Nouvelle Vague means what depends on which side R U on.

Ever heard some French musique, such as Laurent Voulzy's Amelie Colbert, Enzo Enzo's Un Amour Humain, Willy Denzey's L'allumage, etc, very fine musique. (this section's simply a piece of shit!)
Found there's something different than average English pop songs- the ambience of musique, just like Italiano musica (my favourite), every language has its own certain ambience, Italiano strong, French soft and flowing, as to English... errr... ?! I've already been so numb for long, cannot find as many pleasure as in other languages. (this one, too. never mind... hehe!)

Right, Nouvelle Vague: French group, with very fine female vocalists(not for they're French beauties, but their beautiful voice), New wave, Bosa Nova, sometimes Jazzy, always smooth and tranquil, although most of their songs are also written in English, they sing songs in a peculiar French way,
by listening to their musique, will feel comfortable, and trendy, and poncy?! and whatever it is, cool by all means. Once you listen their works, you'll definitely be addicted to'em.

Tubular Bells & Richard Branson

It was until I finished Richard Branson(head of the Virgin group)'s autobiography "Losing My Virginity", I searched for this work- Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells , and then found it as touching as Branson said in the book.

Losing My Virginity: 'How I've Survived, Had Fun, and Made a Fortune Doing Business My Way' by Sir Richard Branson.

Of course, Branson's stories are very interesting, he showed great bravery in the face of his careers, as well as his own life, that I can hardly imagine a 21-year-old could be so assertive and aggressive and, intuitional, his past life was so exciting as can only be seen in the movie, such as banged with girls that he loved at first sight, setting up of first Virgin record shop, etc. However, I think, in my opinion, there were so many successes can only be happening in the '70s and '80s, in other words, that Richard's born appropriately, at the right time. He's by all means a lucky guy I would say, but a great life explorer as well, I admire his ambition and courage, and I hope I could be half as determined, half as brave, and half as faithful as him, Sir Richard Branson.

To Autumn

By John Keats

Ripeness, as though warm days would never cease. Suspension of time, a drugged laziness as the last hours of the ripeness ooze away. Diminishment, shorter days, a grieving music hinting at oncoming cold.

The fulfillment, the hovering, and the finality of autumn are so vivid in John Keats' "To Autumn" that readers of English cannot be sure how much our perception of the season comes from this poem.

In a letter of Sept. 21, 1819 to his friend John Hamilton Reynolds, Keats suggests that the essential perception of the poem is the visual warmth of fall colors, unlike the visual coldness of spring:

How beautiful the season is now—how fine the air. A temperate sharpness about it. Really, without joking, chaste weather. Dian skies. I never lik'd stubble fields so much as now—Aye, better than the chilly green of the spring. Somehow a stubble field looks warm—in the same way that some pictures look warm—this struck me so much in my sunday's walk that I composed upon it.

—Robert Pinsky

1

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom‑friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch‑eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er‑brimmed their clammy cells.

2

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on the granary floor,
Thy hair soft‑lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or, on a half‑reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinéd flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider‑press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

3

Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too—
While barréd clouds bloom the soft‑dying day,
And touch the stubble‑plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full‑grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge‑crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden‑croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

bluh bluh

Still 25 working days to go!
Then it's summer, which means, "HOLIDAYS!!!"
Cool! Can't stop thinking of it.XD

I meant not to be mean to'em those who were considered "shallow" by me, simply can't stand their senseless and numb behaviour, my response was so clear and easy to be understood, "that I DO NOT think you're handling any thing well! (Could you just piss off?)" but they seemed not to see, rather, chose not to face their foolishness. Meseems it isn't wise to be a conformist, the only thing I can help is to say to'em 'sod off, bugger!'

God bless the 3rd operation this July would be fine, bless the process to be smooth, bless the result to be acceptable. God bless me, God bless us all.