If you've ever wondered how many syllables Tom Cruise become when transliterated in Chinese, it's 5. Ta mu ke lu si. One of the peculiarities of the Chinese language is that there are no syllables with two consonants in a row. Same goes for Japanese, which is why their speech sounds so machine-gunnish. That means words like schlargleclpctple (a rare dinosaur, even rarer than the other extinct 100% that are extinct) takes 3-4 times longer to pronounce in Chinese. So when we're reading together about Jesus' adventures in India and words come up with two consonants in a row that Yuan Yuan doesn't already know, she'll liberally sprinkle them with vowels. When I stop her and demand patronizingly if there's a vowel after the 's' in swill, and if there's not, why she's pronouncing it 'seewill,' she just bats her eyelashes at me innocently. When I'm well hydrated, I'll ask her how the consonant is pronounced on its own without a vowel before or after it.
Me: how do you pronounce the letter 's'?
Yuan Yuan: ess?
Me: no
Yuan Yuan: suh?
Me: no
Yuan Yuan: see?
Me: no
Yuan Yuan: suh?
Me: no, you've already tried that one!
Yuan Yuan: so?
Me: so it's still wrong!
Yuan Yuan: no, I mean it's pronounced 'so'!
Me: it most definitely is not
Yuan Yuan: then what is it?
Me: keep trying. Don't put any vowels after it, just give me the naked consonant.
Yuan Yuan: ooh, naked...
Me: don't get distracted!
Yuan Yuan: ugh...suh?
Me: no!
Yuan Yuan: I don't like this game.
Me: it's 'sssss'!
Yuan Yuan: suhwill?
Me: no! It's swill!
Yuan Yuan: swill. Got it. "He took a swill of his drink and suhpatuh it back out."
Me: spat!
Yuan Yuan: I know, I was just testing you
Somehow, despite the multitude of rather thick hints, it never occurred to me that Yuan Yuan simply didn't know how the consonants were pronounced on their own. I thought about teaching her, but then I got scared. Is she too old to learn? If I teach her, will her brain restructure itself completely? Is this ignorance what keeps her so childlike and lighthearted? How do I prevent her from figuring them out on her own one day? This must have been what Johnny Cash was talking about when he wrote I Walk The Line.
Showing posts with label Chinese. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chinese. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Monday, July 22, 2013
You call this a language?
English can be obnoxiously ambiguous at times. My parents and my sister went to the beach yesterday. When I wondered why Mahlet (my sister's best friend) hadn't gone with them and why I haven't heard much about Mahlet recently at all, and how Mahlet was doing cause I miss her, my dad said:
"I think she just loves us more now"
As long as you don't think about that sentence, it makes perfect sense. But once you start, you realize that it could mean pretty much anything in the world. It could mean that my sister loves my parents more now than she did before, or that she finally loves them more than she loves Mahlet, or that she loves them more than Mahlet loves them, or even that Mahlet loves my parents more now, so she graciously lets them have alone time with my sister. There's 46 other interpretations that I won't go into.
After I recovered from that soft gooey bitch-slap of ambiguity, I wondered for the millionth time how Chinese people do it. How do they ever understand who the hell they're talking about? In spoken Chinese, the pronouns "he," "she" and "it" sound identical. Not because I'm a foreigner and my ears are too big to hear the difference, but because they're all one and the same phoneme. Same goes for the plurals, "they" has three written forms - masculine they, feminine they, and undead they, but they all sound the same. This last one is only shocking until you realize that English only has one "they" to begin with, but it can help you appreciate the magnitude of the disaster that is the case of singular pronouns. Instead of he, she and it, you just have the singular form of they. And the same goes for possessive pronouns.
What this means, is that if a Chinese person is telling you a story about a heterosexual couple and their dog, you're hearing:
They says they doesn't want to get married, but they insists that they does, they just doesn't want to get married to they because they is so poor, and of course they has an opinion on it too, barking every now and then to punctuate the conversation. So I don't know what they is going to do. Maybe they will divorce they and marry that other girl.
Ha! You should be so lucky, getting that freebie at the end. Usually it's like listening to some kind of demented software interview brainteaser.
"I think she just loves us more now"
As long as you don't think about that sentence, it makes perfect sense. But once you start, you realize that it could mean pretty much anything in the world. It could mean that my sister loves my parents more now than she did before, or that she finally loves them more than she loves Mahlet, or that she loves them more than Mahlet loves them, or even that Mahlet loves my parents more now, so she graciously lets them have alone time with my sister. There's 46 other interpretations that I won't go into.
After I recovered from that soft gooey bitch-slap of ambiguity, I wondered for the millionth time how Chinese people do it. How do they ever understand who the hell they're talking about? In spoken Chinese, the pronouns "he," "she" and "it" sound identical. Not because I'm a foreigner and my ears are too big to hear the difference, but because they're all one and the same phoneme. Same goes for the plurals, "they" has three written forms - masculine they, feminine they, and undead they, but they all sound the same. This last one is only shocking until you realize that English only has one "they" to begin with, but it can help you appreciate the magnitude of the disaster that is the case of singular pronouns. Instead of he, she and it, you just have the singular form of they. And the same goes for possessive pronouns.
What this means, is that if a Chinese person is telling you a story about a heterosexual couple and their dog, you're hearing:
They says they doesn't want to get married, but they insists that they does, they just doesn't want to get married to they because they is so poor, and of course they has an opinion on it too, barking every now and then to punctuate the conversation. So I don't know what they is going to do. Maybe they will divorce they and marry that other girl.
Ha! You should be so lucky, getting that freebie at the end. Usually it's like listening to some kind of demented software interview brainteaser.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Vegetabling
I've failed the moonwalking 30 day trial splendidly. I'm approximately 4 days into a 30 day trial of failing to moonwalk but I'm considering failing that too today.
On the bright side, I've started studying Chinese a bit again and I think I watched half the shows in the universe this afternoon alone, noodling around on guitar at the same time to trick myself into not feeling useless. Finally I felt so guilty for being unproductive that I did a set of push-ups. If I were half as Jewish as my grandma wants me to be, I'd probably feel guilty enough to punish myself, maybe by refusing myself that third cup of sugar also known as coffee. But perhaps I'm Jewish enough after all; I've decided to watch another episode of Dexter to make myself feel even more guilty.
Back to the not so bright side ("the dark side" sounds a bit too sinister and "the dull side" makes me think of bludgeons), I haven't studied French in three days or so, pretty much since I picked up Chinese. It's frustrating, not being able to keep up with everything I want to do...or rather everything that at the end of the day I wish I'd done. I wonder if anyone has managed to get those two to consistently coincide.
We went to 新街口 the other day and Yuan Yuan got me a new steel-string acoustic guitar. I've been ravaging it on my bed hourly since then (my bed doubles as an L-shaped set of chairs around the room). It sounds really nice to my unwashed ears but I always have my doubts when buying a new instrument. The guy in the store, that is, any guy that works in any guitar store, can make any old thing sound awesome. He can get a tasty blues solo out of a pick alone, and you should see him play the carpet. Meanwhile, I always forget every song I've ever learned the minute I walk into the store. The combination of those two makes choosing a new guitar a process full of eyebrow gymnastics, baa's and meh's. Either way, I'm now equipped with a sweet (if possibly fake) Great Divide that's going to appear in some YouTube videos as soon as I've finished reading and watching everything on the Internet.
Hmm...maybe if I get a job at a guitar store I won't have to practice anymore, I'll just automatically be awesome, or at least awesome to other people.
On the bright side, I've started studying Chinese a bit again and I think I watched half the shows in the universe this afternoon alone, noodling around on guitar at the same time to trick myself into not feeling useless. Finally I felt so guilty for being unproductive that I did a set of push-ups. If I were half as Jewish as my grandma wants me to be, I'd probably feel guilty enough to punish myself, maybe by refusing myself that third cup of sugar also known as coffee. But perhaps I'm Jewish enough after all; I've decided to watch another episode of Dexter to make myself feel even more guilty.
Back to the not so bright side ("the dark side" sounds a bit too sinister and "the dull side" makes me think of bludgeons), I haven't studied French in three days or so, pretty much since I picked up Chinese. It's frustrating, not being able to keep up with everything I want to do...or rather everything that at the end of the day I wish I'd done. I wonder if anyone has managed to get those two to consistently coincide.
We went to 新街口 the other day and Yuan Yuan got me a new steel-string acoustic guitar. I've been ravaging it on my bed hourly since then (my bed doubles as an L-shaped set of chairs around the room). It sounds really nice to my unwashed ears but I always have my doubts when buying a new instrument. The guy in the store, that is, any guy that works in any guitar store, can make any old thing sound awesome. He can get a tasty blues solo out of a pick alone, and you should see him play the carpet. Meanwhile, I always forget every song I've ever learned the minute I walk into the store. The combination of those two makes choosing a new guitar a process full of eyebrow gymnastics, baa's and meh's. Either way, I'm now equipped with a sweet (if possibly fake) Great Divide that's going to appear in some YouTube videos as soon as I've finished reading and watching everything on the Internet.
Hmm...maybe if I get a job at a guitar store I won't have to practice anymore, I'll just automatically be awesome, or at least awesome to other people.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Drink and drink and drink and drink and drink and drink and fight
The planets (and Pluto) aligned yesterday and I got into my first street fight. I was near SanLiTun village, happily drunk at Lucy's going away party, dancing and enjoying myself, when some guy shoved me cause I was apparently dancing with his girl. I shoved him back, like my daddy taught me to, but it didn't escalate quite then, someone restrained him and I wasn't trying to pick a fight. Five to ten minutes later I found myself dancing with a lot more floor space to myself than usual, especially on a crowded Friday night. I looked around and saw two white guys and a bunch of Chinese guys pushing each other and yelling. I didn't want to get involved, partly because I don't have a death wish and partly because...no, pretty much because I don't have a death wish, but when I saw like ten other guys running out screaming scary words that rang with red and blue and all directed toward white, I restrained a particularly eager dude from leaving with a full nelson. Let's just get this out of the way: I know nothing about fighting. So when I say "I put him in a full nelson," it sounds beautiful and skillful but I'm sure it was exactly the opposite. He was probably just dancing with me.
Still, that guy didn't attack me, he just kept trying to get outside and help his buddies beat the shit out of someone non-Chinese. Eventually I had to let him go, I think there's some kind of rule against bringing combative drunks back to your apartment just to keep them from killing someone. I wasn't too keen on introducing him to my girlfriend's mother either.
Anyway, after I let him go, I went outside to see if I needed to call the police. However, by then the situation had resolved itself. One of the two white guys was now red from the neck up, as in you his whole face was covered with blood, and the other was cut up but not quite as damaged. The victorious mob was taunting them and the bloodier white guy seemed intent on getting himself killed. Having learned nothing at MIT, I rushed in with my "hey guys! Calm down! Let's all smoke a joint together and sing some reggae," which finally got me a smack in the face.
Without really taking a careful look at who it was that hit me, I hit him back. Turned out to be that guy that shoved me earlier. His friend restrained him from attacking me, which was very refreshing to see. He seemed to be the only Chinese guy trying to push the situation toward peace. Unfortunately, he was vastly outnumbered.
It's hard to describe what happened then. Basically six or seven skinny Chinese guys started pummeling me. The first two or three I hit back but it was like some kind of crazy Chinese hydra attacking me, the heads grew back faster than I could chop them off and multiplied quickly. Perhaps according to the Fibonacci sequence.
Luckily they didn't seem to be fighting to kill, just scare/hurt a bit. When I realized it was stupid to fight a hydra without at least a machine gun, I went back to my reggae speech and even quoted Tom Cruise to them from Far and Away: "I have no wish to fight you!" But they were pretty excited, I guess they don't get fed such splendid white meat every day. Plus, I had just gotten a haircut and a shave so I was even more infuriatingly handsome than usual. They just wanted to even the aesthetic playing ground is all.
Somehow I managed to escape, though I remember having my back against a wall at some point and getting kicked in the chest and stomach a few times. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would so I suspect they were afraid to hit me hard. I was also drunk, which helped, and adrenaline cruised the air like the Gulf Stream. Anyway, all thoughts and suspicions vanished when someone threw a beer bottle at me as I was making my escape. It didn't hit me but it did hit the ground and shatter convincingly.
As I backpedaled away, hands out in front of me in the universal gesture of peace and pat-a-cake (hmm, wikipedia's spelling, I always thought it was patty cake), one guy kept following me, chanting "run away!" and waving the two bottles in his hands at me, one beer, one rice wine. I didn't point out the irony of the chasing-me-to-tell-me-to-run-away situation to him, but calmly backed down, suddenly feeling quite ok with appearing a coward. Eventually he grew tired and abandoned, at which point I put both fists in my mouth to restrain myself from advising him to exercise more and smoke less. Then I met up with the two other beat up white dudes and called the police.
The police came five minutes later, which surprised everyone, but they didn't really do anything. The two cops just stood there, as if daring people to start fighting in their presence, but not like "someone throw a punch, I fuckin' DARE you!" More like "I hope you guys don't start fighting because I might have to blow my whistle!"
Meanwhile, the bloodier white guy was going crazy. We spent a good ten minutes restraining him from running back into the mob of angry Chinese guys to "kill them all" and probably get himself killed before he could throw a punch. He wasn't really helping our "innocent foreign lambs getting mauled by rabid Chinese wolves" case with the police. Amidst the bedlam, some Chinese guy came up to me and started complaining that his face hurt. I transferred him to the "dude, seriously, look at that poor white dude, his face is way more fucked up" department. "You want the same?" he yelled at me, and twenty Chinese guys teleported instantly to his side. I mentally congratulated him on his logic and got back into my pat-a-cake stance.
Finally, Lucy and David came out to see what was going on and we all went home to the chorus of "go back to your country!" and worried looks from the police. Then Lucy threw up out of the cab window on the way home.
After looking in the mirror this morning, I was happy to see I got away only very minor damage to my face. My stomach and chest don't hurt but my jacket and sweater have some interesting footprints. A cut on my finger's kind of annoying but it's also totally minor. All in all, I'd say I lucked out. I should go back tonight and give them all a copy of my album.
Still, that guy didn't attack me, he just kept trying to get outside and help his buddies beat the shit out of someone non-Chinese. Eventually I had to let him go, I think there's some kind of rule against bringing combative drunks back to your apartment just to keep them from killing someone. I wasn't too keen on introducing him to my girlfriend's mother either.
Anyway, after I let him go, I went outside to see if I needed to call the police. However, by then the situation had resolved itself. One of the two white guys was now red from the neck up, as in you his whole face was covered with blood, and the other was cut up but not quite as damaged. The victorious mob was taunting them and the bloodier white guy seemed intent on getting himself killed. Having learned nothing at MIT, I rushed in with my "hey guys! Calm down! Let's all smoke a joint together and sing some reggae," which finally got me a smack in the face.
Without really taking a careful look at who it was that hit me, I hit him back. Turned out to be that guy that shoved me earlier. His friend restrained him from attacking me, which was very refreshing to see. He seemed to be the only Chinese guy trying to push the situation toward peace. Unfortunately, he was vastly outnumbered.
It's hard to describe what happened then. Basically six or seven skinny Chinese guys started pummeling me. The first two or three I hit back but it was like some kind of crazy Chinese hydra attacking me, the heads grew back faster than I could chop them off and multiplied quickly. Perhaps according to the Fibonacci sequence.
Luckily they didn't seem to be fighting to kill, just scare/hurt a bit. When I realized it was stupid to fight a hydra without at least a machine gun, I went back to my reggae speech and even quoted Tom Cruise to them from Far and Away: "I have no wish to fight you!" But they were pretty excited, I guess they don't get fed such splendid white meat every day. Plus, I had just gotten a haircut and a shave so I was even more infuriatingly handsome than usual. They just wanted to even the aesthetic playing ground is all.
Somehow I managed to escape, though I remember having my back against a wall at some point and getting kicked in the chest and stomach a few times. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would so I suspect they were afraid to hit me hard. I was also drunk, which helped, and adrenaline cruised the air like the Gulf Stream. Anyway, all thoughts and suspicions vanished when someone threw a beer bottle at me as I was making my escape. It didn't hit me but it did hit the ground and shatter convincingly.
As I backpedaled away, hands out in front of me in the universal gesture of peace and pat-a-cake (hmm, wikipedia's spelling, I always thought it was patty cake), one guy kept following me, chanting "run away!" and waving the two bottles in his hands at me, one beer, one rice wine. I didn't point out the irony of the chasing-me-to-tell-me-to-run-away situation to him, but calmly backed down, suddenly feeling quite ok with appearing a coward. Eventually he grew tired and abandoned, at which point I put both fists in my mouth to restrain myself from advising him to exercise more and smoke less. Then I met up with the two other beat up white dudes and called the police.
The police came five minutes later, which surprised everyone, but they didn't really do anything. The two cops just stood there, as if daring people to start fighting in their presence, but not like "someone throw a punch, I fuckin' DARE you!" More like "I hope you guys don't start fighting because I might have to blow my whistle!"
Meanwhile, the bloodier white guy was going crazy. We spent a good ten minutes restraining him from running back into the mob of angry Chinese guys to "kill them all" and probably get himself killed before he could throw a punch. He wasn't really helping our "innocent foreign lambs getting mauled by rabid Chinese wolves" case with the police. Amidst the bedlam, some Chinese guy came up to me and started complaining that his face hurt. I transferred him to the "dude, seriously, look at that poor white dude, his face is way more fucked up" department. "You want the same?" he yelled at me, and twenty Chinese guys teleported instantly to his side. I mentally congratulated him on his logic and got back into my pat-a-cake stance.
Finally, Lucy and David came out to see what was going on and we all went home to the chorus of "go back to your country!" and worried looks from the police. Then Lucy threw up out of the cab window on the way home.
After looking in the mirror this morning, I was happy to see I got away only very minor damage to my face. My stomach and chest don't hurt but my jacket and sweater have some interesting footprints. A cut on my finger's kind of annoying but it's also totally minor. All in all, I'd say I lucked out. I should go back tonight and give them all a copy of my album.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Breaking News: Milk-in-a-bag Spoils
I made an absolutely stunning discovery today, truly world-tipping, given a flat or cow-shaped world, and mind-blowing, given you have a mind and not just a head full of brain. I had just gone five straight minutes without consuming something sugar-rich and nutrient-free...which reminds me, why don't they print that on snacks? I want to go into the store and see an honest Coke can that says in big letters cut from a Santa Claus suit: "No nutrients. Just calories." Assuming Nike doesn't own the rights to that phrase yet. Then I'll probably look around to make sure no one's watching me and grab the Coke Zero instead. They could be making billions with this strategy. If only people were up to date on their Jewish humor.*
Where was I...ah yea, I had just gone five straight minutes without consuming something sugar-rich and nutrient-free and was crawling like the legless T800 from the bed to the squat little table that houses all my snacks, intent on making myself a cup of coffee. The current coffee-making procedure, honed by a year of...honing, is as follows:
1. Buy a 90 (Chinese) cent packet of coffee+sugar+stuff-not-on-ingredients-list.
2. Buy a 200ml bag of milk.
3. Get a Chinese girlfriend.
4. Wait till said girlfriend gives you a cup for a present. It's one of those few things in the universe that even entropy is powerless to prevent. That and my pants from falling down without a belt.
5. Take the cup and fill it with recently boiled water, which will be known as "really hot water" from now on.
6. Wait 10 seconds. Empty the cup.
7. Pour the contents of the coffee packet into the cup.
8. Fill the cup approximately halfway with really hot water.
9. Mix.
10. Add milk to taste.
You know those games where you can't save? Where you go back to the very beginning if you die? Think Wii Tanks, the original Prince of Persia, Einhander. When you first start playing the game, it's mildly annoying, having to redo the first 2-3 levels over and over. Then as you get better things get a whole lot worse. By the time you can make it to the second to last boss, you probably have no hair left and the walls are spattered with blood.
Something similar happened here. I fulfilled all the requirements. I bought the coffee, wooed the Chinese girl, got my cup and all for nothing! Cause when I added the milk, my coffee turned into a Pollock painting, though slightly better-looking. The milk had gone sour. I smelled it to be sure. Who knew? Maybe those chunks coming out of the bag were chunks of unspoiled milk. They weren't.
However, on the whole this blood-curdling experience has led to a very positive discovery. Namely that the "milk-in-a-bag" is real milk! Hmm, that might be a bit of a stretch. Ok, it contains real milk. No, still not it...ok, it has something organic as an ingredient. And it's taken me a year to discover this as no matter how long I've kept the milk-in-a-bag unrefrigerated prior to today, it has never gone bad. Bag open, bag closed, bag empty with the contents in a puddle on the floor...never. If it weren't for the lack of coffee coating my synapses, I'd have jumped up and down excitedly. As it was I crawled back to the bed empty-stomached and gagging on an unwritten blog entry and sour milk fumes.
* Two beggars are sitting reclined against a wall, their cups in front of them. Each one also has a sign.
One sign says: "Please help an old war veteran."
The other sign says: "Please help an old Jew."
The passers-by provide a continuous stream of coins into the soldier's cup while largely ignoring and often snickering at the Jew.
Finally one passer-by asks the Jew: "why don't you change your sign? Can't you see you're getting nowhere with this one?"
At this, the Jew turns to the other beggar and says: "Did you hear that, Moishe? This goy wants to teach us how to run our business!"
Where was I...ah yea, I had just gone five straight minutes without consuming something sugar-rich and nutrient-free and was crawling like the legless T800 from the bed to the squat little table that houses all my snacks, intent on making myself a cup of coffee. The current coffee-making procedure, honed by a year of...honing, is as follows:
1. Buy a 90 (Chinese) cent packet of coffee+sugar+stuff-not-on-ingredients-list.
2. Buy a 200ml bag of milk.
3. Get a Chinese girlfriend.
4. Wait till said girlfriend gives you a cup for a present. It's one of those few things in the universe that even entropy is powerless to prevent. That and my pants from falling down without a belt.
5. Take the cup and fill it with recently boiled water, which will be known as "really hot water" from now on.
6. Wait 10 seconds. Empty the cup.
7. Pour the contents of the coffee packet into the cup.
8. Fill the cup approximately halfway with really hot water.
9. Mix.
10. Add milk to taste.
You know those games where you can't save? Where you go back to the very beginning if you die? Think Wii Tanks, the original Prince of Persia, Einhander. When you first start playing the game, it's mildly annoying, having to redo the first 2-3 levels over and over. Then as you get better things get a whole lot worse. By the time you can make it to the second to last boss, you probably have no hair left and the walls are spattered with blood.
Something similar happened here. I fulfilled all the requirements. I bought the coffee, wooed the Chinese girl, got my cup and all for nothing! Cause when I added the milk, my coffee turned into a Pollock painting, though slightly better-looking. The milk had gone sour. I smelled it to be sure. Who knew? Maybe those chunks coming out of the bag were chunks of unspoiled milk. They weren't.
However, on the whole this blood-curdling experience has led to a very positive discovery. Namely that the "milk-in-a-bag" is real milk! Hmm, that might be a bit of a stretch. Ok, it contains real milk. No, still not it...ok, it has something organic as an ingredient. And it's taken me a year to discover this as no matter how long I've kept the milk-in-a-bag unrefrigerated prior to today, it has never gone bad. Bag open, bag closed, bag empty with the contents in a puddle on the floor...never. If it weren't for the lack of coffee coating my synapses, I'd have jumped up and down excitedly. As it was I crawled back to the bed empty-stomached and gagging on an unwritten blog entry and sour milk fumes.
* Two beggars are sitting reclined against a wall, their cups in front of them. Each one also has a sign.
One sign says: "Please help an old war veteran."
The other sign says: "Please help an old Jew."
The passers-by provide a continuous stream of coins into the soldier's cup while largely ignoring and often snickering at the Jew.
Finally one passer-by asks the Jew: "why don't you change your sign? Can't you see you're getting nowhere with this one?"
At this, the Jew turns to the other beggar and says: "Did you hear that, Moishe? This goy wants to teach us how to run our business!"
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Epileptic Verbiage
I don't know if anyone noticed but Michael Jackson's been spinning in his grave like a driedel on X for the last fifteen minutes. No...that would imply he's buried standing, maybe more like the spoke of the wheel on The Price Is Right...or a piece of pecan pie in the microwave/centrifuge. He was spinning so fast that the angular momentum of the Earth fled straight into the complex numbers. Yes, I started the "learn the moonwalk" 30-day trial. 10 minutes a day is the commitment, unless my kneecaps pop off, in which case I'll take my day of rest like God did when his did.
Sometimes I get really sick of Chinese thinking. I'm supposed to meet Yuan Yuan's mom one of these days and as I made some delicious Salad Olivier a few hours ago, I offered Yuan Yuan to swing it by tomorrow, give mommy dearest a taste of Russian medicine. To my surprise, Yuan Yuan, who can shotgun a keg of salad faster than you can say "damn it! I wanted some too!", told me to forget it and just invite her mom out to get some hot pot. Confused, I got to asking stupid questions and eventually got to the blunt answer that it's more meaningful to ask someone out and throw down some shekels than to cook a delicious foreign meal for them that'll probably give them the runs.
I guess in one respect this is good: it evens the playing field. If you can't boil an egg--and I have to say I've failed many a time in this department...there's just so many steps, I always forget to turn on the fire or turn it off or wait long enough or peel the egg after instead of before, or spin the egg counterclockwise, which as you know doesn't work as eggs have intricate networks of gyroscopes lying in ambush in case you should attempt this--you can still make your girlfriend's parents feel like you're earnestly sucking up to them. But it also obviously takes no effort. It's like getting money on your birthday; it's simultaneously great because no one really knows what you want to buy except Google, and meaningless because they obviously didn't make any effort to divine your secret wishes.
But whatever, I guess. When in Rome, buy your Chinese girlfriend's Chinese mother a typical Chinese meal. Or maybe this is all a ploy to keep her from noticing that I have white skin and a nose with extra nose on it.
The knot of the day is The Rapala Knot! Oops, scratch the exclamation point.
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
Unfortunately I haven't been able to locate explicit directions on how to tie the Pocket Knot - the one where you put your earphones in your pocket and take them out the next day and then go to the Apple store and get a free iPhone cause they can't prove there isn't one trapped in the middle of your Pocket Knot. If I were a sailor, I'd get on that right now.
Mario's soliloquy of the day:
i was looking at some of the stock games of real masters or something, there is one where a guy sacrifices rook and queen to get a checkmate
unfreakin believable
did u ever have any victories like that ?
i have many losses like that
without the checkmate part
I think my writing style is getting more epileptic.
Sometimes I get really sick of Chinese thinking. I'm supposed to meet Yuan Yuan's mom one of these days and as I made some delicious Salad Olivier a few hours ago, I offered Yuan Yuan to swing it by tomorrow, give mommy dearest a taste of Russian medicine. To my surprise, Yuan Yuan, who can shotgun a keg of salad faster than you can say "damn it! I wanted some too!", told me to forget it and just invite her mom out to get some hot pot. Confused, I got to asking stupid questions and eventually got to the blunt answer that it's more meaningful to ask someone out and throw down some shekels than to cook a delicious foreign meal for them that'll probably give them the runs.
I guess in one respect this is good: it evens the playing field. If you can't boil an egg--and I have to say I've failed many a time in this department...there's just so many steps, I always forget to turn on the fire or turn it off or wait long enough or peel the egg after instead of before, or spin the egg counterclockwise, which as you know doesn't work as eggs have intricate networks of gyroscopes lying in ambush in case you should attempt this--you can still make your girlfriend's parents feel like you're earnestly sucking up to them. But it also obviously takes no effort. It's like getting money on your birthday; it's simultaneously great because no one really knows what you want to buy except Google, and meaningless because they obviously didn't make any effort to divine your secret wishes.
But whatever, I guess. When in Rome, buy your Chinese girlfriend's Chinese mother a typical Chinese meal. Or maybe this is all a ploy to keep her from noticing that I have white skin and a nose with extra nose on it.
The knot of the day is The Rapala Knot! Oops, scratch the exclamation point.
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
Unfortunately I haven't been able to locate explicit directions on how to tie the Pocket Knot - the one where you put your earphones in your pocket and take them out the next day and then go to the Apple store and get a free iPhone cause they can't prove there isn't one trapped in the middle of your Pocket Knot. If I were a sailor, I'd get on that right now.
Mario's soliloquy of the day:
i was looking at some of the stock games of real masters or something, there is one where a guy sacrifices rook and queen to get a checkmate
unfreakin believable
did u ever have any victories like that ?
i have many losses like that
without the checkmate part
I think my writing style is getting more epileptic.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Restraining Order
Well, Yuan Yuan's parents are in town now so there's basically a restraining order against me. Yuan Yuan called me a few hours ago when her parents went to the bathroom, which was both hilarious and scary. How do we keep them going to the bathroom at the same time? If you have any ideas, by all means email me or comment.
Anyway, this might end up being a 30 day trial of the low-Yuan-Yuan diet, which is certainly something no-one's tried before...one of the very few things going for it. That is if I don't get broken up with instead, which seems to be in quite a high percentage of parallel universes at this juncture.
The rest of the world is still turning; I bought a chicken today and devoured half of it without even trying. Obviously there's a severe lack of genetic engineering going on this side of the Mississipi. I also made some pancakes for the first time in a year and a half. They turned out a little dense, and a couple didn't cook all the way through, which was pretty awesome actually. Pancake on the outside, creamy dough on the inside. Clap your hands if you believe in salmonella. You won't see any Chinese people clapping I can assure you.
New Year's is coming up, I might have to think of some good resolutions. Maybe my students will have some good ideas.
The Klemheist Knot:
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
I think after the 30 days are over I should review for a day or two.
Anyway, this might end up being a 30 day trial of the low-Yuan-Yuan diet, which is certainly something no-one's tried before...one of the very few things going for it. That is if I don't get broken up with instead, which seems to be in quite a high percentage of parallel universes at this juncture.
The rest of the world is still turning; I bought a chicken today and devoured half of it without even trying. Obviously there's a severe lack of genetic engineering going on this side of the Mississipi. I also made some pancakes for the first time in a year and a half. They turned out a little dense, and a couple didn't cook all the way through, which was pretty awesome actually. Pancake on the outside, creamy dough on the inside. Clap your hands if you believe in salmonella. You won't see any Chinese people clapping I can assure you.
New Year's is coming up, I might have to think of some good resolutions. Maybe my students will have some good ideas.
The Klemheist Knot:
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
I think after the 30 days are over I should review for a day or two.
Friday, December 10, 2010
The Consequences of Knowing English
I feel like I haven't done anything productive in days, the 30 day trial aside. Yuan Yuan has her English tour guide test coming up, English being the key word, and so my days are full of palaces and halls and walls, all dressed in creative spelling in grammar. She'll read a few pages in her book and try to boil it down to a few paragraphs. Then I read those paragraphs, unscramble the grammar, which is encrypted with something that would make SHA-1 blush, and scrap all the words I think she doesn't know, replacing them with the words "has," "with," or simply deleting them. Thus something like "the hall features the unparalleled Wall Of Communist Righteousness, which consists of several frames in which Chairman Mao disembowels the Great Dragon with his purple scepter," becomes "the hall has the Wall of Communist Righteousness which has some photos of Chairman Mao killing a dragon." Then Yuan Yuan files away the finished version to its rightful spot on the floor and proceeds to put the next item on her tour guide menu through a similar process. Nothing is ever reread, which baffles me slightly as it doesn't follow any test-taking strategy I've encountered in the Gamma Quadrant.
In any case, I spend my day between studying French--which I'm doing a few hours per day the last few days--and translating materials from Yuan Yuan's dialect of English to my own. It's a rough life. No one ever tells you when you're single: "dude, forget it, that girl's going to make you learn all about Beijing's tourist spots." But no worries, the test is just 10 days away.
Today's knot, the square knot:
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
Just one step different from the granny knot, the one most people use to tie their shoelaces. Although I guess some people use the square knot without realizing it.
Yuan Yuan's English pronunciation of the day:
frodo (feudal) society
Okay, time to go draw...
In any case, I spend my day between studying French--which I'm doing a few hours per day the last few days--and translating materials from Yuan Yuan's dialect of English to my own. It's a rough life. No one ever tells you when you're single: "dude, forget it, that girl's going to make you learn all about Beijing's tourist spots." But no worries, the test is just 10 days away.
Today's knot, the square knot:
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
Just one step different from the granny knot, the one most people use to tie their shoelaces. Although I guess some people use the square knot without realizing it.
Yuan Yuan's English pronunciation of the day:
frodo (feudal) society
Okay, time to go draw...
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Coming Soon To Your Friendly Nearby Internet
I've been writing and recording music lately, trying to get enough songs together to get an album up on iTunes. Quantity has finally reached its goal, and I've been sneakily testing quality on various so-called friends and family. The reviews/reactions so far have been pretty mixed. My friends in China generally give me at least one thumb up, partly because their culture doesn't allow them to voice criticism, and partly because of the One-Person-One-Thumb policy in China.
My family is generally supportive, though they express this support in very different ways. The "generally supportive" average is reached primarily thanks to my sister, who lavishes praise with a heavy hand regardless and especially irregardless of quality. (Somewhere Perry is getting very very angry about my word usage. Lucy, do what you can for him). "Mark! You wrote that!?" she shrieks. "It's soo good! You're amazing!" My guess is that up till now she thought I was clinically retarded, because I can literally play one chord and elicit that response.
My mother, the most musically inclined of my subscribers, is eager to listen to my creations but only has time to do so on the 32nd of every month. Never fear, my supreme patience is holding stong.
Gene, who now runs out of the house if you call him "Dad," gives a two-for-one deal: reserved praise and vague criticism. "Hey! That's...pretty good...but something's missing...I don't know what," is his well-rehearsed response. He is as consistent and oblivious to quality as my sister, though in a different slice on the spectrum.
Grandma and Boris never say a single word about the quality of the music. They react, but I haven't decided how to interpret their reaction yet. Usually it goes something like this:
(a three course meal is shoved down Mark's throat to lull him into a false sense of security and a very real sense of nausea)
Grandma: sing us one of your songs! You never sing to us!
Mark: ugh...I only sing to my microphone. But you can hear my computer imitate me. Want to?
Grandma: you didn't eat anything today! Do you want some strawberries? Plums? Chocolate? Herring? Pickles? I know! Let's drink a shot together!
(If you're wondering about the exclamation points, Grandma lives at around 130 decibels)
Mark: no thanks, I only drink with Michelle.
Grandma: well at least have some bread. Nuts. Potatoes. Want me to make you a steak? Pancakes? Why aren't you playing your song to me!?
Mark: uhh...good point. (Turns song on)
Grandma (listens for 5 seconds): BORIS! GET OVER HERE, MARK'S PLAYING US HIS SONGS!
Boris (from the kitchen): meh? You say something?
(They arm themselves with megaphones and yell into each other's earpieces for the next three songs. Boris finally comes over. Mark writhes in pain on the carpet; he is congenitally incapable of habituating to sonic warfare)
Grandma: is that your song playing?
Mark: ye...e...e...s.
Grandma: Boris, listen! Don't fall asleep, you old goat!
Boris: I'm not sleeping, I'm listening!
(5 seconds pass)
(Mark quietly gets up, negotiates the two blissfully snoring geezers, packs his things and drives himself to the hospital)
(scroll down three days and repeat)
Neither Grandma nor Boris has stayed awake for the duration of a single song, which is 3.5 mins on average. Good? Bad? I don't know but I'm going to be optimistic. At their age, if they don't die of something, it's probably really really really ridiculously good.
Mario is the only one who gives constructive feedback. Unfortunately, by some crazy coincidence, he's the one person whose advice I never listen to. Can't do anything about it, the decision was made a long time ago.
Chun is busy 758 hours a week so she has no time to give feedback. My turn to be the object of her attention was coming up, but then a little thing called Daylight Savings Time stole my spot. Now she's back in her exercise wheel, dancing her way into medical school. Don't stand in her way, she has a mean left pirouette.
And finally, there was one person outside the usual circle who got a taste of this album (that's coming soon to your friendly nearby Internet). That was my aunt. Around Christmas, she demanded I send her a song. Being an obedient little nephew, I obliged...and that was the last I heard from her. I should really go check if she's OK. Hmm...nah, I'll just wait till next Christmas. If she doesn't show up, then I'll know something's wrong. Never too late to call 911.
My family is generally supportive, though they express this support in very different ways. The "generally supportive" average is reached primarily thanks to my sister, who lavishes praise with a heavy hand regardless and especially irregardless of quality. (Somewhere Perry is getting very very angry about my word usage. Lucy, do what you can for him). "Mark! You wrote that!?" she shrieks. "It's soo good! You're amazing!" My guess is that up till now she thought I was clinically retarded, because I can literally play one chord and elicit that response.
My mother, the most musically inclined of my subscribers, is eager to listen to my creations but only has time to do so on the 32nd of every month. Never fear, my supreme patience is holding stong.
Gene, who now runs out of the house if you call him "Dad," gives a two-for-one deal: reserved praise and vague criticism. "Hey! That's...pretty good...but something's missing...I don't know what," is his well-rehearsed response. He is as consistent and oblivious to quality as my sister, though in a different slice on the spectrum.
Grandma and Boris never say a single word about the quality of the music. They react, but I haven't decided how to interpret their reaction yet. Usually it goes something like this:
(a three course meal is shoved down Mark's throat to lull him into a false sense of security and a very real sense of nausea)
Grandma: sing us one of your songs! You never sing to us!
Mark: ugh...I only sing to my microphone. But you can hear my computer imitate me. Want to?
Grandma: you didn't eat anything today! Do you want some strawberries? Plums? Chocolate? Herring? Pickles? I know! Let's drink a shot together!
(If you're wondering about the exclamation points, Grandma lives at around 130 decibels)
Mark: no thanks, I only drink with Michelle.
Grandma: well at least have some bread. Nuts. Potatoes. Want me to make you a steak? Pancakes? Why aren't you playing your song to me!?
Mark: uhh...good point. (Turns song on)
Grandma (listens for 5 seconds): BORIS! GET OVER HERE, MARK'S PLAYING US HIS SONGS!
Boris (from the kitchen): meh? You say something?
(They arm themselves with megaphones and yell into each other's earpieces for the next three songs. Boris finally comes over. Mark writhes in pain on the carpet; he is congenitally incapable of habituating to sonic warfare)
Grandma: is that your song playing?
Mark: ye...e...e...s.
Grandma: Boris, listen! Don't fall asleep, you old goat!
Boris: I'm not sleeping, I'm listening!
(5 seconds pass)
(Mark quietly gets up, negotiates the two blissfully snoring geezers, packs his things and drives himself to the hospital)
(scroll down three days and repeat)
Neither Grandma nor Boris has stayed awake for the duration of a single song, which is 3.5 mins on average. Good? Bad? I don't know but I'm going to be optimistic. At their age, if they don't die of something, it's probably really really really ridiculously good.
Mario is the only one who gives constructive feedback. Unfortunately, by some crazy coincidence, he's the one person whose advice I never listen to. Can't do anything about it, the decision was made a long time ago.
Chun is busy 758 hours a week so she has no time to give feedback. My turn to be the object of her attention was coming up, but then a little thing called Daylight Savings Time stole my spot. Now she's back in her exercise wheel, dancing her way into medical school. Don't stand in her way, she has a mean left pirouette.
And finally, there was one person outside the usual circle who got a taste of this album (that's coming soon to your friendly nearby Internet). That was my aunt. Around Christmas, she demanded I send her a song. Being an obedient little nephew, I obliged...and that was the last I heard from her. I should really go check if she's OK. Hmm...nah, I'll just wait till next Christmas. If she doesn't show up, then I'll know something's wrong. Never too late to call 911.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Rash Decisions And Other Staples
Today is the third day of a really nutty 30 day trial. The rules of the trial are a bit ambiguous, but several items have been agreed upon:
1. No sweets (excluding ones that grow on trees (excluding ones that grow on trees in Johnny Depp's Chocolate Factory (exluding ones that also grow on trees outside the factory))).
We can pretty much stop here because it's already enough for full-scale clinical depression. I'm an extreme sugar fiend. I eat chocolate before and after a meal, floss my teeth with Twizzlers and use a Jawbreaker for a retainer. When I make myself a cup of tea, it doesn't matter in the least what flavor the tea it is because I drown the flavor in copious amounts of miracle powder. In fact, if I can tell what flavor tea I'm having by the time I finish a cup, I make an appointment with my physician; it is extremely aberrant.
So it's day three now, and I can't help but notice that I suddenly have tons of free time. At least three extra hours. Granted, now I spend them prostrate on the floor of my room, suffering from withdrawal, but they're extra nonetheless. If you could have an extra few hours of life every day with no ultimate changes to your lifespan, with the "BUT" (fancy word for "caveat") being that they were full of suffering, would you take them? I would without a second thought, but only if I were on a 30-day trial of taking them.
Generally, I'm feeling more deflated across the board (hmm, can't think of a way to not be redundant in this sentence, oh well). I experienced this before - during my 4th attempt to quit drinking soda. The abrupt disappearance of the sugar high renders life gray and uninteresting. I'm sure glad I'm giving up sugar and not heroin (NEVER giving that one up).
2. No snacking. Only eat when hungry.
Snacking all but disappears when you eliminate sugar from your diet. Now I only have the urge to snack every three minutes as opposed to after every successful swallow. I spend a lot of time in my room upstairs working up my hunger to earn permission to indulge my mouth. "I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry," is the mantra of the month.
3. Decide what to do for the generalized version of this 30 day trial.
The original plan was to give up all impulses. Obviously this is only feasible for living Buddhas and select igneous rocks, but there's a saying about bars and settings that's popular in this house - something along the lines of "set the bar high for everyone else." After much fruitless discussion, we decided to start off with the obvious sacrifices - #1 and #2 (not the ones you're thinking of...well...definitely not the ones you're thinking of after reading this sentence), and then kick it into high gear the second to last or last week of the trial. I'll let you know how that goes if it goes anywhere.
Went to New York today as a chaperone for Gene on his field trip to the dentist. Gene dropped me off at 80th and Broadway and went off to the torture chamber. I took a slow walk to Barnes and Noble a few blocks away, scaring pidgins and people with my hasn't-seen-the-light-of-day-for-months pale zombie face, and read about three pages in half an hour. I decided I was better at walking and went back out to partake of some pollution.
Later, I came to check up on Gene and he was still being held prisoner. The warden said he was due for release soon, but time passes very differently inside and outside the prison; I ended up waiting for another hour. Anyway, I went outside again, and just then this guy passed me carrying a box. The box read "China" and nothing else. Thank God I'm practicing stifling my impulses, otherwise I would have snuck into that box and prayed it was on an express delivery route to Shanghai...and probably would have ended up as dinner. Still, it's obviously a sign that China's anxious for my arrival.
On the way back from New York, we dropped by the King Fung Food Market - a Chinese grocery store in my town. At checkout, Gene, with his usual lack of sensibility, casually mentioned to the Chinese cashiers that I study Chinese. All of a sudden, there was a blinding tornado of blood and headless torsos, followed by an investigation into my abilities. I came out relatively unscathed, being 38.9% Chinese by the latest estimate, but I fear (and am secretly eager) to return. Sometimes enjoying life as a masochist is so easy it's unfair.
1. No sweets (excluding ones that grow on trees (excluding ones that grow on trees in Johnny Depp's Chocolate Factory (exluding ones that also grow on trees outside the factory))).
We can pretty much stop here because it's already enough for full-scale clinical depression. I'm an extreme sugar fiend. I eat chocolate before and after a meal, floss my teeth with Twizzlers and use a Jawbreaker for a retainer. When I make myself a cup of tea, it doesn't matter in the least what flavor the tea it is because I drown the flavor in copious amounts of miracle powder. In fact, if I can tell what flavor tea I'm having by the time I finish a cup, I make an appointment with my physician; it is extremely aberrant.
So it's day three now, and I can't help but notice that I suddenly have tons of free time. At least three extra hours. Granted, now I spend them prostrate on the floor of my room, suffering from withdrawal, but they're extra nonetheless. If you could have an extra few hours of life every day with no ultimate changes to your lifespan, with the "BUT" (fancy word for "caveat") being that they were full of suffering, would you take them? I would without a second thought, but only if I were on a 30-day trial of taking them.
Generally, I'm feeling more deflated across the board (hmm, can't think of a way to not be redundant in this sentence, oh well). I experienced this before - during my 4th attempt to quit drinking soda. The abrupt disappearance of the sugar high renders life gray and uninteresting. I'm sure glad I'm giving up sugar and not heroin (NEVER giving that one up).
2. No snacking. Only eat when hungry.
Snacking all but disappears when you eliminate sugar from your diet. Now I only have the urge to snack every three minutes as opposed to after every successful swallow. I spend a lot of time in my room upstairs working up my hunger to earn permission to indulge my mouth. "I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry," is the mantra of the month.
3. Decide what to do for the generalized version of this 30 day trial.
The original plan was to give up all impulses. Obviously this is only feasible for living Buddhas and select igneous rocks, but there's a saying about bars and settings that's popular in this house - something along the lines of "set the bar high for everyone else." After much fruitless discussion, we decided to start off with the obvious sacrifices - #1 and #2 (not the ones you're thinking of...well...definitely not the ones you're thinking of after reading this sentence), and then kick it into high gear the second to last or last week of the trial. I'll let you know how that goes if it goes anywhere.
Went to New York today as a chaperone for Gene on his field trip to the dentist. Gene dropped me off at 80th and Broadway and went off to the torture chamber. I took a slow walk to Barnes and Noble a few blocks away, scaring pidgins and people with my hasn't-seen-the-light-of-day-for-months pale zombie face, and read about three pages in half an hour. I decided I was better at walking and went back out to partake of some pollution.
Later, I came to check up on Gene and he was still being held prisoner. The warden said he was due for release soon, but time passes very differently inside and outside the prison; I ended up waiting for another hour. Anyway, I went outside again, and just then this guy passed me carrying a box. The box read "China" and nothing else. Thank God I'm practicing stifling my impulses, otherwise I would have snuck into that box and prayed it was on an express delivery route to Shanghai...and probably would have ended up as dinner. Still, it's obviously a sign that China's anxious for my arrival.
On the way back from New York, we dropped by the King Fung Food Market - a Chinese grocery store in my town. At checkout, Gene, with his usual lack of sensibility, casually mentioned to the Chinese cashiers that I study Chinese. All of a sudden, there was a blinding tornado of blood and headless torsos, followed by an investigation into my abilities. I came out relatively unscathed, being 38.9% Chinese by the latest estimate, but I fear (and am secretly eager) to return. Sometimes enjoying life as a masochist is so easy it's unfair.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Ouch
Today's high and low:
High: patient, productive (recorded a bunch of songs)
Low: self-pity + killer toothache
Did you ever notice that total badass and antonio banderas sound exactly the same?
Listen to yourself say it:
I'm a total badass
I'm antonio banderas
Identical!
I think there's a song to be made of this discovery.
More ridiculous Chinese dictionary fun:
上厕所 - to go to the bathroom
睡觉前，接受实验者先上厕所，再上床，之后其大脑活动也许至多保持十分钟便会入睡。
Before sleep, the subject leaves the room, gets into bed, and may remain mentally active for as long as ten minutes.
High: patient, productive (recorded a bunch of songs)
Low: self-pity + killer toothache
Did you ever notice that total badass and antonio banderas sound exactly the same?
Listen to yourself say it:
I'm a total badass
I'm antonio banderas
Identical!
I think there's a song to be made of this discovery.
More ridiculous Chinese dictionary fun:
上厕所 - to go to the bathroom
睡觉前，接受实验者先上厕所，再上床，之后其大脑活动也许至多保持十分钟便会入睡。
Before sleep, the subject leaves the room, gets into bed, and may remain mentally active for as long as ten minutes.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Today's estrogen levels: high
Maybe it's time for this blog to make the evolutionary leap to a girl's xanga-style blog, where I whore out all my feelings for you beasties to feed on. Let's start gently though, with the day's high and low.
Today:
High: on the border between "eh" and "blah"
Low: why, God, why??
Meanwhile, more great dictionary examples:
骄傲 - "proud"
她很骄傲她从来没有和北方佬说过话。
She was proud that she never talked with a Yankee.
Hmm, better make that "example" minus the 's'
Nope, found another one:
碰巧 - "by chance, coincidence"
她试图自杀，但我们碰巧救了她。
She tried to commit suicide, but we saved her life by chance.
Today:
High: on the border between "eh" and "blah"
Low: why, God, why??
Meanwhile, more great dictionary examples:
骄傲 - "proud"
她很骄傲她从来没有和北方佬说过话。
She was proud that she never talked with a Yankee.
Hmm, better make that "example" minus the 's'
Nope, found another one:
碰巧 - "by chance, coincidence"
她试图自杀，但我们碰巧救了她。
She tried to commit suicide, but we saved her life by chance.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Testing...Testing...Yep, Title Works
I recently had an interview with Microsoft in Shanghai for a summer internship. I already did this once before with Microsoft, in 2007, but that time I was interning as a developer, and in California (The US one). This time I was interviewing for a testing position. Testing also involves coding, but mostly to try to break things as opposed to building them. Doesn't sound too bad if you put it that way, who doesn't like destruction and chaos? However, I can't say that testers get the same respect as even the lowest codemonkeys (developers). I had the naivete of telling my parents about this opportunity and they didn't hesitate to convey to me the extent of my betrayal of all that is good and holy. My sister is quickly catching on with the general sentiment.
These days, when I come down to the kitchen, I'm liable to hear:
"Hey tester, get me some coffee. On the double, you low-life!" or
"I have failed as a mother! How will I show my face on the street with a son who's a tester!?" or
"What do you think you're doing? Testers don't eat at the same table as people. I already put your food in the litter box, get out of here!"
During morning meditation, Gene intones "please God! Buddha, Jesus, Mary, Moses, Elysha, Julia, Krishna, Babaji, Papaji, Yogananda, Tolle, PLEASE help me learn to love testers like I love human beings!"
Michelle doesn't even need to know what a tester is. It has the word "test" in it, and that's enough to elicit disapproval (to put it lightly...where "lightly" is an understatement and "understatement" is a euphemism).
When I told my friend in China, I got some more encouragement:
Pei: ur a bad horrible evil little thing
Since I am on a 30-day trial of not getting frustrated at anything I have no choice but to find all of this hatred and prejudice infinitely amusing, and save my tears for when I retire for the night. I look forward to more entertainment/crucifixion tomorrow, when I declare that I've finally found my life's true purpose - it is of course none other than testing. I should stock up on anti-heartattack medicine tonight.
Chinese is still the most important resident on my schedule, and my dictionary still hasn't ceased to amaze me. The example sentences for the words are waaaaay out there. Let's play a game. I will give you the example, and you guess what word that sentence is an example for. When you think you know, highlight the lines below the example to see the answer.
他殷勤地侍候她。
He danced attendance on her.
她喜欢仆人前呼後拥地侍候她.
She loves to have servants dance attendance (up) on her.
Answer: to attend on - 侍
尸体躺在血泊中.
The body was lying in a pool of blood.
Answer: to lie down - 躺
他善於随机应变, 总能摆脱追踪他的人.
Thanks to agile footwork he always managed to escape his pursuers.
Answer: to take off (clothes) - 脱
闭上你的嘴, 没人要你说话!
Shut your mouth, nobody asked you!
Answer: 嘴- mouth
And lastly, an easy one:
有人听见他在呻吟.
He was heard to groan.
Answer: to groan - 呻吟
That last one was out of a Chinese tabloid. Here is the rough translation:
Breaking news! The rising pop sensation Jay Chou has been heard to groan. Yes, yet again, a star falls from his pedestal. Mr. Chou has currently been isolated in Nanjing hospital. After the 1977 country-wide groaning epidemic, we can't afford to take any risks. For further information, see how one contracts "groaning" (not for the faint of heart).
Apparently groaning is a rare disease in China, like sanity is in my family.
These days, when I come down to the kitchen, I'm liable to hear:
"Hey tester, get me some coffee. On the double, you low-life!" or
"I have failed as a mother! How will I show my face on the street with a son who's a tester!?" or
"What do you think you're doing? Testers don't eat at the same table as people. I already put your food in the litter box, get out of here!"
During morning meditation, Gene intones "please God! Buddha, Jesus, Mary, Moses, Elysha, Julia, Krishna, Babaji, Papaji, Yogananda, Tolle, PLEASE help me learn to love testers like I love human beings!"
Michelle doesn't even need to know what a tester is. It has the word "test" in it, and that's enough to elicit disapproval (to put it lightly...where "lightly" is an understatement and "understatement" is a euphemism).
When I told my friend in China, I got some more encouragement:
Pei: ur a bad horrible evil little thing
Since I am on a 30-day trial of not getting frustrated at anything I have no choice but to find all of this hatred and prejudice infinitely amusing, and save my tears for when I retire for the night. I look forward to more entertainment/crucifixion tomorrow, when I declare that I've finally found my life's true purpose - it is of course none other than testing. I should stock up on anti-heartattack medicine tonight.
Chinese is still the most important resident on my schedule, and my dictionary still hasn't ceased to amaze me. The example sentences for the words are waaaaay out there. Let's play a game. I will give you the example, and you guess what word that sentence is an example for. When you think you know, highlight the lines below the example to see the answer.
他殷勤地侍候她。
He danced attendance on her.
她喜欢仆人前呼後拥地侍候她.
She loves to have servants dance attendance (up) on her.
Answer: to attend on - 侍
尸体躺在血泊中.
The body was lying in a pool of blood.
Answer: to lie down - 躺
他善於随机应变, 总能摆脱追踪他的人.
Thanks to agile footwork he always managed to escape his pursuers.
Answer: to take off (clothes) - 脱
闭上你的嘴, 没人要你说话!
Shut your mouth, nobody asked you!
Answer: 嘴- mouth
And lastly, an easy one:
有人听见他在呻吟.
He was heard to groan.
Answer: to groan - 呻吟
That last one was out of a Chinese tabloid. Here is the rough translation:
Breaking news! The rising pop sensation Jay Chou has been heard to groan. Yes, yet again, a star falls from his pedestal. Mr. Chou has currently been isolated in Nanjing hospital. After the 1977 country-wide groaning epidemic, we can't afford to take any risks. For further information, see how one contracts "groaning" (not for the faint of heart).
Apparently groaning is a rare disease in China, like sanity is in my family.
Monday, February 9, 2009
No Complaints
NOTE: All the whining and complaining below have no emotional component, and thus do not revoke my right to watch a movie today.
It's all been about Chinese the last few days; I've been neglecting pretty much everything else. It would seem that I would have some skills to show for the invested time, but as of now they are still wimpy at best.
I also spent some time fighting the new Flash format - "f4v" - but it is being a real 笨蛋 and refusing to do what I tell it.
Up until today I've been using McAfee Antivirus, but today there was some downsizing and McAfee took a hit. The complaints were numerous and all too valid to ignore. Here they are, in order of idiocy, from greatest to least:
1. You can't turn it off. Once it's installed, the only way to turn it off is to uninstall it. Otherwise, it runs whenever your computer is on. It's a program with no Exit feature! That's a little too versatile for me.
2. It scans. It constantly scans. I never know what it's thinking, it's always scanning. Is it scanning itself? I'd rather not know, so goodbye McAfee.
3. It updates itself every five minutes and then demands system restart. If you say "No, I'll restart later," it conveniently pops up reminders at 30 second intervals until you comply with its demands.
4. It's a whiny little bitch. If you change your settings to anything less than "Scan everything from files to family members' colons," it incessantly begs that you change them back, with the same patience as in complain #3. Well guess what happens to whiny little bitches in this family? They get uninstalled.
More wonderful Chinese:
留意 - to be mindful/careful
若要老婆留意自己所说的话，作丈夫的只要把话向其他女性说便成了。
If a man wants his wife to pay attention to what he says, he addresses his remarks to another woman.
Evil and wise, a dangerous combination.
It's World War III time.
棒 - stick (among other things)
示威者用棍棒和各种投掷物攻击警察。
Demonstrators attacked the police, using sticks and assorted missiles.
他们试图用一根铁棒撬开锁。
They tried to use an iron bar to pry open the lock.
侦探认为这根木棒和谋杀案有牵连。
The detective thought the stick was related to the murder case.
农夫拿著大棒追赶闯进来的人。
The farmer came after the intruder with a big stick.
我们接近她时, 她就挥棒乱打.
As we approached her, she laid about her with a stick.
So the movies are all true! They do beat the crap out of each other with sticks all day. It's probably a scheduled event:
Mr Li: honey! It's eight o'clock already. We're going to be late for the morning stick fight. It's the Zhang family's turn to take a beating, we don't want to miss it!
Mrs Li: crap! I haven't even finished sharpening my iron bar! And have you been going through my assorted missiles again? They're all out of order!
Mr Li: ah, sorry about that honey. We had a little impromptu fight yesterday after work. But good news, now there's no need to fire anyone.
Mrs Li: oh, wonderful! That's such good news! Ok, I think I'm ready. Iron bar - check, bamboo poles - check, flying daggers - check, missiles - check, dragon costume - check. Let's go!
It's all been about Chinese the last few days; I've been neglecting pretty much everything else. It would seem that I would have some skills to show for the invested time, but as of now they are still wimpy at best.
I also spent some time fighting the new Flash format - "f4v" - but it is being a real 笨蛋 and refusing to do what I tell it.
Up until today I've been using McAfee Antivirus, but today there was some downsizing and McAfee took a hit. The complaints were numerous and all too valid to ignore. Here they are, in order of idiocy, from greatest to least:
1. You can't turn it off. Once it's installed, the only way to turn it off is to uninstall it. Otherwise, it runs whenever your computer is on. It's a program with no Exit feature! That's a little too versatile for me.
2. It scans. It constantly scans. I never know what it's thinking, it's always scanning. Is it scanning itself? I'd rather not know, so goodbye McAfee.
3. It updates itself every five minutes and then demands system restart. If you say "No, I'll restart later," it conveniently pops up reminders at 30 second intervals until you comply with its demands.
4. It's a whiny little bitch. If you change your settings to anything less than "Scan everything from files to family members' colons," it incessantly begs that you change them back, with the same patience as in complain #3. Well guess what happens to whiny little bitches in this family? They get uninstalled.
More wonderful Chinese:
留意 - to be mindful/careful
若要老婆留意自己所说的话，作丈夫的只要把话向其他女性说便成了。
If a man wants his wife to pay attention to what he says, he addresses his remarks to another woman.
Evil and wise, a dangerous combination.
It's World War III time.
棒 - stick (among other things)
示威者用棍棒和各种投掷物攻击警察。
Demonstrators attacked the police, using sticks and assorted missiles.
他们试图用一根铁棒撬开锁。
They tried to use an iron bar to pry open the lock.
侦探认为这根木棒和谋杀案有牵连。
The detective thought the stick was related to the murder case.
农夫拿著大棒追赶闯进来的人。
The farmer came after the intruder with a big stick.
我们接近她时, 她就挥棒乱打.
As we approached her, she laid about her with a stick.
So the movies are all true! They do beat the crap out of each other with sticks all day. It's probably a scheduled event:
Mr Li: honey! It's eight o'clock already. We're going to be late for the morning stick fight. It's the Zhang family's turn to take a beating, we don't want to miss it!
Mrs Li: crap! I haven't even finished sharpening my iron bar! And have you been going through my assorted missiles again? They're all out of order!
Mr Li: ah, sorry about that honey. We had a little impromptu fight yesterday after work. But good news, now there's no need to fire anyone.
Mrs Li: oh, wonderful! That's such good news! Ok, I think I'm ready. Iron bar - check, bamboo poles - check, flying daggers - check, missiles - check, dragon costume - check. Let's go!
Friday, February 6, 2009
Idiots Don't Wake Up
All this meditation must be doing something because lately I've been having really long and plentiful dreams. Time to put some paper near the bed again so I can write them down as soon as I wake up. I'm pretty sure I see around 4 a night.
There was a beautiful one today that had almost no action - not usually my favorite recipe - but this time was very satisfying. I'm in Cambridge, looking over the Harvard bridge, and I watch as the last few cars get off the bridge and only the illegally parked ones are left. At this moment, a pair of headlights lights up the horizon from the Boston side, but the car responsible for them doesn't come into view, mostly I think because I don't want it to. At the other end of the bridge there's a castle instead of Boston, and the headlights put it in a perfect light. It's really majestic - the kind that deserves some poetry from someone other than me. I decide to take a picture with my cellphone.
The camera on my phone works really weirdly - this is where I should have gone lucid (if not when I saw the castle instead of Boston): for some reason (I'm thinking in the dream), the camera input is coming from satellite, and it's coming in really slowly. So first I see the view of everything from above, and then it slowly gets to me, and then it starts moving towards the castle. I keep snapping shots as this little movie plays out on my cell screen, all the way up until the view is moving up the castle walls, discovering towers in the darkness and whatnot. It was like a movie director's wet dream.
Another dream today had to do with two groups investigating some mystery concerning a giant mythical creature. The two groups were the Smart People and the Beautiful People. By some hideous flaw in the system, I was placed with the Smart People (how could I not have realized that I was dreaming? Just the fact that I didn't should have eliminated me from the Smart People group!). Anyway, the Smart People were in charge of figuring stuff out, and the Beautiful People were the ones that got all the action and took all the credit. But the two groups didn't cooperate well at all - I guess we wanted credit too, because the whole dream was really about running away from the Beautiful People and not giving them our intel. There was this really stupid door scene that reminded me of Signs - where the all-powerful aliens with their hyperspace drive and Kosher pork and whatever other crazy technology, can't get through a two-inch-thick wooden door.
Hopefully there'll be more dreams tonight. Hopefully I won't be an idiot and I'll realize that the third arm sprouting from my nose isn't normally there, and will go lucid. It's about time.
This online Chinese dictionary I'm using is too good to be true. It gives you example sentences for each word, and these examples are exactly the kind you want to be using on a daily basis. Take the word "guy" for example. In Chinese it's 家伙
Common usage examples:
他不是那种和你一样的坏家伙。
He is not such a bad guy as you (are).
这个平时温和的家伙简直发疯了, 开枪打死了十个人.
This ordinary quiet guy just freaked out and shot ten people.
你这忘恩负义的家伙!
You ungrateful wretch!
他是个卑鄙的家伙.
He's a scurvy wretch.
他是个笨手笨脚的[古里古怪的]家伙.
He's an awkward/queer old cuss.
你瞧那戴怪帽子的家伙!
Get a load of that old bloke with the funny hat!
Or "kill" - 杀
他们在密谋如何杀害他。
They are plotting how to murder him.
那只骚扰绵羊的狗被杀死了。
The dog that molested the sheep was killed.
因为宿怨，他最终杀了她。
He eventually killed her because of a long-standing feud.
I could read this thing all day, it's like a joke machine. And I can't wait to use all of these in China. Come visit me when I'm back, I'll be the guy in the little urn.
There was a beautiful one today that had almost no action - not usually my favorite recipe - but this time was very satisfying. I'm in Cambridge, looking over the Harvard bridge, and I watch as the last few cars get off the bridge and only the illegally parked ones are left. At this moment, a pair of headlights lights up the horizon from the Boston side, but the car responsible for them doesn't come into view, mostly I think because I don't want it to. At the other end of the bridge there's a castle instead of Boston, and the headlights put it in a perfect light. It's really majestic - the kind that deserves some poetry from someone other than me. I decide to take a picture with my cellphone.
The camera on my phone works really weirdly - this is where I should have gone lucid (if not when I saw the castle instead of Boston): for some reason (I'm thinking in the dream), the camera input is coming from satellite, and it's coming in really slowly. So first I see the view of everything from above, and then it slowly gets to me, and then it starts moving towards the castle. I keep snapping shots as this little movie plays out on my cell screen, all the way up until the view is moving up the castle walls, discovering towers in the darkness and whatnot. It was like a movie director's wet dream.
Another dream today had to do with two groups investigating some mystery concerning a giant mythical creature. The two groups were the Smart People and the Beautiful People. By some hideous flaw in the system, I was placed with the Smart People (how could I not have realized that I was dreaming? Just the fact that I didn't should have eliminated me from the Smart People group!). Anyway, the Smart People were in charge of figuring stuff out, and the Beautiful People were the ones that got all the action and took all the credit. But the two groups didn't cooperate well at all - I guess we wanted credit too, because the whole dream was really about running away from the Beautiful People and not giving them our intel. There was this really stupid door scene that reminded me of Signs - where the all-powerful aliens with their hyperspace drive and Kosher pork and whatever other crazy technology, can't get through a two-inch-thick wooden door.
Hopefully there'll be more dreams tonight. Hopefully I won't be an idiot and I'll realize that the third arm sprouting from my nose isn't normally there, and will go lucid. It's about time.
This online Chinese dictionary I'm using is too good to be true. It gives you example sentences for each word, and these examples are exactly the kind you want to be using on a daily basis. Take the word "guy" for example. In Chinese it's 家伙
Common usage examples:
他不是那种和你一样的坏家伙。
He is not such a bad guy as you (are).
这个平时温和的家伙简直发疯了, 开枪打死了十个人.
This ordinary quiet guy just freaked out and shot ten people.
你这忘恩负义的家伙!
You ungrateful wretch!
他是个卑鄙的家伙.
He's a scurvy wretch.
他是个笨手笨脚的[古里古怪的]家伙.
He's an awkward/queer old cuss.
你瞧那戴怪帽子的家伙!
Get a load of that old bloke with the funny hat!
Or "kill" - 杀
他们在密谋如何杀害他。
They are plotting how to murder him.
那只骚扰绵羊的狗被杀死了。
The dog that molested the sheep was killed.
因为宿怨，他最终杀了她。
He eventually killed her because of a long-standing feud.
I could read this thing all day, it's like a joke machine. And I can't wait to use all of these in China. Come visit me when I'm back, I'll be the guy in the little urn.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Those Flat Chinese
Morning meditation:
Today was more focused. I think I'm up to 1.2 consecutive milliseconds of consciousness, which sounds low, but feels like an improvement.
Dream:
I'm a sailor on a semi-modern ship. I am looking for a bathroom where I can move my bowels. I find one, but it is completely unacceptable. There are two toilets, facing each other from opposite corners of the room, as if in a duel, and about fifteen people between them, just shooting the breeze (something people only do in bathrooms in dreams). I barely hesitate a second before taking my privacy-sensitive bowels in search of other accomodations. I finally find a private bathroom with a single toilet, lock myself in, and mount the beast.
Lo and behold, this must be a toilet from an amusement park. Sitting on this thing is like sitting in one of those virtual ride machines at Chucke E. Cheese's, except that I don't have a screen in front of me convincing me that I'm on runaway railcar. I try to relax, but it is impossible, my cheeks are gripping the seat with all the static friction they've been storing away for the last 22 years. It's like trying to relax a bear trap. I struggle for a while, but my needs finally give in to the consistency of my failures, and I decide that I guess I don't really need to go. As I leave the bathroom, the next contestant comes in, Brian Voorhis who I haven't seen since middle school. I give him the thumbs up sign.
After this, I teleport to the dock. The ship is leaving, and I need to get on before I'm left behind. I remember what the captain said about the really stupid things sailors sometimes do, and proceed to do one of such caliber that further speeches in this vein are assured for generations to come. Instead of just jumping onto the ship, I wrap my four appendages around some 4 foot diameter column that holds the ship's roof up. Now I'm hopelessly stuck. If I let go, I fall into the water, but there's no way I can maneuver around this thing without help. I can barely move at all. I stick one leg out as much as I can, which is about one inch, and yell for someone to drag me in by my leg. Unfortunately, the other sailors lack the necessary genie powers required to perform such a feat. I realize that my last chance is to get back onto the deck and then try to jump for it. I try and fail, and almost fall off, and then suddenly I'm on the deck in some kind fluke of teleportation. I don't hesitate for instant to thank the Gods, and execute a beautiful running long jump onto the deck. Crisis averted.
End of Dream
I was studying Chinese today, and ran across this sentence: ge1ge1 he1 ka1fei1 he1 de hen3 shao3. Now don't panic! Of course, at first sight this looks like incomprehensible gibberish, unless you're one of the enlightened few (2 billionish). But in reality, it's pretty simple.
Let me give you some brief background: The above is the romanization of the Chinese sentence 哥哥喝咖啡喝地很少. (Romanization = Chinese for Americans). Romanization tells you how to pronounce the words, unlike the authentic Chinese sentence which just hurts your eyes, not to mention your brain. The numbers in the romanization indicate the tone (what to do with your voice) to use with each vowel sound. Tone 3 is for Chinese Jedi Masters, while tone 1 is Ben Stein's permanent residence - flat tone - where your voice doesn't change pitch during the duration of the vowel.
What's special about this sentence is that the first 6 tones are tone 1. Basically this means that you're likely to say the first 6 syllables on one note. When I say it out loud, it sounds absolutely ridiculous.
This reminded me instantly of Galaxy Quest, where the aliens consistently speak in a perfect monotone, with the added benefit of residing on the precise pitch of their voice breaks. Listen to this (Blogger doesn't allow uploading sound files, I had to convert it to video):
Now back to the Chinese phrase. Expect the worst:
I sound even more retarded, but you get the gist.
Madelyn: ur awesome
Mark: wow
Mark: r u learning to notice the obvious too?
Madelyn: yeah, im not good at it
Madelyn: that's how my compliment came to you
Today was more focused. I think I'm up to 1.2 consecutive milliseconds of consciousness, which sounds low, but feels like an improvement.
Dream:
I'm a sailor on a semi-modern ship. I am looking for a bathroom where I can move my bowels. I find one, but it is completely unacceptable. There are two toilets, facing each other from opposite corners of the room, as if in a duel, and about fifteen people between them, just shooting the breeze (something people only do in bathrooms in dreams). I barely hesitate a second before taking my privacy-sensitive bowels in search of other accomodations. I finally find a private bathroom with a single toilet, lock myself in, and mount the beast.
Lo and behold, this must be a toilet from an amusement park. Sitting on this thing is like sitting in one of those virtual ride machines at Chucke E. Cheese's, except that I don't have a screen in front of me convincing me that I'm on runaway railcar. I try to relax, but it is impossible, my cheeks are gripping the seat with all the static friction they've been storing away for the last 22 years. It's like trying to relax a bear trap. I struggle for a while, but my needs finally give in to the consistency of my failures, and I decide that I guess I don't really need to go. As I leave the bathroom, the next contestant comes in, Brian Voorhis who I haven't seen since middle school. I give him the thumbs up sign.
After this, I teleport to the dock. The ship is leaving, and I need to get on before I'm left behind. I remember what the captain said about the really stupid things sailors sometimes do, and proceed to do one of such caliber that further speeches in this vein are assured for generations to come. Instead of just jumping onto the ship, I wrap my four appendages around some 4 foot diameter column that holds the ship's roof up. Now I'm hopelessly stuck. If I let go, I fall into the water, but there's no way I can maneuver around this thing without help. I can barely move at all. I stick one leg out as much as I can, which is about one inch, and yell for someone to drag me in by my leg. Unfortunately, the other sailors lack the necessary genie powers required to perform such a feat. I realize that my last chance is to get back onto the deck and then try to jump for it. I try and fail, and almost fall off, and then suddenly I'm on the deck in some kind fluke of teleportation. I don't hesitate for instant to thank the Gods, and execute a beautiful running long jump onto the deck. Crisis averted.
End of Dream
I was studying Chinese today, and ran across this sentence: ge1ge1 he1 ka1fei1 he1 de hen3 shao3. Now don't panic! Of course, at first sight this looks like incomprehensible gibberish, unless you're one of the enlightened few (2 billionish). But in reality, it's pretty simple.
Let me give you some brief background: The above is the romanization of the Chinese sentence 哥哥喝咖啡喝地很少. (Romanization = Chinese for Americans). Romanization tells you how to pronounce the words, unlike the authentic Chinese sentence which just hurts your eyes, not to mention your brain. The numbers in the romanization indicate the tone (what to do with your voice) to use with each vowel sound. Tone 3 is for Chinese Jedi Masters, while tone 1 is Ben Stein's permanent residence - flat tone - where your voice doesn't change pitch during the duration of the vowel.
What's special about this sentence is that the first 6 tones are tone 1. Basically this means that you're likely to say the first 6 syllables on one note. When I say it out loud, it sounds absolutely ridiculous.
This reminded me instantly of Galaxy Quest, where the aliens consistently speak in a perfect monotone, with the added benefit of residing on the precise pitch of their voice breaks. Listen to this (Blogger doesn't allow uploading sound files, I had to convert it to video):
Now back to the Chinese phrase. Expect the worst:
I sound even more retarded, but you get the gist.
Madelyn: ur awesome
Mark: wow
Mark: r u learning to notice the obvious too?
Madelyn: yeah, im not good at it
Madelyn: that's how my compliment came to you
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Quick, Check If You're Conscious Before It's Too Late
Morning meditation:
Today I was plagued by melodies and lyrics from my own songs. I remember now that this happened on some of the other days, so just go ahead and add it to the general list of distractions. There were a couple of moments when I was thinking to myself - "hey, my mind's pretty quiet, right on, brother!" and then I'd realize that it was because my mind was wrapped so tightly around some catchy scrap of music that other thoughts just didn't stand a chance.
The new 30-day trials are only partially taking. Studying Chinese for half an hour is cake, even an hour is no problem. The lucid dreaming techniques are lagging behind though. I did maybe 20 reality checks today in total, which unfortunately doesn't average out to one every 10 minutes. And there are stretches of hours where I completely forget to do them. But I remembered today that another prerequisite is writing down dreams, so I'm going to start doing that tonight. Surely that'll clinch it.
Gene has also caught the lucid dreaming bug and now has some half-baked get-rich-quick scheme that he insists is exactly the opposite of that (not a get-rich-quick scheme). I haven't decided if I believe him yet, but I'll play along, especially since he reads this blog.
More silly jokes:
People are playing Scattergories:
The Letter: S
Category: Things that grow
Mom: self-awareness. But usually not mine.
Dad: Sri Ramakrishna. You haven't seen "grow" till you've seen my buddy Sri. You don't like it? Fine, then Snigfilunkers. You haven't heard of them? They're silicon-based creatures from the lower East side of the Horsehead Nebula.
Chun: sores. You should really get those checked by the way.
Tina: sadness and self-doubt. Ah, my old friends.
Mark: subscribers. Usually from 3 to 4, but sometimes the other way around.
Mario: sundried tomatoes. What? Why wouldn't that count? Well have you ever kept them on the shelf in high humidity for 6 years? No? Then you're not qualified to judge, are you?
Perry: snotty self-serving scientologists. Those little pricks.
Madelyn: sweet savory strips of seventy percent chocolate. No wait...those disappear.
Pei: single moms. No! Sex drive! Phew, nailed it.
Lucy: sluts. And sexist pigs. HAHAHAHA!
Igor: Rena...hmmm, no, that's 'R'...umm...yea...oh! Suicide statistics! Yay, I'm so happy now!
Question: What would you do with a billion dollars?
Mom: never work another day in my life!
Dad: never see any of you again! God, enough is enough.
Mark: I'd probably take it. Yep, there's at least a 10% chance I'd take it.
Mario: buy some Cheezits. They're on sale now: 10,000,000 boxes for $20,000,000. That's not a deal you miss.
Chun: go to medical school. What? Medical schools are like $30K a year these days!
Igor: buy a really authentic-looking degree. Renata won't suspect a thing!
Tina: oh, what's the point...
Pei: be a single mom. To a really fat spoiled baby.
Madelyn: die of chocolate overdose. And then probably go to work.
Perry: buy out scientology and burn it at the stake!
Frank: invest it. There's no faster way to lose money. Wait, did I say lose or make?
Lucy: ha! Gimme a break.
Question: What do you know?
Mom: lots of things. But please don't ask me to remember them. Gene can tell you which ones.
Dad: plenty, but it's never never never enough!
Mark: hah! You could fill a page with what I know!
Chun: I know exactly what I'm doing. And also how to busy myself every second to eliminate time for doubt.
Mario: that I am the duke of Mario! Or was it earl of Mendiola...wait, was that in the first one or the sequel?
Perry: huh? Let me tell you instead about intelligent design. It's retarded.
Lucy: everything. Name one thing I don't know. I dare you. Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait...except that one.
Igor: I know that if Renata ever...oh Christ, I don't even want to think about that. Brrrghf.
Tina: I know that if you ask me one more question, I'm gonna strangle you.
Pei: not nearly enough. I've already read 600 pages of zodiac today, and I still have no idea.
Frank: money money money money money money money money money money money money money money money. Or in modern jargon: lots of money.
Madelyn: oh, just a little secret. Hehe.
Today I was plagued by melodies and lyrics from my own songs. I remember now that this happened on some of the other days, so just go ahead and add it to the general list of distractions. There were a couple of moments when I was thinking to myself - "hey, my mind's pretty quiet, right on, brother!" and then I'd realize that it was because my mind was wrapped so tightly around some catchy scrap of music that other thoughts just didn't stand a chance.
The new 30-day trials are only partially taking. Studying Chinese for half an hour is cake, even an hour is no problem. The lucid dreaming techniques are lagging behind though. I did maybe 20 reality checks today in total, which unfortunately doesn't average out to one every 10 minutes. And there are stretches of hours where I completely forget to do them. But I remembered today that another prerequisite is writing down dreams, so I'm going to start doing that tonight. Surely that'll clinch it.
Gene has also caught the lucid dreaming bug and now has some half-baked get-rich-quick scheme that he insists is exactly the opposite of that (not a get-rich-quick scheme). I haven't decided if I believe him yet, but I'll play along, especially since he reads this blog.
More silly jokes:
People are playing Scattergories:
The Letter: S
Category: Things that grow
Mom: self-awareness. But usually not mine.
Dad: Sri Ramakrishna. You haven't seen "grow" till you've seen my buddy Sri. You don't like it? Fine, then Snigfilunkers. You haven't heard of them? They're silicon-based creatures from the lower East side of the Horsehead Nebula.
Chun: sores. You should really get those checked by the way.
Tina: sadness and self-doubt. Ah, my old friends.
Mark: subscribers. Usually from 3 to 4, but sometimes the other way around.
Mario: sundried tomatoes. What? Why wouldn't that count? Well have you ever kept them on the shelf in high humidity for 6 years? No? Then you're not qualified to judge, are you?
Perry: snotty self-serving scientologists. Those little pricks.
Madelyn: sweet savory strips of seventy percent chocolate. No wait...those disappear.
Pei: single moms. No! Sex drive! Phew, nailed it.
Lucy: sluts. And sexist pigs. HAHAHAHA!
Igor: Rena...hmmm, no, that's 'R'...umm...yea...oh! Suicide statistics! Yay, I'm so happy now!
Question: What would you do with a billion dollars?
Mom: never work another day in my life!
Dad: never see any of you again! God, enough is enough.
Mark: I'd probably take it. Yep, there's at least a 10% chance I'd take it.
Mario: buy some Cheezits. They're on sale now: 10,000,000 boxes for $20,000,000. That's not a deal you miss.
Chun: go to medical school. What? Medical schools are like $30K a year these days!
Igor: buy a really authentic-looking degree. Renata won't suspect a thing!
Tina: oh, what's the point...
Pei: be a single mom. To a really fat spoiled baby.
Madelyn: die of chocolate overdose. And then probably go to work.
Perry: buy out scientology and burn it at the stake!
Frank: invest it. There's no faster way to lose money. Wait, did I say lose or make?
Lucy: ha! Gimme a break.
Question: What do you know?
Mom: lots of things. But please don't ask me to remember them. Gene can tell you which ones.
Dad: plenty, but it's never never never enough!
Mark: hah! You could fill a page with what I know!
Chun: I know exactly what I'm doing. And also how to busy myself every second to eliminate time for doubt.
Mario: that I am the duke of Mario! Or was it earl of Mendiola...wait, was that in the first one or the sequel?
Perry: huh? Let me tell you instead about intelligent design. It's retarded.
Lucy: everything. Name one thing I don't know. I dare you. Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait...except that one.
Igor: I know that if Renata ever...oh Christ, I don't even want to think about that. Brrrghf.
Tina: I know that if you ask me one more question, I'm gonna strangle you.
Pei: not nearly enough. I've already read 600 pages of zodiac today, and I still have no idea.
Frank: money money money money money money money money money money money money money money money. Or in modern jargon: lots of money.
Madelyn: oh, just a little secret. Hehe.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Breasts, And How To Squeeze Lucid Dreams Out Of Them...Or Was It The Other Way Around?
Morning meditation:
I have the attention span of the Memento guy.
OK, it's time to start more 30-day trials. I came up with two in the 3.7-nanosecond-long conscious section of my meditation.
1. 30 mins or more of studying Chinese per day.
I'm planning on going to China sometime in this or my next life, so it's about time to put some discipline into my studying. Lately I've paid more attention to my love handles than to my Chinese skills (and I pay less attention to my love handles than to my fictional great aunt Propecia. Hmm...I should call her).
2. Start trying to lucid dream again.
Lucid dreaming is a synonym for "stop wasting a third of your life on nonsense, just so you can write it down in the morning for a 30-day writing-down-dreams-in-the-morning trial." It was adopted at the Belgium-based Winslow-Gordon Convention in 1865, when people realized that they have had it up to here(Northern New Jersey, upwards of my head) with saying that long quote twenty times a day.
Normally, you have no control over your dreams. You can lie there right before falling asleep and chant the latest Miss World's name till you're blue in the face, but will she grace your dream with her scantily clad presence? Very doubtful, because she's too busy serving (servicing?) lucid dreamers. Instead, you get assigned the dream where you're filling out your taxes, you're late, all you have left to do is sign, but your pen's stuck up in some tree for some reason and a village of armadillo gophers is willing to lay down their lives making sure you don't get it in time.
Dreaming for the average man (women don't have dreams, it's something to do with their breasts) is like watching an in-flight movie. You have no choice in the content, and chances are the pilot likes The Lizzie McGuire Movie. Or sometimes you don't even get one you haven't seen yet, you get a "recurring" one. What movie did you watch ten times already? Beethoven's 4th? What a coincidence! That's what we're playing today!
Lucid dreamers don't put up with this. They're elite, they're first class passengers, they're "the foot" as the French would say. They take out a couple minutes every day to ensure they don't get trapped in squirrel paradise like the average dreamer. What they do is they do "reality checks." Every ten or fifteen minutes, an aspiring lucid dreamer will examine the world for a second to make sure he's truly awake. For example, look at your hands right now. ...Uhh, I meant look at your hands after the next sentence. If they start swimming in your field of vision/changing shape size or color/vary in their finger content/(insert whatever your particular set doesn't normally do), then you know you're dreaming. In that case, you snap into the reality of the dream, which is much more vivid that ordinary dream-watching, and find yourself in a world where you have almost limitless control over the content. This is what a lucid dream is. You own the dream, you're the master. You can do whatever you want. You can fly around circles, fly around in squares, fly around in triangles...yea, my imagination ends here, but fortunately you're only limited by yours.
Of course, there's a price. In exchange for additional hours of consciousness, during the day you look like an idiot - whipping out your hands every ten minutes, then explaining to the police why you suddenly punched that pregnant woman with both fists. My advice is to take it slowly. Don't rip your pockets off, just calmly withdraw your hands: "calm calm calm...OK, let's see what we have here. Hmm, only one hand, I'm dreaming!...oh, never mind, I lost that one in Nam, nope...not dreaming, OK, see you in ten minutes, hand, done." Do that as often as you can, and you're on your way to lucid dreaming.
In case you're tempted to try it, there are other techniques that can help you achieve a lucid dream, preferably done in combination with "reality checks:"
1. Surpreme confidence - you know you're going to have a lucid dream. "If that idiot blogger can do it, I can do it."
2. Affirmations - unlike Miss World, lucid dreams will materialize if you think about them constantly. Before you go to sleep, turn on a mental mantra - "I will lucid dream tonight, I will lucid dream tonight, I will lucid dream tonight, I will lucid dream tonight," etc.
3. Attach reality checks to everyday things - every time you feel you need to pee, do a reality check. Every time you flip a light switch, do a reality check. Every time you think about breasts, do a reality check. Especially if you do this last one, you're set. Unfortunately, breasts have very little to do with most people's reality.
4. Reading this blog. Twenty to thirty times a day should be enough.
Lastly, performing a "reality check" inside a dream is not the only way to obtain a lucid dream. You can go straight into a lucid dream when you're falling asleep. For that, you need to be a bit of a sniper. You have to lie on your back and wait patiently for that moment when you slip away into dream land. And in that moment, you have a chance to get into the dream, but not lose consciousness. Often, the falling asleep moment will be accompanied by strange bodily sensations, such as heat and full body vibration. These are signs that you're close, but don't get too excited, you'll spook the lucid dream away.
Alright, ready, set, reality checks start...three paragraphs ago! Happy hunting!
I have the attention span of the Memento guy.
OK, it's time to start more 30-day trials. I came up with two in the 3.7-nanosecond-long conscious section of my meditation.
1. 30 mins or more of studying Chinese per day.
I'm planning on going to China sometime in this or my next life, so it's about time to put some discipline into my studying. Lately I've paid more attention to my love handles than to my Chinese skills (and I pay less attention to my love handles than to my fictional great aunt Propecia. Hmm...I should call her).
2. Start trying to lucid dream again.
Lucid dreaming is a synonym for "stop wasting a third of your life on nonsense, just so you can write it down in the morning for a 30-day writing-down-dreams-in-the-morning trial." It was adopted at the Belgium-based Winslow-Gordon Convention in 1865, when people realized that they have had it up to here(Northern New Jersey, upwards of my head) with saying that long quote twenty times a day.
Normally, you have no control over your dreams. You can lie there right before falling asleep and chant the latest Miss World's name till you're blue in the face, but will she grace your dream with her scantily clad presence? Very doubtful, because she's too busy serving (servicing?) lucid dreamers. Instead, you get assigned the dream where you're filling out your taxes, you're late, all you have left to do is sign, but your pen's stuck up in some tree for some reason and a village of armadillo gophers is willing to lay down their lives making sure you don't get it in time.
Dreaming for the average man (women don't have dreams, it's something to do with their breasts) is like watching an in-flight movie. You have no choice in the content, and chances are the pilot likes The Lizzie McGuire Movie. Or sometimes you don't even get one you haven't seen yet, you get a "recurring" one. What movie did you watch ten times already? Beethoven's 4th? What a coincidence! That's what we're playing today!
Lucid dreamers don't put up with this. They're elite, they're first class passengers, they're "the foot" as the French would say. They take out a couple minutes every day to ensure they don't get trapped in squirrel paradise like the average dreamer. What they do is they do "reality checks." Every ten or fifteen minutes, an aspiring lucid dreamer will examine the world for a second to make sure he's truly awake. For example, look at your hands right now. ...Uhh, I meant look at your hands after the next sentence. If they start swimming in your field of vision/changing shape size or color/vary in their finger content/(insert whatever your particular set doesn't normally do), then you know you're dreaming. In that case, you snap into the reality of the dream, which is much more vivid that ordinary dream-watching, and find yourself in a world where you have almost limitless control over the content. This is what a lucid dream is. You own the dream, you're the master. You can do whatever you want. You can fly around circles, fly around in squares, fly around in triangles...yea, my imagination ends here, but fortunately you're only limited by yours.
Of course, there's a price. In exchange for additional hours of consciousness, during the day you look like an idiot - whipping out your hands every ten minutes, then explaining to the police why you suddenly punched that pregnant woman with both fists. My advice is to take it slowly. Don't rip your pockets off, just calmly withdraw your hands: "calm calm calm...OK, let's see what we have here. Hmm, only one hand, I'm dreaming!...oh, never mind, I lost that one in Nam, nope...not dreaming, OK, see you in ten minutes, hand, done." Do that as often as you can, and you're on your way to lucid dreaming.
In case you're tempted to try it, there are other techniques that can help you achieve a lucid dream, preferably done in combination with "reality checks:"
1. Surpreme confidence - you know you're going to have a lucid dream. "If that idiot blogger can do it, I can do it."
2. Affirmations - unlike Miss World, lucid dreams will materialize if you think about them constantly. Before you go to sleep, turn on a mental mantra - "I will lucid dream tonight, I will lucid dream tonight, I will lucid dream tonight, I will lucid dream tonight," etc.
3. Attach reality checks to everyday things - every time you feel you need to pee, do a reality check. Every time you flip a light switch, do a reality check. Every time you think about breasts, do a reality check. Especially if you do this last one, you're set. Unfortunately, breasts have very little to do with most people's reality.
4. Reading this blog. Twenty to thirty times a day should be enough.
Lastly, performing a "reality check" inside a dream is not the only way to obtain a lucid dream. You can go straight into a lucid dream when you're falling asleep. For that, you need to be a bit of a sniper. You have to lie on your back and wait patiently for that moment when you slip away into dream land. And in that moment, you have a chance to get into the dream, but not lose consciousness. Often, the falling asleep moment will be accompanied by strange bodily sensations, such as heat and full body vibration. These are signs that you're close, but don't get too excited, you'll spook the lucid dream away.
Alright, ready, set, reality checks start...three paragraphs ago! Happy hunting!
Sunday, January 4, 2009
New Hampshire exists! That's 23 confirmed states!
Yesterday Natasha and I drove to Dartmouth, though technically she did all the driving. It took five and a half hours and I received my usual rate of $0/hr for it, totaling roughly $0. We got in around eight, unpacked Natasha's entire house worth of stuff from her car-sized car and by midnight we were sitting in the cozy kitchen devouring her mom's more edible gifts.
Then we watched Leatherheads. Now this is a movie which has absolutely no idea what it's about. Most movies are pretty transparent and straightforward, even the bad ones: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is about proving to you that there are things in the world that make even a well-balanced ridiculously good-looking individual like myself contemplate suicide from boredom, namely watching The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Last Orders is about British people doing absolutely nothing in realtime. For two hours. 27 Dresses is about the estrogen injection you forgot to take before you watched it. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days is about a two-hour long kick in the balls, not my favorite thing to experience even vicariously.
Leatherheads puts these all to shame. After all, why go for one topic, when you can go for all of them? Football, mud wrestling, unrequited love, male bonding, fat people, the Great Depression, the Prohibition, betrayal, lies, Renee Zellwegger's oily face that's so slippery your eyeballs can't hang on, George Clooney's loony O Brother Where Art Thou character, broken telephone and World War I are just some of the broad range of topics which would take almost as long for me to list as for you to just watch the movie yourself. Anyway, each topic from this veritable zoo of plot devices gets about two minutes of play. As a result it feels like you're watching two-minute-long episodes of some show where the characters stay the same, but each new episode has only minor relevance to the previous 17. I give this movie an "eh." (with an audible 'h')
Today we went to have lunch with one of Natasha's friends here at Dartmouth, Seth, whose buoyant gregarious personality belies his terminal case of astronomy/physics dorkiness. We chatted for a while on some innocuous subjects that leave no memory imprint while munching on veggie pseudo-Mexican burritos. After lunch Seth felt sick (I sometimes have that effect), and had to depart in a hurry, looking over his shoulder every so often with that look Sam Neil gives the T-Rex in Jurassic Park. Another good first impression by me.
We attemped a language experiment today. Natasha and I agreed not to speak Russian or English for what ended up being about an hour and a half. We had at our disposal a combined total of a couple of years of Spanish, French, and a semester of Chinese, the last of which unfortunately lying entirely on one side of the conversation. The first couple of minutes were full of inauspicious silence, Hitchcock style. Then awkward first words were breathed, mostly "..." and "uh..." But then, breakthrough, after fifteen minutes or so, we were chatting in a language I would hesitate to call Spanish, but which definitely was neither English nor Russian. A success by any standards, as long as they're really really low.
Lastly, I was thinking about blindfolds earlier today because Natasha was crocheting something that had the potential to become one, and I was wondering, does anyone purposely make a blindfold? Seems like blindfolds are usually items that have an alternate intrinsic purposes, like scarves or shirts or hands. There are precious few people in the world who (when you catch them crocheting) reply to "whatcha makin?" with "oh, it's a blindfold, can't you tell?" Let's just acknowledge that there's a demand for blindfolds and start making them and calling them what they are eh?
Then we watched Leatherheads. Now this is a movie which has absolutely no idea what it's about. Most movies are pretty transparent and straightforward, even the bad ones: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is about proving to you that there are things in the world that make even a well-balanced ridiculously good-looking individual like myself contemplate suicide from boredom, namely watching The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Last Orders is about British people doing absolutely nothing in realtime. For two hours. 27 Dresses is about the estrogen injection you forgot to take before you watched it. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days is about a two-hour long kick in the balls, not my favorite thing to experience even vicariously.
Leatherheads puts these all to shame. After all, why go for one topic, when you can go for all of them? Football, mud wrestling, unrequited love, male bonding, fat people, the Great Depression, the Prohibition, betrayal, lies, Renee Zellwegger's oily face that's so slippery your eyeballs can't hang on, George Clooney's loony O Brother Where Art Thou character, broken telephone and World War I are just some of the broad range of topics which would take almost as long for me to list as for you to just watch the movie yourself. Anyway, each topic from this veritable zoo of plot devices gets about two minutes of play. As a result it feels like you're watching two-minute-long episodes of some show where the characters stay the same, but each new episode has only minor relevance to the previous 17. I give this movie an "eh." (with an audible 'h')
Today we went to have lunch with one of Natasha's friends here at Dartmouth, Seth, whose buoyant gregarious personality belies his terminal case of astronomy/physics dorkiness. We chatted for a while on some innocuous subjects that leave no memory imprint while munching on veggie pseudo-Mexican burritos. After lunch Seth felt sick (I sometimes have that effect), and had to depart in a hurry, looking over his shoulder every so often with that look Sam Neil gives the T-Rex in Jurassic Park. Another good first impression by me.
We attemped a language experiment today. Natasha and I agreed not to speak Russian or English for what ended up being about an hour and a half. We had at our disposal a combined total of a couple of years of Spanish, French, and a semester of Chinese, the last of which unfortunately lying entirely on one side of the conversation. The first couple of minutes were full of inauspicious silence, Hitchcock style. Then awkward first words were breathed, mostly "..." and "uh..." But then, breakthrough, after fifteen minutes or so, we were chatting in a language I would hesitate to call Spanish, but which definitely was neither English nor Russian. A success by any standards, as long as they're really really low.
Lastly, I was thinking about blindfolds earlier today because Natasha was crocheting something that had the potential to become one, and I was wondering, does anyone purposely make a blindfold? Seems like blindfolds are usually items that have an alternate intrinsic purposes, like scarves or shirts or hands. There are precious few people in the world who (when you catch them crocheting) reply to "whatcha makin?" with "oh, it's a blindfold, can't you tell?" Let's just acknowledge that there's a demand for blindfolds and start making them and calling them what they are eh?
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Life in Chinese
Read an article today about a funny study. Apparently, people who handle a warm object will be more positive for a short period afterwards than people who handle a cold one. For example, if you meet a friend for a hot coffee, you'll be more "generous, caring and happy" (scientific terms used by the study that have little to do with their layman counterparts) than if you have an ice coffee. This is going straight into my bank of studies on how to control people. Next time I ask someone for a favor, I'm sticking them in the oven first.
I've been cruising through Chinese the past few days, and their incessant politeness is getting to me. They are not my people. I always accept praise like it's due, regardless of how astronomically far I am from meriting it. When praise isn't being showered upon me, I manifest my own and collect nods of agreement. When there are no nodding people around me, I satisfy myself with echoes.
The Chinese take the extreme in the opposite direction. They tiptoe on their pinkies so as not to inspire jealousy. They verbally abuse themselves to not appear cocky. The last time a Chinese person accepted a compliment was in 1643, and it would have remained a secret if not for the security leak in 1984. Here's a typical conversation between two Chinese people, adapted from my textbook:
Old Wang: Li! How are you doing, long time no see.
Old Li: Oh, I'm doing great...but actually, I'm doing very poorly.
Old Wang: No, come on, no need to be polite, you're looking as handsome as you were when you were twenty years old.
Old Li: (takes out a knife and cuts off his face) Please! I am uglier than a lion's stomach lining.
Old Wang: Anyway, we both know beauty doesn't matter. What's important is cooking ability, and you are the best chef from here to Alpha Centauri B.
Old Li: (rips off his right arm) Cooking?? I can't even hold a pan and a pair of chopsticks at the same time. Anyway, my meager cooking skill pales in comparison with how you handle a soccer ball.
Old Wang: (takes a baseball bat out of his wallet and breaks his legs) What are you talking about? I can't even walk, let alone play soccer.
Old Li: Soccer's for little boys anyway. What matters is your wife is more beautiful than ten million dollars in an offshore bank account.
Old Wang: (takes out his nunchucks) I have to go Li. I'll see you later, you king of fashion you.
Old Li: See ya later, emperor of hair style.
(Old Wang goes home and murders his wife.)
How is there a billion and a half of these people?
Mario: apparently it's impossible to eat a teaspoon of cinnamon
Mark: that's ridiculous, i could eat a gallon of cinnamon
Mario: ugh. that's not the challenge. anyone can eat a gallon
I've been cruising through Chinese the past few days, and their incessant politeness is getting to me. They are not my people. I always accept praise like it's due, regardless of how astronomically far I am from meriting it. When praise isn't being showered upon me, I manifest my own and collect nods of agreement. When there are no nodding people around me, I satisfy myself with echoes.
The Chinese take the extreme in the opposite direction. They tiptoe on their pinkies so as not to inspire jealousy. They verbally abuse themselves to not appear cocky. The last time a Chinese person accepted a compliment was in 1643, and it would have remained a secret if not for the security leak in 1984. Here's a typical conversation between two Chinese people, adapted from my textbook:
Old Wang: Li! How are you doing, long time no see.
Old Li: Oh, I'm doing great...but actually, I'm doing very poorly.
Old Wang: No, come on, no need to be polite, you're looking as handsome as you were when you were twenty years old.
Old Li: (takes out a knife and cuts off his face) Please! I am uglier than a lion's stomach lining.
Old Wang: Anyway, we both know beauty doesn't matter. What's important is cooking ability, and you are the best chef from here to Alpha Centauri B.
Old Li: (rips off his right arm) Cooking?? I can't even hold a pan and a pair of chopsticks at the same time. Anyway, my meager cooking skill pales in comparison with how you handle a soccer ball.
Old Wang: (takes a baseball bat out of his wallet and breaks his legs) What are you talking about? I can't even walk, let alone play soccer.
Old Li: Soccer's for little boys anyway. What matters is your wife is more beautiful than ten million dollars in an offshore bank account.
Old Wang: (takes out his nunchucks) I have to go Li. I'll see you later, you king of fashion you.
Old Li: See ya later, emperor of hair style.
(Old Wang goes home and murders his wife.)
How is there a billion and a half of these people?
Mario: apparently it's impossible to eat a teaspoon of cinnamon
Mark: that's ridiculous, i could eat a gallon of cinnamon
Mario: ugh. that's not the challenge. anyone can eat a gallon
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