them all!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-8089628237705321131?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/8089628237705321131/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=8089628237705321131' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/8089628237705321131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/8089628237705321131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2009/07/strawberry-revenge.html' title='Strawberry Revenge'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/SlD7722556I/AAAAAAAAACI/p8Dra30742M/s72-c/011.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-1030833087727353471</id><published>2008-10-26T06:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-26T12:36:38.116-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Arrival in Frankfurt</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;October 21st, 2008, with the Roman's trumpet through the airplane radio announcing it was some thousandth time for this airline being on time (even though it was 10 minutes late), I was freed from my tiny seat where I can not bend my knees further than 45 degree without pressing them against the back of the front seat or sitting up straight like a soldier on mission after almost 3 hours flying along kids' crying and teenagers shouting. I fleeted quickly from the heavy crowd in the aisle to the open rainy evening air in the Frankfurt airport.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;By always hearing German public system being perfect on time, I decided to run to the shuttle bus because otherwise it would be one whole hour waiting at the airport. Luckily, I got the ticket fast enough to get on board, but the bus was full, and there were at least 20 people waiting to get on the same one. So I was hoping they'd arrange another bus right afterward. I was too naive thinking businessmen really treat customers as their gods...not even in Germany.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Anyway, I went back to inside after waiting in the rain for 10 minutes along with other "unlucky" passengers, then I realized my "wonderful" Finnish mobile service network doesn't work in Germany. Another challenge to my expectations. Oh well, at least I had one hour to figure that out-- I was trying to calm myself down.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;After talking to the busy lady at the Information desk, I was told to check the biggest shop where they sell cellphone cards. I asked the girl at the cashier, and she told me that they don't sell International prepaid cards or SIM-cards, only German ones. "OK, please get me a German SIM-card then." Before I even asked how much it costs, she said, "No, we don't have SIM-cards here."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"But you just said so..." (Meets with a blank look) "Never mind. Where do they sell the card in the airport?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"I don't know."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;(Inhaling) "Very good, thanks anyway."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I wandered about to another shop, and unsurprisingly got the same reply. Then I asked people at some other airline service counter, the woman there told me they do sell prepaid cards, but I can only use it on "Handy", which means "telephone", other than on my cellphone. Fair enough, if that's how it meant to work!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I bought one and tried to use it on the Handy, but it kept saying the numbers I dialed were not valid, which pushed me to another peak of anger while being hungry!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I gave up. On my way to the cafe, an airport-worker-like guy stopped me, asking what I was looking for. That was totally unexpected. I guess he saw me running back and forth in the airport and still managing not to kick their airport Handy, so he decided to lend a hand. "I was looking for HELP!" He laughed, even though I didn't understand what was so funny. And he took his mobile out and tried to test the numbers. It worked, and he let me answer the phone. I was so thankful!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;After making a call, I asked him how I can pay, he just waved his hand saying "It's nothing" and wished me a pleasant stay in Germany before he was gone. Just as in Finland, some bus drivers said "No English" in English to me, refusing to tell information even though they do speak English perfectly, some drivers would even get off their vehicles to walk me to the destination because they were afraid I might miss it somehow. I just feel amazed how people can be so different.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Finally I got on the shuttle bus before 9pm with an empty stomach as I dared not to risk the opportunity of getting on board this time. Because of the time difference, to me it was already 10pm. The bus was 5 minutes late though-- I couldn't care much about that any more. After moving several meters, the bus stopped: A car in front of us seemed not to be able to decide which way it wanted to go, so another 5 minutes passed until the driver got off and talked to them. But when the bus was eventually on the road, it was fast!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;There was a German family with two young kids sitting beside me. The 6-year-old-like daughter was extremely energetic, playing with everyone and everything she saw around all the time, when she got bored, she would tease her little sister who doesn't speak, yet could make super-high pitched noises whenever she felt like to. So the whole trip was full of kids crying, laughter and crying again. I was surprised that the parents didn't bother to do anything to stop them, even when they did, their children just took it as an encouragement...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;My patience was very well tested that day, I must admit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;More to come for the next day in Frankfurt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/SQR6tUdcx6I/AAAAAAAAABI/tPVAaKbVvtY/s1600-h/076.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/SQR6tUdcx6I/AAAAAAAAABI/tPVAaKbVvtY/s320/076.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261465183680513954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-1030833087727353471?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/1030833087727353471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=1030833087727353471' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/1030833087727353471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/1030833087727353471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2008/10/arrival-in-frankfurt.html' title='Arrival in Frankfurt'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/SQR6tUdcx6I/AAAAAAAAABI/tPVAaKbVvtY/s72-c/076.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-6170099211053213994</id><published>2008-07-27T03:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-27T04:55:05.149-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Flying to A New World</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/SIxJAOW_2pI/AAAAAAAAAAg/km2_p8KAGRU/s1600-h/046.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/SIxJAOW_2pI/AAAAAAAAAAg/km2_p8KAGRU/s320/046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227633535673686674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;On the right corner as you can see, is a picture of two pigeons enjoying the warm sunshine&lt;/span&gt; on a lazy summer afternoon. That's what I thought too when I took this photo, but after a few seconds, I realized I was wrong...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being a curious person, I stepped gently towards them as common sense told me they would fly away once people get close enough. However, they stared at me cautiously; their red-colored eyes never left me as I was approaching them. I saw their big pupils sending me a message of fear. "Why don't you fly away?!" I asked silently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, one of them stood up, rearing up its tail as to shoot himself into the sky at any second. I was not surprised if he did. Interesting enough, he did not go anywhere, but started to walk around the other pigeon who still sat there, in a perfect circle, like guarding for the royal family. I kept moving towards them...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the other one stood up...for a second, and fell down onto her stomach. What a scene! Her right foot was totally wrecked, and blood was dripping from the right wing tip. I can tell it's been awhile since it was already dark red where she sat. Her pupil shrank quickly and then went back big as earlier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oouch!" I can't hold it any more. I don't know whether they understood my word or could read my facial expressions, the "guard" looked at me as if saying, "Please stay away from us. She will be alright as long as I am here" while walking towards me, as if he was ready for a life battle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I just want to help!" I told him, and noticed the injured one seemed very weak at the moment. The "warrior" kept marching...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OK, stubborn head, I'll go find someone who can help you...immediately! Don't go away!!" I ran to an office and explained the situation. Those people didn't want to help as pigeons in their eyes are, pests. One of them finally agreed to have a look with me after 15 minutes arguing. "Thank goodness, she will be saved!" I felt relieved a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's right in front of us! Err, they should be...here?!" I can't find them any more, instead, a grey feather left lying on the red grass. I felt like crying my heart out, "Where did you two go?!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The person who came to help commented coolly, "It must have died, and the other flew away." "But where is her body if she were dead??" My eyes were moist; I believe he won't leave her behind at all because I have seen their eyes!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow I "knew" he took her away to a much better place, where everyone helps and everyday is a joy...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-6170099211053213994?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/6170099211053213994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=6170099211053213994' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/6170099211053213994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/6170099211053213994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2008/07/on-right-corner-as-you-can-see-is.html' title='Flying to A New World'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wZB15VyhV3o/SIxJAOW_2pI/AAAAAAAAAAg/km2_p8KAGRU/s72-c/046.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-7257304436947600828</id><published>2008-06-17T04:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T06:55:06.873-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Living In The City</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Treading back from the ocean in a sunny lazy afternoon, I really don't want to see what's in front me-- the whole city is imbued in gray color:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A huge ball of hazy air hanging above the city center, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;dust on concrete buildings and asphalt paths,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; people's faces are like stone-statues'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can feel the heat wave storming into the body as getting closer to the city center, mixed with gas waste from vehicles passing by and those that are parked along the two sides of the narrow road, dark clouds formed around factory chimneys, blue smoke from young people's cigarettes and the elder's pipes, hot and spiced air pumped from those small, shabby restaurants out to the street-- Little kids can't help coughing when they are caught in the restaurants' territory. Those tiny dogs get over-excited easily; their owners usually catch them either fighting or quarreling with another over nothing but mere the sense of the other's existence, and this would give the rest of idle men and women on the street a good laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As approaching to the center, I notice people in general walking much faster. Only those who wander about and stop occasionally to look up or around, appreciating the surrounding, the nature, are always tourists. But they would be the same as the others when they are back at their own cities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do we have to hasten ourselves in life? What for?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even if we are not in a hurry, we have to pretend that we are, or occupied by serious business. If somebody stands in a busy street and looks around, everybody else passes as swift wind, mocking secretly, "Another stupid tourist got lost!", then buries the dark thought with their own schedules, lost in the crowd. How come people have such an attitude nowadays? When you walk slowly, looking here and there aimlessly, no company, not busy talking on the phone or tapping to exchange some SMS, or at least playing games on the mobile, you must have lost the job, or love, or both, or just simply in some other's way. Either way, a loser.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone once said, "In the long run, we are all dead." So, go ahead and ask yourself, "What am I hurrying for?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-7257304436947600828?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/7257304436947600828/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=7257304436947600828' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/7257304436947600828'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/7257304436947600828'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2008/06/living-in-city.html' title='Living In The City'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-6288257237698770394</id><published>2008-05-28T05:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-28T06:42:52.362-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Indiana Jones and Questions Left Behind</title><content type='html'>I watched Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull yesterday, surprisingly, there were not many disgusting scenes such as mass of snakes, rats, or tropical wild creatures this time, instead, some cute gophers showed up. Still, it's not very successful IF they planned to tell people how important school education (or "knowledge") is in the movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Firstly, Indiana keeps blaming Mutt for not finishing his school, and at the end of the movie, he claimed "Knowledge is the treasure". -- No one disagrees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Secondly, Professor Jones commented on one of his students that he should step out of the library to gain more practical knowledge (experiences) even when the professor himself was under such a dangerous situation. -- No problem with it either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, when Irina (acting by &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000949/"&gt;Cate Blanchett&lt;/a&gt;, one of my favorite actresses in Hollywood) was asked to tell her wish which could be fulfilled by the "alien" power, she said she wanted to know everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything! She has such a thirst in world knowledge, which is supposed to support the theme of illustrating the "importance of knowledge", but unfortunately, she happens to be the "bad" leading role in the movie, whose task is to educate people the "right" thing through their "bad" experiences. So here it forms a twisted contrast between the theme and this "bad" woman character. And her ending was rather ambiguous: Did she die or not? Did she enjoy the moment of "knowing everything" at all? Usually, our common sense tells us when you hear a woman screaming like that, the result is not too difficult to imagine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also noticed there were several groups of young students in the cinema, and I believe the purpose of arranging them to watch this movie is to let them hear what the "hero" says about "education and knowledge", who usually does a better effect than their teachers in everyday life. But the problem arises from here... "Should I learn more about the world? According to Indiana, yes; but take another look at Irina who always wanted to know everything, definitely no! Unless I want to become a bad person and gone from this world as a beam of light."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course it's JUST a movie, no grown-ups would take it too seriously, but teenagers who haven't had enough life experiences to judge or control over what they should believe in or not, would be easily confused and even misled if the explanation work is not done properly by adults.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, let me ask once again, "Should we learn more??"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe the answer is "The more the better, but we shouldn't know EVERYTHING! Because it can be dangerous sometimes..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-6288257237698770394?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/6288257237698770394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=6288257237698770394' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/6288257237698770394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/6288257237698770394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2008/05/indiana-jones-and-questions-left-behind.html' title='Indiana Jones and Questions Left Behind'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-2275727262193373748</id><published>2008-05-27T12:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-27T14:31:29.003-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Something About A Hare</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;On my way home, I saw a gray fluffy hare jogging along the bushes on his own in the evening. He looked very happy, sniffing around here and there; every little new thing that is not green would get his attention, and then tapping its small white round tail after each step, telling the world about his excitement of the new discoveries-- He didn't seem to rush to go back home at this hour at all, occasionally he'd look up into the sky, thinking about the joyous moments he just had earlier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried to walk quickly and quietly enough towards him to catch up and see what he looks like because I have never seen a wild rabbit outside the zoo before, and never this close! He sensed me immediately, and turned his little head and looked at me with his big black watery eyes, asking cautiously, "Kuka sä oot?" ("Who are you?")&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mitä? Minä puhun suomea huonosti." ("Pardon? I don't speak Finnish very well.") I couldn't believe my eyes and ears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The poor hare rolled his eyes upwards impatiently and folded his long ears backwards with a dry smile, "You gotta learn some Finnish when you're in Finland, man!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What makes you think I'm male?! I'm a girl, and I AM learning Finnish, sir!" I got offended.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tough work, isn't it? Keep practising it with your bunnies, oops, I mean 'buddies', I'm also a lady, by the way! Have a nice day!" She smiled...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What a tooth!" I chuckled to myself, "You too, bye bye!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She ran into the forest nearby and probably would post a blog tonight too...about a stupid human instead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-2275727262193373748?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/2275727262193373748/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=2275727262193373748' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/2275727262193373748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/2275727262193373748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2008/05/something-about-hare.html' title='Something About A Hare'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-1256718382065380565</id><published>2008-04-24T11:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-24T12:44:25.739-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Teachers vs. Students</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I'm surprised to get an E-mail today from one of my students who is currently studying in UK. I remember he didn't like English and even hated the subject before I started teaching in his class, the reason I have an idea of who he was is that he was one of the "black sheep" in the whole college, but now his major is Journalism (Is there any connection between? I can't help wondering... But anyway, that's another story.) in one of the most famous universities in the world. I'm proud of him and his effort in the achievement after these years' hard-working. As far as I can recall, there is nothing special I did for him, I just simply gave him the equal respect and patience as for other students, and in his E-mail, he extended me the highest honor a teacher can possibly get. I was impressed and happy of course, but at the same time, I also realized how important a teacher's role is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never knew I influenced my students that much, but certainly I know how my teachers did to me. The most recent one failed to kill my desire of studying Finnish even though they tried so hard to make the language IMPOSSIBLE to learn. Finnish itself as a language is already difficult to get the hang of even for beginners, let alone to have such a "helpful" teacher to confuse us with errors here and there all the time, imagine what a headache and frustration it can be! Still, I attended their class regularly, and sat the exam finally not just because there were only less than half of the students left since the third lesson on three months ago. I'd say there are no bad students, only unqualified teachers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The most important thing for being a teacher, in my personal opinion, is to put yourself into your students' shoes for a change, which applies to any other occupation associated with people. We have all been students once, did you like what your teachers did to you back then? If not, don't pass the bad on from generation to generation!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-1256718382065380565?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/1256718382065380565/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=1256718382065380565' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/1256718382065380565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/1256718382065380565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2008/04/teachers-vs-students.html' title='Teachers vs. Students'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-449546057244347138</id><published>2008-04-17T11:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-24T12:52:46.451-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My "Sister"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I called mom today. Usually my "sister", who is actually a small dog that has been living with us for over 13 years and is considered as a VIP of the family, would answer it first-- When mom picks up the phone, all I can hear is the little dear barking very loudly, complaining mom hasn't cooked her anything special recently, or how she misses the ways I play with her, or when I shall be back home in order to make her life more exciting. I'm afraid she hates the fact that mom does the talking most of the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom told me they got the package I sent last week, and my "sister" was so happy about her gift as before-- a chew bone of her favorite brand. Mom said when she was trying to take off the cover of the bone, she noticed my "sister's" pupils were the biggest, glowing with desire and impatience. I knew what she was thinking at that moment, "Hurry up, I can unpack it, mom! Grrrrr Give it to me...NOW!!" The second she got it, she had already gone away to the balcony, jumped onto her own bed--the safest place ever in the world, and started to sniff, lick, bite and chew with a wide content smile on her face...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After 5 minutes or so, when she finished exploring every single bit of the bone, she paused and remembered that she saw something else along with her present, she'd jog back to the living room&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; by ensuring HER chew bone is hidden safely first,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; and try to inspect the rest to see whether there is anything extra edible or playable in the package. Yeah, a greedy "sister".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was at home, I would tease her for a while before feeding her (as she is extremely picky in food, and it's been mom's headache to make her eat when she is not happy with what is given or just doesn't have the "mood" for anything since she seldom shows that much enthusiasm in food as most dogs do), she'd appreciate what she got afterwards because I let her believe that's what she won, and eat it quickly as her prize or bonus!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each time I get back from trips, my lovely "sister" will choose to stay in my room for one or two nights just to show her care. In the morning, both of us like to sleep in as late as we can if time permits, but she will wake me up when she feels hungry by blowing hot air from her nose at the edge of my not-so-tall bed. (Those who have/had dogs must know you will get something ELSE occasionally with the air blown from their noses, but none of us really minds, do we?) So I will sit up staring at her, pretend to look annoyed by being woken up. She then chuckles, and runs away briskly with greatest joy to mom in the kitchen, wagging her fluffy tail, "Hey ma, I got that lazy-bone up, what do I get for lunch?" I guess I made a good start of her day...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right now, however, I can only imagine by listening to what mom describes, just wish I could see everything and enjoy her company once again sometime soon!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-449546057244347138?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/449546057244347138/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=449546057244347138' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/449546057244347138'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/449546057244347138'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2008/04/my-sister.html' title='My &quot;Sister&quot;'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-6214333629663698635</id><published>2008-04-16T13:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-24T12:53:18.317-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Light</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A ray of weak light comes through the darkness in a rainy day, and you can recognize it immediately because you know that is the light only lit for you no matter how late it is, and you are not alone on the road. It warms your heart even though it is so far away in distance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you start to take it for granted and not to appreciate it any longer as you believe it will be there forever, please don't forget that it can be also gone someday even though that is the least you can ever expect. Well, it is true that you can start a new journey to find other lights somewhere else, but it will never guide you the way the "weak" one did, the one you were used to, the one you once felt so comfortable with, the one that will never hurt your eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, where is YOUR light?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-6214333629663698635?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/6214333629663698635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=6214333629663698635' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/6214333629663698635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/6214333629663698635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2008/04/light.html' title='Light'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-6774921415876259781</id><published>2008-04-10T02:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-24T12:53:47.005-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Moments</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;While having a cup of coffee in a shopping mall, trying to relax myself and reviewing what has been happening lately, I heard an old song playing on the air. Strangely, everything changed back to when I was listening to it for the first time...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a summer afternoon, everyone was worn out and napping because of the hot days, but I was not. I jumped on my new bike and rode to the riverside to enjoy cool winds and the rare solitude. It was my time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were many oak trees along the river, so it was a perfect place to hide away from the burning sun. I put my bike away and sat down under one of the big trees. They were all my guards. The water in the river was not very clear, hence no one knows how deep it really is. And some people tried to throw rocks into it to test the depth, but all the stones were gone with a modest noise, so they told us it must be very deep, and we shouldn't try to play with the water in case we fall in and can't come back again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was gazing into the still water; occasionally it will smile at me since I saw its wrinkles-- Probably the pleasant wind makes me smile just as it does to the river in such a sweaty weather. Birds are chirping, gossiping what they have seen since this morning, and where to get delicious food. A small fish swum by and blew a bubble; I guess he said hi to me in Fi(nni)sh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Moi!" There comes my Finnish friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-6774921415876259781?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/6774921415876259781/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=6774921415876259781' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/6774921415876259781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/6774921415876259781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2008/04/short-story.html' title='My Moments'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-7511353568738270558</id><published>2008-04-05T03:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-16T14:17:09.860-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who makes the choice?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'm very well aware there are so many things waiting for me ahead, but I feel too lazy to even think about them. Why do I have those endless obligations to deal with everyday since grown up?! It was much easier and fun as a child, I just realized, unfortunately, I didn't cherish or know how to appreciate it fully at that time. Someone said, "&lt;/span&gt;      Life can only be understood backwards, but it has to be lived forwards."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;True, it HAS to be lived forwards. We are all rushing in our life, which is a one-way path, however, I want to explore whether there is a more free "path" on which I can make at least some other different lines or "routines"...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you wish your life is taken by a train, a ship or an airplane?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-7511353568738270558?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/7511353568738270558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=7511353568738270558' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/7511353568738270558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/7511353568738270558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2008/04/who-makes-choice.html' title='Who makes the choice?'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-3711187055209281001</id><published>2008-03-31T11:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-31T12:14:29.414-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Life is full of ups and downs, some people would experience more than others-- Are they luckier?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd think so when I'm old enough to look back at what I have done and felt, unfortunately, I am still with the "tides" being taken up and down by life. Just as it says in a Chinese poem, "You can't see the whole mountain when you are in it", but you could certainly see and feel more at the spot than later, because memories and feelings do fade away as time goes by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wish I knew how to play some instrument, then I would be able to express myself freely in a different way with no limitations by words. So for now, I will have to listen to songs composed by other people, whose music might inspire or soothe me in their way other than mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It gets darker and colder outside at the moment after the warmth wave during the day, so it feels more pleasant when you could sit and think without being distracted by the beautiful nature all the time. However, I can't help looking out at the stars-- They are far away but shining brightly; sometimes they hide behind clouds, and then sneak out to see whether you're paying attention to them or not, smiling at you and turning around, pulling another piece of cloud to cover their blushing cheeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Music is down, tea is cold, time to go to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you have any idea of what I am saying here?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do not, frankly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-3711187055209281001?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/3711187055209281001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=3711187055209281001' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/3711187055209281001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/3711187055209281001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2008/03/life.html' title='Life'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4467144790336600445.post-7716896746617705939</id><published>2008-03-24T05:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-24T10:04:18.108-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Miksi?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;div style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;"  &gt;I am sitting in the sun,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;"  &gt;looking at the sky and sigh,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;"  &gt;"Why is the nature so lively,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;"  &gt; while I'm chanting alone the song called '&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wk4lCXt7JKo"&gt;Why&lt;/a&gt;'?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Why? Why? And why?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4467144790336600445-7716896746617705939?l=famous-nameless.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/feeds/7716896746617705939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4467144790336600445&amp;postID=7716896746617705939' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/7716896746617705939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4467144790336600445/posts/default/7716896746617705939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://famous-nameless.blogspot.com/2008/03/miksi.html' title='Miksi?'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08301982130914270105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEYmo1ecU4/TZTcSxK_nvI/AAAAAAAAADg/n4E7Tg61iHc/s220/200.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
