——我好像在哪里见过你。

路途，零缺点boy，好似一缕春风吹过，那么和煦温暖，令人心旷神怡。

他遇到了命定的她，他们相爱，相守，在上海滩的纸醉金迷里挥洒青春。

故事讲到这里，仿佛一切都很完美。然而该来的还是会来，半点不由人。看似浪漫实则脆弱的爱情小蓓蕾，在时代的洪流和人性的本能面前都显得那么苍白可笑。

——对方要的却偏偏是自己最缺的，爱情的讨人厌就在这里。

路途当然不是阳光男孩，他心里的伤痕不可治愈，父母的结局让他不安惶恐。所有的开朗大度都是他的刺猬壳，掩盖他那比任何人都更渴望爱，更敏感脆弱的心。如果她是个有情饮水饱的女孩，那么一切都会不一样。然而她绝不止清冷而已，骄傲又自卑，在一起的每一天，都碾压着她的自尊和坚持。

他可以爱她宠她为她妥协，唯独给不了她平等和自信。她可以放下高冷为他洗手作羹汤，却绝不可能为爱情放弃自己的追求。

——遇到你我的心就像遇到了一场地震。如果心不能还我，那么，命你拿走。

不同于上海滩的明艳，影片里的纽约永远处于一种晦涩难明的状态。幽暗的灯光涌动的人群，声称绝不原谅的路途还是去看了母亲，那一幕，眼中无尽的渴望和落寞。相同的洋基队帽子，母亲满眼宠溺爱抚的终究不是自己。他转身离开，如此，生命的一半已然消失。

重遇阿鹃，他忘情的吻她，带她离开。两人奔跑时的画面背景是影片少见的饱和色，甚至脸上的表情也是逃命时不该有的祥和甚至希冀，仿佛正在奔向新生活，行将就木的半条命也重新燃起了光辉。然而路途估计错误，不是每个人都像他，冷酷理性的人才能胜者为王。铁栅栏关上的那一刻，注定了这是一场逃不过的生离死别。

躺在异乡的土地上，路途的心里应该是平静的吧。终于可以不为世情所累，不用为兄弟操心，不用再这么周到体贴。亲情和爱情，终于都失去了。

——我需要很多很多的爱，没有爱我会活不下去。

在微雨黄昏的旧上海，朦胧中我看到了那个坐在巷口不断张望又默默哭泣的男孩儿。

他叫路途，一个胆怯而勇敢的平凡人。

这篇剧评可能有剧透 原来Jules这么爱Rue 感触很深的有几个片段： Jules说她尝试了一辈子去征服女性特质，有时却感到是女性特质征服了她。 Jules说她想停掉荷尔蒙（激素）她不再想追求传统男性审美里女性的那个样子了 她想变得像大海一样 一样有力量 broad deep and thick 真好啊 Jules说男性追求的...  (展开)

这篇影评纯属娱乐。

在本季第12集中，两个贱女孩偷了max和caroline的创意，han挺身而出帮其夺回产权，且发表了一篇关于“欺凌”的演讲。他说“每次受到挖苦，都觉得自己失去了一部分（人格），离想要成为的自己也越来越远。”

奇怪的是，他这篇正气凛然的演讲的拯救对象正是天天欺负他的max。

其实也不奇怪。因为从第一季以来han对于max的挖苦讽刺脾气一直都很好，最多自己掉头走开或者反唇相讥一句。要是我是han，我早辞退max八百回了。

不是人人都对max的吐槽如此忍耐，第四季的摄影师，两个偷创意的贱女孩，服装厂的工人，星巴克的员工等等，都明显没有han脾气好。

当然，这里面有情感因素在。第二季当中max和caroline房租不够，幸而有餐厅家族及时相救，且han深情地说了句：你可以拿我们的钱，因为我们是家人。

有没有别的原因呢？我前几天瞎想，突然想到，对于han来说英语是第二语言，有没有可能跟语言有关系。

2003年，三位学者开启了一个项目，测试土耳其语-英语双语大学生对双语的情绪反应。经过一系列测试，发现大学生对于第一语言中的负面表达（如责备、挖苦、禁忌词等）的皮肤电感反应明显比第二语言中的强。他们根据这项发现推测，可能是人在学习第一语言时，对它的隐含意义和指向性更为敏感；而在长到一定年龄学习第二语言时，更为关注的是第二语言的语义层面，对其有效性和应用就关注比较低。

其实这个很好理解，对于第一语言为普通话的人来说，撕逼的时候“操你妈”比"fuck you"显然来得更劲爆。

但是sophie和oleg的第一语言也不是英语，那么为什么不能拿他们和han相提并论？

han第一语言是韩语，韩语当中骂人表达多不多我真的不清楚（以后查一下），但是亚洲语言总体来说在情绪表达上不如英语强烈。一个日本女生YT（拒绝透露具体姓名）说日语中表达强烈情绪的词不多，比如关于“爱”的，所以即使有人跟她说“i love you”，她也无法找到日语中相对应的表达，故对她来说也不能激起很强烈的情绪。

所以有没有可能han对于max（乃至身边任何人）的讽刺挖苦一直保持着好脾气，一部分是因为他确实脾气好，另外很小的一部分也因为他对英语的挖苦表达反应不如韩语强烈呢？

其实这个要验证起来很难，因为变量特别多。尤其我们不知道han被韩语挖苦的表现。如果这部剧以后出现类似的情节，可以关注下。

好啦这个只是个娱乐，无法验证，不要当真。

The Lost City of Z is a very long way from a true story — and I should know
A new Hollywood film hypes Percy Fawcett as a great explorer. In fact, he was a racist incompetent who achieved very little

The new film The Lost City of Z is being advertised as based on the true story of one of Britain’s greatest explorers. It is about Lt-Col Percy Fawcett. Greatest explorer? Fawcett? He was a surveyor who never discovered anything, a nutter, a racist, and so incompetent that the only expedition he organised was a five-week disaster. Calling him one of our greatest explorers is like calling Eddie the Eagle one of our greatest sportsmen. It is an insult to the huge roster of true explorers. Had the advertisement been about a soap powder, it would fall foul of the Trade Descriptions Act.

Percy Fawcett joined the army immediately after school, with a commission in the artillery in 1886. The next 20 years involved garrison duty in Ceylon and postings in Malta and England. The only significant events were getting married and becoming a devotee (like many others) of the charlatan psychic Madame Blavatsky. Fawcett’s game-changer came in 1906, when he was 40. The army let him take the Royal Geographical Society’s course on frontier surveying. Far away in South America, Bolivia had just sold its rubber-rich province of Acre to Brazil, so it needed its new north-western boundary mapped. The Bolivians approached the RGS for a mature surveyor to do this. The society’s secretary asked the newly qualified Fawcett whether he wanted to go; he accepted, reported for duty in La Paz and was at work on the new Amazonian frontier by the end of the year. This survey was the best thing Fawcett did. But he described it as boring, because the new frontier was all along rivers. This was the height of the great Amazon rubber boom, so he and his team cruised from one comfortable rubber barraca to the next, taking their regular measurements.

Fawcett’s only publications were a series of papers in the Geographical Journal about his mapping work. But he kept a journal, and in 1953 his son Brian edited this and other papers into a book called Exploration Fawcett. He emerges from it as a typical Edwardian colonial officer — friendly with South Americans but looking down on them, appalled by the cruelty at some rubber stations, full of gossip about life on this remote but boom-rich backwater, and uninterested in nature apart from banalities about dangerous snakes and irritating insects.

In 1908, the Bolivians asked Fawcett to survey another of their frontiers with Brazil: a small river called Verde, far away at the north-eastern corner of the large landlocked country. The preparations were appalling. Fawcett took minimal supplies, since he was accustomed to being fed by rubber stations. This was the end of the dry season with the river at its lowest. So they soon had to abandon their boat and continue on foot. After only a week, all food was exhausted and they were really starving. Fawcett casually remarked that five out of his six peons died from the effects of this five-week disaster. This was the only expedition he led into unexplored territory.

The Bolivians invited Fawcett back in 1910, this time to map part of their boundary with Peru. It involved paddling up a frontier river called Heath and two meetings with indigenous peoples on the banks. The first group fired arrows and guns over their heads. But Fawcett waded ashore with presents and shouting a few words of ‘Chuncho’ (the Peruvian word for all forest peoples) that he had memorised but did not understand. That was the only time that Fawcett attempted any language other than Spanish. Further up the Heath river, Fawcett met a tribe he called Ecocha (now Ese Eja) whom he really liked. They were ‘embarrassingly hospitable’ with their food, so Fawcett spent a few days with them and recorded something of their ethnography. He returned for a second visit in 1911.

After a final survey for the Bolivian government in 1913, of the upper Beni river in the Andes, Fawcett went sightseeing in central Bolivia. He and two companions were paddled down the big Guaporé river. They stopped at Mequens on its Brazilian bank to visit the Swedish anthropologist Baron Erland Nordenski?ld and his attractive wife, who provided guides to take them on a walk inland to visit a people they called Maxubi (now Makurap). The Maxubi were friendly and hospitable, but continuing on a forest trail Fawcett met another tribe (probably Sakurabiat) to whom he took a violent dislike. When one aimed a drawn bow at him, Fawcett shot the man with a Mauser revolver — absolutely forbidden by Brazil’s Indian Service. He described them as he imagined Neanderthals or Piltdown Man to have looked: ‘large hairy men, with exceptionally long arms, and foreheads sloping back from pronounced eye ridges… villainous savages, hideous ape men with pig-like eyes.’ No Amazonian Indian has body hair or looks remotely like this — I know, because I have spent time with over 40 different peoples. These two groups, and the two on the Heath, were the only tribal people seen by Fawcett. He liked two of them. So it was strange that he wrote racist gibberish that ‘there are three kinds of Indians. The first are docile and miserable people, easily tamed; the second, dangerous, repulsive cannibals very rarely seen; the third, a robust and fair people, who must have a civilised origin.’

When Fawcett was in the cattle country of central Bolivia in September 1914, news came of the outbreak of war. So he hurried home and by January 1915 was back in the artillery. In his late forties, he was too old for frontline service; but he fought a good war, ending as Lieutenant-Colonel.

In one of his pre-war lectures to the RGS, Fawcett had spoken of possible ancient ruins in the Amazon forests. He was now told about a scrap of paper dated 1743 in which bandeirantes imagined that they had seen a deserted city in the jungles. (The bandeirantes were slavers who scoured the interior of Brazil for Indians to capture. Although most of these thugs were illiterate, others did write reports about their travels — none of which said a word about seeing ruins.) Fawcett gave this imaginary ‘lost city’ the codename Z, and finding it became an obsession.

The easiest forest tribes to visit in Brazil were on the headwaters of one of the Amazon’s southern tributaries, the Xingu. A German anthropologist had contacted a dozen amiable peoples there in 1884; and since then they had been visited by seven groups of anthropologists or Indian Service officials. All had walked in by the same trail. So in 1920 Fawcett tried to follow this route — even though it was nowhere near where the chimera city might have been. His plans went wrong, so he got no further than a ranch halfway along the trail. In 1921 he searched for the mythical city down on the Atlantic coast, by train inland from Salvador da Bahia; but, hardly surprisingly, the miners there knew nothing.

In 1925, by now penniless but desperate, Fawcett tried again to reach the upper Xingu tribes. He now took two inexperienced ex-public schoolboys, his son Jack and Jack’s friend Raleigh Rimmel. The old surveyor made two suicidal pronouncements. One was that the trio should travel light, with nothing more than small packs. Everyone in Amazonia knew that you could not cut trails and keep your team fed with fewer than eight men. (I can confirm this, having done months of such cutting and carrying.) But Fawcett sent their pack animals and porters back, and continued with only his two novices. His other dictum was that Indians would look after them. This was equally dangerous. The Xingu tribes pride themselves on generosity; but they expect visitors to reciprocate. All expeditions in the past four decades had brought plenty of presents such as machetes, knives and beads. Fawcett had none. He committed other blunders that antagonised their hosts. So it was only a matter of days before they were all dead.

Twenty years later, Chief Comatsi of the Kalapalo tribe gave a very detailed account of Fawcett’s visit, reminding his assembled people of exactly how they had killed the unwelcome strangers. But the German anthropologist Max Schmidt, who was there in 1926, thought that they had plunged into the forests, got lost and starved to death; this was also the view of a missionary couple called Young who were on another Xingu headwater. The Brazilian Indian Service regretted that Fawcett, who was obsessively secretive, had not asked for their help in dealing with the Indians. They felt he was killed because of the harshness and lack of tact that all recognised in him.

Such was the sad tale of this incompetent, whose only skill was in surveying. But the disappearance of an English colonel while searching for a mythical ancient city in tropical rain forests was a media sensation. Two expeditions went to try to learn more. There was revived interest in the 1950s with the publication of Exploration Fawcett and the Kalapalo chief’s account of how they killed the Englishmen. Then it was forgotten until 2009 when David Grann, a talented writer, published The Lost City of Z. Unfortunately, Grann hyped the story out of all proportion and wrongly depicted Fawcett as a great explorer.

As he cheerfully admitted, Grann had no experience of rainforests. But he let his imagination run riot, with pages about ferocious piranhas, huge anacondas, electric eels (actually a fish that has never killed a man), frogs ‘with enough toxins to kill 100 people’, ‘predator’ pig-like peccary, ‘sauba ants that could reduce the men’s clothes to threads in a single night, ticks that attached like leeches (another scourge) and the red hairy chiggers that consumed human tissue. The cyanide-squirting millipedes. The parasitic worms that caused blindness…’ and so on. Everyone who know tropical forests, including me, knows that almost every word of this is nonsense.

Fawcett himself gave a simple account of his four surveying journeys for the Bolivian government. But for Grann, ‘in expedition after expedition… he explored thousands of square miles of the Amazon and helped redraw the map of South America’. Fawcett admitted that he was ‘a greenhorn in the jungle’ and knew nothing about nature. But Grann wrote that he moved ‘inch by inch through the jungle, tracing rivers and mountains, cataloguing exotic species… [until] he had explored as much of the region as anyone’.

For Grann, Fawcett was competing against other explorers ‘who were racing into the interior of South America’. The only study that Fawcett made after leaving school in 1886 was his RGS surveying course. He never mentioned any library research. But for Grann he was ‘almost unique’ in viewing 16th- and 17th-century chronicles ignored by other scholars; he re–evaluated El Dorado chronicles and consulted ‘archival records’ and ‘tribesmen’ in ‘piecing together his theory of Z’. Not a word of this was true, either.

Grann wrote that, as an author, he would have been lost without my three-volume, 2,100-page history of Brazilian Indians and five centuries of exploration. He quotes quite often from my books. So he had no excuse for describing Fawcett’s brief visits to three indigenous villages as the ‘discovery of so many previously unknown Indians’, from whom ‘he learned to speak myriad indigenous languages’, and adopted ‘herbal medicines and native methods of hunting [so that he] was better able to survive off the land’. Equally absurd was his rubbish about cannibalistic tribes, blow guns with poisoned darts, or Kuikuro menacing him with ‘gleaming spears flickering’ from the undergrowth (they never used spears, or had metal even, before their contact 130 years ago).

When the colonel vanished, Grann writes that ‘scores’ of explorers tried to find him, and that ‘one recent estimate put the death toll from these expeditions as high as 100.’ Actually, only one search expedition reached the Xingu, led by George Dyott in 1928. (It found that the three Englishmen had been killed by Indians.) The only other expedition was in 1932, but it got only as far as the Araguaia river far to the east. The death toll from these two attempts was zero. In 1935 a ridiculous actor called Albert de Winton went by himself to the Xingu and was killed by Indians who wanted his gun. So if we count him, the death toll is one — well short of Grann’s 100.

These and a great many other passages are artistic licence and hype of an absurd order. Hollywood believed everything Grann wrote, and then hyped it up more. People wishing to learn about the maverick colonel should consult his own fairly modest memoir — not the recent fantasy book and film about him. But I could recommend scores of writings by real explorers.

John Hemming is a Canadian explorer; the three volumes of his history of Brazilian Indians are Red Gold (1978), Amazon Frontier (1985) and Die If You Must (2004)