think about it, once upon a time, long long ago, where there were no computers, or hardly ever, or before the internet existed in our lives, when we were small kids with too much time on our hands, what did we do? well, i for one, read. there was seriously nothing better to do each day. any time i didn't wanna do math sums, xi2 zi4, learn ting1 xie3 or stuff, i'd pick up a book and read. and reading only involves reclining on the sofa, on my stomach on the bed, mostly with a bag of chips or some other food... and children's books were easy to read, fast to finish, seldom ever draggy and longwinded, without underlying meanings and stuff... where heroes reigned, the good never die, the bad were always defeated and practically everyone was morally upright...... but as we grow, we read elsewhere that enid blyton was actually a mean scheming old woman who tortured her husband emotionally and had affairs outside of her marriage, that her books contained racism and white superiority, that she propagated this and that... thing's don't seem as perfect as they used to be... now we have to try and read between lines even when reviewing kiddy books, every little thing could signify something, else. teletubbies are satanic, barney is gay, power puff girls defy authority...... what's all that? i don't know. well ernie and bert could pretty well have been gays too, they slept together didn't they? and the prince in sleeping beauty took liberties with a poor defenceless girl in a coma... goodness knows what else he did to her. donald duck could have been a gigolo or something (nan2 ji4 is it? duck what!) and ninja turtles -- how can they teach our kids to admire dirty creatures who live under drains and eat pizzas all their lives? life is so so warped.
well i didn't think i had anything left in me to update the journal about. after all, i'm not working, nothing very significant hardly happens in my life nowadays... really nothing to update. but i don't like to see my journal languishing like that, with a mere thirty-something entries blah blah. so i was walking around the empty (of people except me) house, looking at all the stuff we were springcleaning, then i saw the find-outer books, recently moved out of their shelves, and thought i would remind myself of them by writing a little. i don't wanna throw those books away... but i might have to, sadly. i actually intended to write on roald dahl too, but i didn't realise one small thought of mine, penned down (or typed out) could produce so many words and sentences and paragraphs. i guess matilda, danny (who's the champion of the world), those incorrigible witches and boy have all to wait. :)
ps: the dog was a little black scottish terrier called buster, and he loved to dig for rabbits in rabbit holes, tho he could never reach them...
