Paella and the Art of Staying Sane
And so I snuck out of my stinking statistical shithole earlier this evening and joined the rest of the gang for a nice paella dinner at the London House buttery. It proved to be a most welcome break from work. The chef for the evening was the ever capable GNK, who, inspired by his recent marathon trip to Spain, came back with ideas and ingredients for this most delicious offering of Iberian cuisine.
Paella, of course, is best served not as a single dish for a solitary person, but is most appropriate instead for large gatherings – with generous servings of rice, chicken slices, peppers, onions and more, topped up with the magic taste of saffron. Alas, no shrimps were added – we were a bunch of poor students, after all – but the end result was eminently satisfying.
In fact, perhaps too satisfying. I think I ate too much. Certainly, I’ve been chained to my desk for what seems like weeks and weeks on end, accompanied by copious quantities of chocolates, coffee and other nourishing health food, yet barely sustaining me through the many days and nights which now merge one into the other, as I dream inconsolably of Chi Square tests, normal distributions and measures of association, wondering what they all could mean.
I sit here now like a giant tub of lard hardening as each day passes, emulsifying, ossifying, until the moment when I can be released from the demons of the dreaded exams. A pervasive sense of decay and degeneration infuses the entire body, which once saw better days. Meanwhile, I find my mind wandering, too, dedicated not to the pursuit of knowledge, but devoted instead to old songs by Faye Wong, Sally Yeh, Tarcy Su and others.
When I start singing Chinese songs to myself, that’s a sure sign that my mind’s going. But that doesn’t detract from the sweet beauty of lyrics such as these:
Paella, of course, is best served not as a single dish for a solitary person, but is most appropriate instead for large gatherings – with generous servings of rice, chicken slices, peppers, onions and more, topped up with the magic taste of saffron. Alas, no shrimps were added – we were a bunch of poor students, after all – but the end result was eminently satisfying.
In fact, perhaps too satisfying. I think I ate too much. Certainly, I’ve been chained to my desk for what seems like weeks and weeks on end, accompanied by copious quantities of chocolates, coffee and other nourishing health food, yet barely sustaining me through the many days and nights which now merge one into the other, as I dream inconsolably of Chi Square tests, normal distributions and measures of association, wondering what they all could mean.
I sit here now like a giant tub of lard hardening as each day passes, emulsifying, ossifying, until the moment when I can be released from the demons of the dreaded exams. A pervasive sense of decay and degeneration infuses the entire body, which once saw better days. Meanwhile, I find my mind wandering, too, dedicated not to the pursuit of knowledge, but devoted instead to old songs by Faye Wong, Sally Yeh, Tarcy Su and others.
When I start singing Chinese songs to myself, that’s a sure sign that my mind’s going. But that doesn’t detract from the sweet beauty of lyrics such as these:
寂寞开在心事旁
随手种一些伤感
不让星星来窥探
找个沉默的夜晚
找个沉默的夜晚
不让星星来窥探
随手种一些伤感
寂寞开在心事旁
我的关怀方式是你无法察觉的悲凉
只能在你不綺意时才锁上我心房
你往常的亲切友善是我今生的遗憾
受伤后无悔的埋在不流露的脸上
1 Comments:
I haven't heard that chinese song for ages... heh, i started to sing along too!!!
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