嗅觉

自从发现我们家的黄猫喜欢在我衣服上撒尿之后，我就开始有点神经质了。我在家里没事干的时候，就会疑神疑鬼的到处闻来闻去的，因为我老是害怕黄猫又不知道在什么地方偷偷撒尿了。我鼻子还是挺灵的，上几次黄猫干的坏事都是我发现的。

前几天晚上在楼下看电视，我一边看，一边就开始嗅。隐隐约约的好象有一丝小黄的尿骚味。在电视广告的时候，我就趴到了地板上，仔细的闻。“嗯，有问题，有味道啊。”我心里开始发怵。我最讨厌打扫黄猫的案发现场了。

我趴在地上，全神贯注的开始搜索这股味道的来源。四肢着地，我象一支轻盈的壁虎在地板上游走。我脸冲着地，全靠猎犬一般的鼻子带着我向案发现场前进。随着尿骚味开始一丝一丝的变强，笑容浮上我的脸庞，我将要再一次成功的粉碎以小黄领导的反革命集团。

“你趴在地上爬来爬去的搞什么鬼？”LD突然开始大叫。

“我在闻猫尿呢，小黄肯定又干坏事了。不过不要怕，我马上就能找到事发地点了。”我解释完，期待着LD的鼓励和赞扬。

“你疯啦，你在猫的屎盆前面一个劲的闻个啥？！”

我一抬头，原来我不知不觉地爬到了屎盆前面1米处。黄猫正撅着屁股蹲在里面，睁着个大眼睛看着我，很好奇的样子。

—……%￥#？！

快感

耳边是吸尘器的轰鸣声，我蹲在地上，低着头向床下张望，手里的洗尘管子仿佛某种远古巨兽在昏暗的床底游走，咆哮着，寻觅着猎物。

“哇，几天没吸尘，居然又是这么多猫毛。”我暗自嘟囔。猫猫们，仿佛也感受到我的不满，都四个小瓜子盘在一起，乖乖的趴在衣柜顶上，充满怜悯的看着我。他们老实巴交的样子打消了我去折腾他们的意图。

看着这些躲在角落里的猫毛一大片一大片的消失在我不停转动的手腕下，我突然感到一种莫名奇妙的快感。就好比邻居家厨房飘来的香味，虽然不知道具体是什么，但真真切切在那里。我想起上次我有类似的感觉还是若干年前看晚间新闻，当电视上说到什么“我省公安厅近期摧毁一特大走私贩毒集团”的时候，“摧毁”和“特大”这两个单词让幼小的我兴奋异常。

我自己就开始琢磨，到底为什么会有这种感觉呢？也许内心深处都有种破坏欲吧。摧枯拉朽的把东西砸得稀烂就是这种欲望的宣泄。呵呵，我特别喜欢去把路边丢下来的整齐干净的空烟盒去踩扁，也算是破坏欲吧。

但洗尘仿佛仿佛是破坏欲的延伸，其中还有些创造带来的喜悦。不破不立。摧毁了旧的脏的地板，新的干净的地板就在手下诞生。作为创造者，目睹这一切是美好的。其实好多家务活都有点这个味道。注视着干净的马桶，那种快乐是真实的。

我现在写文章，也是如此。写起来很累，有时候为了一句话，一个词，会憋得坐立不安。但一旦写完了，左看右看，还是美滋滋的。希望我能够一直能感到这种快乐，写到写不动了。

Writing Assignment - An Incident where your behavior is different than your thoughts (2 Pages)

It was close to 3 o’clock on an ordinary Wednesday afternoon. As usual, I arrived at the 5th floor conference room for our weekly group meeting. With a large order of Dunkin Donut coffee in one hand and my notebook in the other, I felt ready.

I was the first and alone in the room, but that didn’t last long. Before I knew it, the 12-foot rectangular cherry oak conference table was filled with chitchat and laughter. Last night’s Dancing With The Stars had quite a few fans in the group. Marty, the head of the group, also chimed in and ignited another round of giggles.

Marty was a typical Corporate America manager: tall, married, and white. He was in his late 40s with an intimidating 6’5” body. Perhaps as an attempt to make people feel more comfortable around him, he insisted on being funny. He took this endeavor seriously as if he was the emerging force to be reckoned with on Comedy Central. His limited joke collection did not seem to concern him. He thrived on his impeccable consistency. He was able to deliver the same story the same way day-in and day-out. When he opened with the first line, I knew exactly what’s next. Just like a classic Broadway show that withstood the test of time, the jokes, although limited, became art.

Unfortunately I was not able to appreciate it. Hearing the same joke for the first couple times was interesting, and then it became somewhat annoying. Eventually I started to wonder if Marty was getting some sadistic pleasure out of it knowing how painful I felt.

So when Marty started the meeting with “well, today is Wednesday. It reminds me of the first time I heard of the term Hump Day …”, I frowned. The first time I heard this Hump Day joke was 5 years ago. I was not even married back then.

The frown was stupid though. I was too senior to make such a rookie mistake. I refused to have the “need to be a better team player” line for my year-end review. So, I lifted my coffee, took a quick sip, and stared at the lid while frowning, giving the impression that I was dissatisfied with my coffee and coffee only. Then, I turned my head to Marty in a fluid motion and laughed with my mouth wide open when he was describing how shocked he was when he first heard the term Hump Day from a rather homely looking middle age secretary lady twenty some years ago. The timing of my laugh was perfect. I was like Barry Bonds looking at a fast ball right down the middle and slamming it out of the park.

As Marty kept going through the story, I started looking around to see how other people were faking it. I was convinced that I was not alone. Jane caught my eyes. She was good. Her slightly forward leaning body and the gently nodding head were synchronized flawlessly. The white teeth and the tiny eye wrinkles depicted a genuine smile. I had to admit that her Oscar-worthy acting performance far exceeded her below-average business acumen. Was that why she was able to outlast many of our colleagues here? I wondered. As if she noticed I was looking at her cross the table, she turned and smiled at me. I took another sip of coffee to gather my thoughts and smiled back amiably.

The time was up. The conference room erupted into laughter after Marty concluded his story. I laughed so hard that tears almost came out. “Good stuff!” I joined the others cheering.

Writing Assignment - A Memorable Childhood Incident (2 Pages)

“I will never be able to finish this assignment.” I, a 4th grader at the time, stared at my notebook with agony. Then, I slightly raised my head and took a quick peek around the classroom. It was about 6 o’clock in the afternoon. Rows of empty desks and chairs quietly lay in the late spring dusk. “It’s getting dark. I should have gone back home two hours ago. It is really getting dark outside.” My voice was trembling inside.

The classroom was not completely empty. My friend Gu and the Chinese teacher were still around. Gu was busy working on the same assignment. However, his hopeless look betrayed him. He knew he had no chance of finishing it either. My Chinese teacher, a slightly chubby young lady in her mid 20s, was sitting behind the podium, holding a magazine in one hand and a big red apple in the other. The sound of her biting the apple kept reminding me how hungry I was.

The so called “assignment” was to copy the entire Chapter Three in the textbook 100 times by hand. It was the teacher’s way of punishment for our misbehavior during the break. My writing of “Gu is a fat pig” on the chalkboard angered her greatly for some reason. Gu could have played the victim card nicely if he hadn’t mis-aimed and hit the teacher on the head with the chalk. Once the entire classroom turned into a circus, I knew we were in big trouble. So, several hours later, I was still stuck at school.

Suddenly I heard my mother’s voice echoing in the hallway. She was asking for directions. My heart started racing. My palms were getting wet and I felt a little bit nauseous. I slowly sunk into the chair like a deflated balloon. The worst was happening.

I was always afraid of my mother at that age. She was rigid and full of principal. She was the enforcer at home. Although she didn’t rule with brute force, her scolding, mixed with chilling stares, was highly effective. I considered my mother as one of them, those who made my life unnecessarily difficult. My Chinese teacher, my neighbor’s wild dog, and the big kids upstairs at school were all part of them.

When my mother entered the class room, I kept my head down and avoided any eye contact. I was petrified. Moments later, She and the teacher started whispering in the hallway. They must be talking about me, I figured. I turned to Gu for some support, but Gu gave me this solemn look as if he was mourning a dying horse. Several minutes later, they both returned. To my surprise, the teacher announced that Gu and I were free to go. I couldn’t believe my ears. I didn’t say anything though. I quickly gathered my stuff and followed my mother out of the school.

Walking slowly behind her, I was waiting for the inevitable. One way or another, my mother would teach me a lesson for what happened today. The road to home felt dreadfully long. Even the spring breeze felt annoyingly warm that day. Neither of us did any talking. The silence was suffocating. Once we were at home, my father asked us what happened. My mother briefly mentioned that I was held up at school for some assignment without providing much detail. Then at dinner time, she had this strange look on her face and kept urging me to eat more. “You must be very hungry today.” She said it over and over.

The scolding never came. As if nothing ever happened, my mother never mentioned this incident again, nor did my Chinese teacher. What exactly did my mother say to the teacher that day in the hallway? That’s question I have wondered ever since. Also after that day, I started to think that maybe, just maybe, my mother was not one of them, but rather one of us.

老电影

这两天在Netflix上乱逛，发现很多电影可以及时观看，就东点点，西点点的到处打探。我一向喜欢魔戒之类的西方神话电影，但选择不多，就看了两个81年的老片子。但看完之后，出乎意料的居然还都挺喜欢的。由于片子老了点，很多特级在现在的眼光里看来，都挺假的，有些甚至接近了可笑的地步，但故事情节，人物对话，和演员表演都很不错，呵呵，甚至比一些现在的所谓好莱坞大片还好看。

第一部是《Excalibur》，讲述英国阿瑟国王的故事，片子名字就是他那把传说中插在石头里的大剑。片子挺长的，从他父亲说起 ，到阿瑟的出生和死亡，都讲了一遍。一些相关的传说，包括后来的圣杯任务什么的，也都包括了。情节编排都挺紧凑的，该登场的人物也都粉墨登场了，Lancelot，Merlin，Guenevere，Gawain这些关键人物是一个都没拉下，每个人的刻画都挺用心的。看完之后，现在对阿瑟国王的相关传说基本有了个了解。呵呵，我还狂wikipedia了一把，西方这些传说和神话还是挺有意思的。

另一部是《Clash of Titans》，讲述希腊神话里宙斯的儿子Perseus经历重重阻难，最后保护了爱人公主Andromeda，并且成功复兴自己国家的故事。这些希腊诸神呢，则高高在上的通过这些凡人来互相角力。呵呵，这一点还是挺有讽刺意味的，老百姓从古至今都是上层博弈的旗子 。刚开始看的时候不记得，看着看着才发现我大概十二三岁的得时候就看过，因为里面男主角杀美杜莎的情节我印象很深，当时就是给美杜莎那恐怖的造型弄的晚上睡不着觉。片子挺好看的，很热闹，各种各样的怪物好多，有带翅膀的飞马，有让人一看就变成石头的美杜莎，有超级巨大的水怪，有丑陋的变形人，有和人一样高的毒蝎子，还有一个很可爱的机械猫头鹰。尽管特级有点落后，但看到入迷处，倒也不觉得特别别扭。

对西方神话有兴趣的同学，不妨去弄来也看看，我觉得挺值得一看的。

Me Talk Pretty One Day

这是我正在看的David Sedaris写的个人散文集，里面包含了27篇短小的故事，讲述他形形色色的生活经历。

开头的几十页有点平淡，但就像好酒一样，感觉都是要慢慢的上头。第六十页的那篇“You Can't Kill the Rooster”开始，就好戏连台了。各种各样的故事层出不穷，有讲述他那粗口连篇的哥哥的，有讲述他在大学稀里糊涂教书的，有讲述他在法国被法语老师精神折磨的，有讲述在朋友家拉下超级大便冲不下去的，反正都是超级搞笑，弄得我常常咧着大嘴，像中风一样躺在沙发上呼呼的打颤。强烈推荐啊！

读书的享受

这两天读了些希奇古怪的书，有中文的，也有英文的，大多是讲述个人经历的散文集。原本的初衷是给自己上课写作业提供点素材和灵感，但看着看着就很入迷，读到有些精妙之处，还会痴痴的看着窗外的栅栏，回味许久，好似琼瑶小说里那些晕了头的怀春少女。
但这几天读书，倒也有些和以前不同的感觉。以前喜欢读书，主要是留恋其中直接的快感。一个好的句子就好比天上掉下来的馅饼，能一下子把我砸到幸福的深渊。我就像是一个游客，东逛西逛的到处猎奇，享受文字花园里的美丽风光。但这种走马观花的心态从来没有让我从根本上体会字里行间的伟大，仿佛好的作品都是大自然的产物，浑然一体，毫不费功夫。
现在自己开始尝试写作，才知道其中辛苦。一个看似稀松平常的细节，可能都是作者千锤百炼的果实。所以这两天看书的时候，我更象是一个虔诚的朝拜者，卑微的仰视着作者的智慧。看到拍案叫绝之处，就会情不自禁的眼角闪光，喉咙哽咽，喃喃道“太牛了，太牛了”。

First Week Homework - Write a place you feel comfortable with (1-page)

My first visit to “Atlas Café” was purely for its free wireless internet. After I moved to Williamsburg last August, the first thing I asked around was a comfortable place where I can write, read, and surf freely. The word “freely” was defined strictly as “undisturbed” and “zero cost”. Atlas Café was then recommended to me by a friend. After spending an entire afternoon there, I found myself a favorite spot in the neighborhood.

I like the way Atlas Café smells. The scent of brewed coffee mixed with toasted bread soothingly lingers in the air, not too aggressive, nor too evasive, just the right amount to stimulate my senses.

I also enjoy Atlas’ atmosphere as it reminds me of the place I grew up in — it feels more like a family kitchen than a commercial space. The Café looks aged and full of memories. Most furniture is made of brown wood with noticeable wear-and-tear. The menu is handwritten on the yellowish wall, and next to it is a gigantic dog-eared world map. Fresh loaves of bread are visible on the shelves behind the counter. I often spend a whole day there, satisfying not only my mind but also my stomach, thanks to a long list of interesting drinks and delicious food Atlas has to offer.

The place is popular and often crowded, yet somehow I can always find a table. The south and east side walls are made of clear glass, allowing plenty of sunshine to pour in. From inside, I can quietly observe some college kids chatting, laughing, and resting on the benches outside. I feel like an integral part of this vibrant community while having my own peaceful domain.

Oh, did I mention its fast and free wireless internet?

好久没写东西了

自从一月份下岗开始，我就过上了闲云野鹤的生活，天天健健身，看看书，睡睡觉，过着我以前一直羡慕的“小混混”般的美好生活。

工作我现在实在没什么心思找。我的确比较厌倦所谓金融市场的这些工作。每天13个小时，带着狗链一般的领带在电脑上的Excel里瞎折腾的日子，我是不想再经历了。而且作为一个外国人，在这个市道里，只能更是忍气吞声，我还不如天天游手好闲的当个小混混。

我也思考了很多过去七八年上班的点滴，感触良多，决定要乘现在有时间，写本书什么的，讲述一下我是如何从一个雄心勃勃的有志青年，变成了一个虚胖虚胖的小混混。现在我写了大约4万字，但有些地方我还是有点糊涂，不知道如何处理。

为了帮助我写作，我最近上了一堂纽约大学的成人教育课--“如何把个人经历写出来并且发表”。老师是个50多岁的犹太女人，一辈子都是个自由撰稿人，以身边的东西作为素材，写散文到各个杂志上发表，也出了好几本书。一开始，我还挺犹豫的，不知道能不能学到有用的东西，因为写作仿佛是很私人的东西。现在上了两节课了，发现受益良多，呵呵，也意识到自己的浅薄和不足。我要加油了~~~

每个礼拜这课上都有作业，我也会帖上来，这样大家也能知道我在写些什么。

至于我心情怎么样，哈哈，我只能说，在过去6年里，我从来没有这么开心过，至于为什么，你以后就要买我的书来看个究竟了，哈哈。