Ads You Don't Want To Skip (2)

The Nature of Ambition

          From Grant Snider's blog: Incidental Comics: http://www.incidentalcomics.com/

ZT 女白领的中国梦

转自豆瓣不靠谱的YK，其实我的梦想不是开咖啡店，而是开一家文具店，直到现在，走进任何文具店都不愿出来，尽管大部分文具都被电脑、iPad和iPhone的功能取代了：

农民工的梦想是攒钱回家盖房子，退休老大妈的梦想是闺女早点嫁出去，发廊小弟的梦想是登上舞台PK泰国洗剪吹……全体中国女白领都有着同一个梦想：辞职开一间咖啡馆。

而且不是星巴克COSTA那种量贩式的快餐连锁咖啡馆，是那种小小一间的，富有浪漫艺术情调的，三五张小桌子，摆着一个小书架——噢或者就开书店也行——一个下午也没有几个人光顾，女主人慵懒地坐在店里和阳光做游戏，播放着NAT KING COLE的QUIZAS, QUIZAS, QUIZAS….才不要兵荒马乱川流不息，店员系着围裙捋胳膊挽袖子用荒腔走板的高声唱菜“涛拉太涛摸卡”，那也太不讲究了。客人贵精不贵多，最好叮铃一声，小店门推开，能像梅格瑞安那样邂逅连锁书店大老板，或者上演女版诺丁山……姐可不是为了赚钱，要赚钱退休干吗？坐写字楼也有两万月薪，姐要的就是个歇息的地方。

不用弗洛伊德也知道，这个终极梦想，反映了中国全体女白领苦闷、焦虑、疲倦、饥渴的精神状态。工作压力大、生活单调无聊、职场腥风血雨，无论怎么样也杀不出个黎明。一赌气真想退下来。女人最好的退路不外乎被人捧在手心里养起来，但是现实是残酷的，别说养起来了……现在碰到个像样的人都难好吗！开店的梦想归根到底，也是要退出江湖，不过这个梦想更彻底地避开了所有难处，听上去是那么简单合理易操作……简直找好了铺面下个月就能开张。只要你不去想装修水电、工商税务、进货盘货、算账打扫这些腌臜事。

白领们平时都精明得要命，本身做着会计、市场、金融、销售……这种殚精竭虑的工作，算起盈亏头头是道，唯独一想到这个开店梦，就像看到了白胖婴儿一样，脑浆瞬间化为一滩黄油。EXCEL，PPT都不好使了，眼前漂浮的都是五彩缤纷的泡泡。“真的，我也并不想发财，只要能养活自己就行……我这人生活其实很简单……”别逗了。就算我肯相信你每月并不需要那1000块钱打车吃饭2000块钱美容健身3000块钱置装打扮，你以为你的咖啡馆会赚钱？？不算前期的投入，光是每天的运营费就不知要赔到何年何月，开店从来就不是一个养生的活计，只有两种人能当老板娘，一种是八面玲珑勤勤恳恳的阿庆嫂，一种是被人供养闲得百爪挠心的贵妇人。你们这些被工作和老板磨尽意志，然后又被空调冷气大公司福利养得不食人间烟火的矫情女青年，还是老老实实穿上套装去开你的会吧。

其实，女白领的内心深处，是认得清这个现实的。所以咖啡店也只是一个中国梦，在茶余饭后、受了委屈、节食到晕眩又加班到想哭的深夜拿出来想一想，才能让自己撑过去，等到月底发工资的时候，自然就不发梦了。

黄鹤楼头留圣迹

时尚博客Sartorialist上的照片，照片说明是在纽约拍的。引起我注意的是背景中的这幅对联，上联是“黄鹤楼头留圣迹”，下联被姑娘挡住了，看来应该是“玉清殿内炼丹砂”，据说是吕洞宾登黄鹤楼时留下的诗句。好奇这是在纽约的什么地方，估计是在唐人街一带，下次去纽约要探寻一番。

I want to see what I haven't seen

最烦一些网站貌似体贴地给你“个性化”定制，你以为你是谁呀，这么了解我的喜好！

一打开YouTube，给我推荐的是“非诚勿扰”、春晚赵本山小品、舞林争霸和澳网费德勒对宋佳。就算我在YouTube上看过这些视频，但并不代表我还想看呀。就算我还想看，那我不能自己搜呀！

更有甚者，打开NYT主页，最上方横幅广告是“Marc Jacobs Bags”，右下方Ads by Google给我推荐的“海淘中国，乐趣为您先行支付”。KAO，我昨天的确有在Bloomingdales网站上看过包包，这并不代表我就是想买包包呀。是，我的确没事爱上淘宝上溜达，那是因为最近有国内朋友来，问我要不要捎东西。拜托谷歌，您的定向广告投放能不能再智能化一点？！

其实，我本人对互联网信息的期待是出其不意，不是我看过什么你就给再给我看什么，而是我没看过什么或是别人（并不是大家都）在看什么你才推荐我看什么。常常给我这种“惊喜”的往往是在不认识的人的博客里偶然发现另外一个人的博客链接，点进去竟然发现别有洞天！那种美妙的感觉跟你到一个第一次去的地方，随便走进一个小巷子，发现一个苍蝇馆子，好吃得不得了的感觉差不多。

Who Said What (10)

越来越觉着“自信”是个坏东西。无论是对个人群体还是对党派国家而言。自信是愚昧之始，专断之根，暴虐之源。如果人人都少点傲慢自信，多点谦卑自省，可能一切都会不一样。一个信奉“知之为知之，不知为不知”的世界比一个信奉“天下兴亡，匹夫有责”的世界会更好些吧。
                                                                                                             ——东东枪

一篇有关鸡汤的心灵鸡汤

NYT杂志上的一篇文章，很感动。

The Unlikely Chef

By JAMI ATTENBERG

Published: April 26, 2013 29 Comments

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My grandmother died when my mother was just 11 years old, and consequently my mother never learned how to cook particularly well. Certainly she had cousins and aunts who passed on bits of knowledge here and there, and she was taught to cook as part of her public education. Water, she could boil. Recipes, she could follow. But with a single father raising two young girls, my mother lost some skills along the way.

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Therefore, I did not learn to cook, either. Instead I have become a superior dinner guest. I am wonderful to have at your side while you cook, particularly if you give me a glass of wine, and also to have sit at your table, because I will appreciate your food in a deep, emotional and highly verbal way, perhaps, in small part, because I did not get to experience that kind of cooking growing up.

Cooking skills aside, my mother is an exceptional nurturer. Two years ago, she flew to New York from Chicago to care for me while I recovered from a minor operation. The surgery went smoothly, and the painkillers were a delight. Later, at my apartment, I handed her a grocery list of comfort foods. Included on that list was Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup.

“I should make you some chicken noodle soup instead,” she said.

“Mom, you have never made me chicken noodle soup in your life — except from a can,” I said.

“That’s not true,” she said.

“It is absolutely true,” I said.

We discussed this a moment longer. Soon, a cellphone surfaced from a purse, and my father’s voice came through on the end of the line.

“Didn’t I make chicken noodle soup when they were kids?” my mother asked.

“Let me talk to him,” I said.

“Your mother did many wonderful things for you,” my father said. “She encouraged your love of books; she taught you to believe you could be anything you wanted in life.”

“I know she did!” I said. “I’m not saying she wasn’t a great mom. But there was no chicken noodle soup, right?”

“I do not recall any chicken noodle soup,” my father said.

I shook my head at my mother. “Dad says no.”

“Well, now I’m definitely going to make you some soup,” said my mother, who loves a well-thrown gauntlet.

“Tell her to be sure to ask for help at the grocery store,” my father said.

I e-mailed my friend Kate, who is a wonderful chef. I wrote that my mom was going to make some chicken noodle soup and that perhaps this was dangerous terrain. “Send us a recipe,” I said. “But make it airtight.”

She sent a recipe, and off my mother went to the grocery store in search of decent chicken thighs. Meanwhile, the painkillers were wearing off. That soup better be good, I thought.

Three hours and a dozen e-mails with Kate later, my mother had successfully made the chicken broth.

There were some arguments along the way. She bought low-sodium stock, for example, and I forced her to salt it. “I’m recovering from surgery,” I said. “Let me have my salt!” But it looked good, and it smelled good. It was definitely chicken soup, and it was made with love.

All we needed were the noodles.

I watched as my mother emptied an entire one-pound bag of noodles into the soup. Something clicked in my head. At that exact moment, Kate sent me an e-mail. Subject line: Noodles. “I forgot to say how many,” she wrote. “Did she put in the whole package? Really, it should be like . . . a cup.”

“She put them all in,” I wrote back.

“But the noodles are the best part,” my mother said.

“The broth is just an excuse for the noodles,” Kate agreed. “But still. . . .”

We watched in horror as the noodles sucked up all the soup. We tried to add more water, but it was too late. My mother and I stood in the kitchen, frantically spooning the remaining broth into our bowls.

“It’s my fault!” wrote Kate.

“It’s my fault!” said my mother.

Aha, the final ingredient: Guilt.

But let me tell you, that one bowl of chicken noodle soup was delicious. We did not think about the vat of soup-soaked noodles sitting in the kitchen while we ate, nor did we think about the imperfections of life. I was my mother’s best dinner guest, and she was my favorite chef.

Who Said What (9)

郭德刚：我若撒谎天诛地灭，你若诽谤男盗女娼。
                    

May Movie List: What a month!

May 3: Iron Man 3



May 10: The Great Gatsby



May 24: Epic



May 30: Now You See Me

让你不想Skip的广告

YouTube的好处之一是广告只放5秒，然后你可以选择是继续看下去还是Skip。有的广告让你不想Skip：

喜欢吃东西的人多数是好人

转自蔡澜博客：

「你整天满脑子吃，吃吃吃吃，对人生有甚么贡献？」小朋友指责。 
「我并不想有甚么贡献呀！」我说。 
「那做人，做来干甚么？」 
「吃呀！」我说：「喜欢吃东西的人，多数是好人。」 
「这话怎么说？」 
「因为这些人已经没有动坏心机的时间。想吃，已经够他们忙的了。」我说：「他们不分国籍，应该组织一个老饕联合国，拼命耕耘，拼命吃，天下就太平了。」 
「世界上还有那么多饥饿儿童，你在说甚么风凉话？」 
「骂得好，」我说：「但是我们年轻时也遇过饥寒交迫的日子呀，你们呢？」 
小朋友不出声，想理由反驳，最后说：「总要为那些儿童做点事呀！」 
「捐捐款，除此之外，能做些甚么？你会把身体化成面包，喂饱所有的人吗？」我说：「只要有一颗善良的心，已经算好。喜欢吃的人，多数不太过凶残。」 
「你们连濒临绝种的动物都要试一试，还不算凶残？」 
「会吃的人，猪牛羊鸡，已经足够，山珍野味的煮法不多，并不好吃。」 
「你对吃那么感兴趣，是怎么开始的？」 
「从好奇心开始。」我说：「我不止对吃有兴趣，对其它很多东西都感兴趣。感兴趣就研究，久而久之，累积了些经验，在比较中分出好坏，就此而已。」 
「但是看你吃，吃得不多呀！」 
「有时候看到别人吃，也很高兴的。」 
「我不明白。」小朋友说。 
「这叫做分享。」我说：「你懂得吃的话，就明白了。」