Mark's Pages

November 9, 2003:

Shufen. "Sue" to the stupid Americans who can't remember "Shufen". Five-four, rail-thin, jet black hair, glasses. Studies Finance at an American university: one day she'll return to Taipei an independent professional woman.

Stops you in the hallway to ask a simple question.

"What do you think of the Eagles?"

Simple question, complex, opinionated answer, and not the one she expected.

"Ugh!", you blurt, like holding your nose. "I hate the Eagles. Lame, boring, empty, pointless Record Industry wankers. And they're responsible for all that horrible VH-1 hollywood country crap like Toby Keith and Billy Ray Cyrus. Blecch. I hate the Eagles." Closing with an exaggerated shudder of horror.

Resisting the urge to laugh she says, deftly, "Oh. That's too bad. I have two tickets to their show at the Shoreline Friday, and I was thinking of asking you."

Small girls on a bench in the hallway. Friends. One crying, the other comforting. Quiet sobs, embarrassed to weep in public.

Shufen, your friend. Her boyfriend doesn't like her cooking. Doesn't want to go anywhere with her. Told her she was "fat". Shufen, with her perfect skin and sweet shiny eyes, shining now with falling tears.

You should have stolen her away from that asshole.

"Oh! Those Eagles..."