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.
Showing posts with label michelle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label michelle. Show all posts
Monday, July 22, 2013
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Dream Food Induces Lucidity
I'm generally optimistic, but nothing beats my sister and her essay contests. Every month or so, she'll participate in some national writing contest and she'll spend a solid ten minutes writing an essay. I figure she just doesn't really care, but then three weeks later, when the results are due, she takes an extra three shifts at the mailbox, waiting for a letter of congratulations.
I finally had a lucid dream today! It lasted all of 2 seconds, but it was unmistakable. The interesting part was how I got to lucidity. In order to become lucid, you have to realize that you're dreaming while in the dream. If you do reality checks all day every day, then you usually become lucid through that - performing one inside a dream. In my case, it was predictably much more roundabout.
In my dream, I'm at this big family gathering in our backyard. There's tons of food and even more relatives, which should already tip me off since we rarely even invite ourselves over for dinner. So there's all this food, but for some reason I don't pounce on it. Instead, I go out to the car and drive away somewhere. I forget where I drove and I don't think I even really knew in the dream, but I drove for a while, making illegal U-turns and getting nowhere.
Suddenly I get suspicious. Why the hell am I driving around aimlessly when there's so much food to be eaten at home? "I must be dreaming," I think. "How do I check?...Aha!" I whip out my cell phone and call home. Mom picks up.
Mark: Mom, where am I right now?
Mom: you're sitting at the table eating.
Mark (hangs up): I'm dreaming!
The instant I become sure of it, it's like fifteen layers of fog suddenly lift and the world is suddenly real and colorful. It's amazing how I didn't notice its dreariness before. But no matter, I'm lucid dreaming now! I'm about to take off (flying) and then...I wake up.
Another one bites the dust.
I finally had a lucid dream today! It lasted all of 2 seconds, but it was unmistakable. The interesting part was how I got to lucidity. In order to become lucid, you have to realize that you're dreaming while in the dream. If you do reality checks all day every day, then you usually become lucid through that - performing one inside a dream. In my case, it was predictably much more roundabout.
In my dream, I'm at this big family gathering in our backyard. There's tons of food and even more relatives, which should already tip me off since we rarely even invite ourselves over for dinner. So there's all this food, but for some reason I don't pounce on it. Instead, I go out to the car and drive away somewhere. I forget where I drove and I don't think I even really knew in the dream, but I drove for a while, making illegal U-turns and getting nowhere.
Suddenly I get suspicious. Why the hell am I driving around aimlessly when there's so much food to be eaten at home? "I must be dreaming," I think. "How do I check?...Aha!" I whip out my cell phone and call home. Mom picks up.
Mark: Mom, where am I right now?
Mom: you're sitting at the table eating.
Mark (hangs up): I'm dreaming!
The instant I become sure of it, it's like fifteen layers of fog suddenly lift and the world is suddenly real and colorful. It's amazing how I didn't notice its dreariness before. But no matter, I'm lucid dreaming now! I'm about to take off (flying) and then...I wake up.
Another one bites the dust.
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.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Q & A
Morning meditation:
Oof. Today was one loooong hour-long hour. I was really impatient for some reason, even more than usually. Maybe it's because today I meditated at ~11:30AM instead of the usual 9:00AM, and my brain had already had time to sink into the afternoon mindset, apparently one of ADD. Also, there were lots of distracting sounds today. Planes, trains, automobiles, humming refrigerators, ringing cellphones, garbage pickups, the walls crackling from minute changes in temperature, pretty much everything you could ask for except for the ice cream truck and carolers. And Santa Claus.
I did have a couple of interesting moments when I felt curiously misaligned with my body, as if I had drifted over a couple of inches, but was also simultaneously in the original spot. It was a tricky feeling to hold onto, because the moment I'd notice it, I'd snap right back into place. The day I can hold it I'll probably end up blaming it on excessive calorie intake.
I was thinking yesterday that God is a lot like the Placebo Effect. It doesn't really matter whether he's a sugar pill or an antibiotic or a big jolly bearded guy in a cloud, riding a dinosaur. If you manage to believe in him, even if you're tricked into doing so, you can extract benefit for yourself. Or harm of course. Let's forget about God for a second, and just think about the Placebo Effect. Basically it says that whatever you believe, happens. Like, if you take a sugar pill thinking it's a cancer cure, you have a 99.99% chance of being cured (Note: figures are not to scale). Or if you jump out of an airplane and believe you have a parachute, but you really don't, then you're totally screwed. Actually...ignore that last one. OK, if you believe in Santa, your parents will give you presents addressed from him. If you believe in a wrathful and vengeful God, I will come shoot you in the head. If my physician tells me my lymph nodes are OK, I will believe her, and they'll stop spraying fountains of blood. So you see that the Placebo Effect is very powerful. And now I forget where I was going with this.
A joke my friend Pei wrote about me:
It happened as mark was in primary school...
teacher : mark, how come u r late again!!
mark: I met a lost 3 year-old kid by the railway on the way here.
teacher: come on... pls use a better story next time.
mark: I did send him home.
teacher: where is his home?
mark: ya when I asked him that, he was pointing to the railway. So I put him on the rails.
teacher: .......
(my reaction)
Mark: that's good!
Pei: when I was thinking of u, I thought, mark, he is a baby-killer... here we go...
A joke I wrote about my friend Pei:
Pei: talk dirty to me, I love it when you talk dirty to me.
Mark: mm...your apartment's so dirty, so dirty, I'm going to go clean it right now!
Pei: yea baby! you know what turns me on!
Yea...that may take some background to understand.
And one more about Pei (we're collaborating on a joke book that only the two of us will understand):
Pei is walking down the street. She sees a 5 year old kid and his mother. The kid must have been misbehaving, because the mother is beating the crap out of him, spanking him like there's no tomorrow.
Pei: ah...I wish I had a kid.
(today, in the kitchen)
Mark is peeling a clementine. Michelle walks up and puts her hand out, demanding some. Mark shoves the whole clementine in his mouth.
Michelle: Mom! Mark stole my clementine!
I tried writing some more jokes today, but in a different style. I tried posing a question and then thinking of responses from different people, with the responses caricaturing the answeree. I can't really tell if it's funny, and you'd have to know the people reasonably well to understand what I'm getting at, but it made me crack up when I wrote them:
Question: You have 24 hours to live, what do you do?
Mom: 24 hours...that's 12 movies!
Dad: 24 hours...that's eight 3-hour meditations. No, wait! Twenty-four 1-hour meditations!
Mark: 24 hours...can I at least get an extra half-hour to blog about it after?
Grandma: 24 hours...do you know what happened in Israel in only the last 3 hrs? No? Well let me describe it to you in gory detail for the next 24.
Boris: 24 hou...(snore)
Pei: 24 hours...that's enough time to try 240 new sex positions!
Manlin: 24 hours...how fast do they deliver chocolate?
Zhang Xiao Yi: 24 hours...damn, my parents are going to kill me when I tell them!
Chun: 24 hours...OK, first 5 minutes - call my Mom and Dad to tell them the news. The next 23 hours and 50 minutes - plan out the remaining 5 minutes. Aha! Not a minute gone to waste!
Tina: 24 hours...wow, life sucks.
Mario: 24 hours...that's time enough to learn 3 new Chinese words, forget 5 Russian ones, and start learning three new languages!
Igor: 24 hours...Renata! What am I doing for the next 24 hours!?
Frank: 24 hours...no problem. I have a business plan just for the occasion! It's a franchise. We're going to have 12 stores open within the first 10 hrs and we should be up to McDonald's scale by hour 24.
Serge: 24 hours...that's enough time to build a successful family, right?
Perry: 24 hours...convert as many Christians as I can to antheism. Now that's time well spent.
Lucy: 24 hours...bull. I bet I can live longer than that.
Question: What will you do when your son's begging you for a new toy he doesn't deserve?
Mom: don't give it to him, but then cry myself to sleep at night.
Dad: don't give it to him. Instead, make fun of him till he develops a serious psychological disorder.
Michelle: I have a son? That means I had sex! EWWWW!!!
Grandma: buy him every toy in the store. Oh, wait! Did you say son or grandson?
Mark: my son? Did the condom break? This is a completely unrealistic situation! Fine, I'd probably go get a DNA test then, see if he's really my son. There's no toy in existence that a son of mine wouldn't deserve. Ah, he's already so much like his father.
Chun: tell him he can have the toy in installments. Get him planning his life early on!
Mario: how old is he? 5? Trade him in for five 1-year-olds. No! Half of a ten-year-old!
Pei: give it to him. I love him, so why wouldn't I buy it? Wait, that's not how you raise children?
Zhang Xiao Yi: Chinese children know better than to beg for toys. I knew I shouldn't have married an American. They're inferior!
Manlin: play mind games with him. "You really want that toy? You don't not really want it? You wouldn't want not to not want to want to not have it?" Hehe.
Tina: toys? Yay! Mine mine mine mine! Phew, OK, sad now.
Igor: oh Christ. Renata!
Frank: wait, how did he get out of his cage?
Serge: buy myself a new car. And a new house. And then work harder and earn more money so I can buy the toy. Man, where does the money go!?
Perry: you know those noise-canceling headphones? What did you say? I can't hear you.
Lucy: beat the little devil half to death. Studies show it's optimal for his development.
Question: Why did the chicken cross the road?
Mom: because we're vegetarian.
Dad: it's a reincarnation of a nomadic tribesman, come on dude, ask me something harder.
Mark: I told you ten times already! Don't tell me any news unless it's good news! I've heard this all a million times. People are dying, there's war and povery, blah blah blah.
Michelle: a chicken? Where?!? I'm scared. Wait, are chickens dogs or insects?
Grandma: a chicken? Do you know that ten people were blown up in Israel today?
Igor: Renata, didn't we discuss this the other day? What did we decide?
Chun: aha! All part of my plan for getting into medical school! Check!
Frank: I don't know, but someone grab that chicken! The chicken/turkey exchange rate is climbing faster than my blood pressure!
Paul: hahaha! Someone saw a chicken! That's so crazy, man, that's so crazy!
Mario: I don't know, but I trust it. I'm getting outta here.
Pei: chicken? Who cares about chickens? Ask me about fish.
Tina: crap, I had this at my Google interview...and I remember getting it right...what was it!?...ugh!
Manlin: mmffhhahmm...sorry, was eating chocolate. Umm... (pause) did you get that? My MSN died. No? I said "maybe there's better Internet connection over there?"
Serge: a chicken crossed my road!? Where is it? Give me that chicken, we have some words to say to each other if you know what I mean. Quickly, before I forgive it!
Perry: don't even get me started. And no, chickens were not created by Jesus, they were created by a little thing called evolution, heard of it?
Lucy: did you know that chicken blood is green? I swear. It's true. Fine, look it up nay-sayer. It's not true? No way!
Oof. Today was one loooong hour-long hour. I was really impatient for some reason, even more than usually. Maybe it's because today I meditated at ~11:30AM instead of the usual 9:00AM, and my brain had already had time to sink into the afternoon mindset, apparently one of ADD. Also, there were lots of distracting sounds today. Planes, trains, automobiles, humming refrigerators, ringing cellphones, garbage pickups, the walls crackling from minute changes in temperature, pretty much everything you could ask for except for the ice cream truck and carolers. And Santa Claus.
I did have a couple of interesting moments when I felt curiously misaligned with my body, as if I had drifted over a couple of inches, but was also simultaneously in the original spot. It was a tricky feeling to hold onto, because the moment I'd notice it, I'd snap right back into place. The day I can hold it I'll probably end up blaming it on excessive calorie intake.
I was thinking yesterday that God is a lot like the Placebo Effect. It doesn't really matter whether he's a sugar pill or an antibiotic or a big jolly bearded guy in a cloud, riding a dinosaur. If you manage to believe in him, even if you're tricked into doing so, you can extract benefit for yourself. Or harm of course. Let's forget about God for a second, and just think about the Placebo Effect. Basically it says that whatever you believe, happens. Like, if you take a sugar pill thinking it's a cancer cure, you have a 99.99% chance of being cured (Note: figures are not to scale). Or if you jump out of an airplane and believe you have a parachute, but you really don't, then you're totally screwed. Actually...ignore that last one. OK, if you believe in Santa, your parents will give you presents addressed from him. If you believe in a wrathful and vengeful God, I will come shoot you in the head. If my physician tells me my lymph nodes are OK, I will believe her, and they'll stop spraying fountains of blood. So you see that the Placebo Effect is very powerful. And now I forget where I was going with this.
A joke my friend Pei wrote about me:
It happened as mark was in primary school...
teacher : mark, how come u r late again!!
mark: I met a lost 3 year-old kid by the railway on the way here.
teacher: come on... pls use a better story next time.
mark: I did send him home.
teacher: where is his home?
mark: ya when I asked him that, he was pointing to the railway. So I put him on the rails.
teacher: .......
(my reaction)
Mark: that's good!
Pei: when I was thinking of u, I thought, mark, he is a baby-killer... here we go...
A joke I wrote about my friend Pei:
Pei: talk dirty to me, I love it when you talk dirty to me.
Mark: mm...your apartment's so dirty, so dirty, I'm going to go clean it right now!
Pei: yea baby! you know what turns me on!
Yea...that may take some background to understand.
And one more about Pei (we're collaborating on a joke book that only the two of us will understand):
Pei is walking down the street. She sees a 5 year old kid and his mother. The kid must have been misbehaving, because the mother is beating the crap out of him, spanking him like there's no tomorrow.
Pei: ah...I wish I had a kid.
(today, in the kitchen)
Mark is peeling a clementine. Michelle walks up and puts her hand out, demanding some. Mark shoves the whole clementine in his mouth.
Michelle: Mom! Mark stole my clementine!
I tried writing some more jokes today, but in a different style. I tried posing a question and then thinking of responses from different people, with the responses caricaturing the answeree. I can't really tell if it's funny, and you'd have to know the people reasonably well to understand what I'm getting at, but it made me crack up when I wrote them:
Question: You have 24 hours to live, what do you do?
Mom: 24 hours...that's 12 movies!
Dad: 24 hours...that's eight 3-hour meditations. No, wait! Twenty-four 1-hour meditations!
Mark: 24 hours...can I at least get an extra half-hour to blog about it after?
Grandma: 24 hours...do you know what happened in Israel in only the last 3 hrs? No? Well let me describe it to you in gory detail for the next 24.
Boris: 24 hou...(snore)
Pei: 24 hours...that's enough time to try 240 new sex positions!
Manlin: 24 hours...how fast do they deliver chocolate?
Zhang Xiao Yi: 24 hours...damn, my parents are going to kill me when I tell them!
Chun: 24 hours...OK, first 5 minutes - call my Mom and Dad to tell them the news. The next 23 hours and 50 minutes - plan out the remaining 5 minutes. Aha! Not a minute gone to waste!
Tina: 24 hours...wow, life sucks.
Mario: 24 hours...that's time enough to learn 3 new Chinese words, forget 5 Russian ones, and start learning three new languages!
Igor: 24 hours...Renata! What am I doing for the next 24 hours!?
Frank: 24 hours...no problem. I have a business plan just for the occasion! It's a franchise. We're going to have 12 stores open within the first 10 hrs and we should be up to McDonald's scale by hour 24.
Serge: 24 hours...that's enough time to build a successful family, right?
Perry: 24 hours...convert as many Christians as I can to antheism. Now that's time well spent.
Lucy: 24 hours...bull. I bet I can live longer than that.
Question: What will you do when your son's begging you for a new toy he doesn't deserve?
Mom: don't give it to him, but then cry myself to sleep at night.
Dad: don't give it to him. Instead, make fun of him till he develops a serious psychological disorder.
Michelle: I have a son? That means I had sex! EWWWW!!!
Grandma: buy him every toy in the store. Oh, wait! Did you say son or grandson?
Mark: my son? Did the condom break? This is a completely unrealistic situation! Fine, I'd probably go get a DNA test then, see if he's really my son. There's no toy in existence that a son of mine wouldn't deserve. Ah, he's already so much like his father.
Chun: tell him he can have the toy in installments. Get him planning his life early on!
Mario: how old is he? 5? Trade him in for five 1-year-olds. No! Half of a ten-year-old!
Pei: give it to him. I love him, so why wouldn't I buy it? Wait, that's not how you raise children?
Zhang Xiao Yi: Chinese children know better than to beg for toys. I knew I shouldn't have married an American. They're inferior!
Manlin: play mind games with him. "You really want that toy? You don't not really want it? You wouldn't want not to not want to want to not have it?" Hehe.
Tina: toys? Yay! Mine mine mine mine! Phew, OK, sad now.
Igor: oh Christ. Renata!
Frank: wait, how did he get out of his cage?
Serge: buy myself a new car. And a new house. And then work harder and earn more money so I can buy the toy. Man, where does the money go!?
Perry: you know those noise-canceling headphones? What did you say? I can't hear you.
Lucy: beat the little devil half to death. Studies show it's optimal for his development.
Question: Why did the chicken cross the road?
Mom: because we're vegetarian.
Dad: it's a reincarnation of a nomadic tribesman, come on dude, ask me something harder.
Mark: I told you ten times already! Don't tell me any news unless it's good news! I've heard this all a million times. People are dying, there's war and povery, blah blah blah.
Michelle: a chicken? Where?!? I'm scared. Wait, are chickens dogs or insects?
Grandma: a chicken? Do you know that ten people were blown up in Israel today?
Igor: Renata, didn't we discuss this the other day? What did we decide?
Chun: aha! All part of my plan for getting into medical school! Check!
Frank: I don't know, but someone grab that chicken! The chicken/turkey exchange rate is climbing faster than my blood pressure!
Paul: hahaha! Someone saw a chicken! That's so crazy, man, that's so crazy!
Mario: I don't know, but I trust it. I'm getting outta here.
Pei: chicken? Who cares about chickens? Ask me about fish.
Tina: crap, I had this at my Google interview...and I remember getting it right...what was it!?...ugh!
Manlin: mmffhhahmm...sorry, was eating chocolate. Umm... (pause) did you get that? My MSN died. No? I said "maybe there's better Internet connection over there?"
Serge: a chicken crossed my road!? Where is it? Give me that chicken, we have some words to say to each other if you know what I mean. Quickly, before I forgive it!
Perry: don't even get me started. And no, chickens were not created by Jesus, they were created by a little thing called evolution, heard of it?
Lucy: did you know that chicken blood is green? I swear. It's true. Fine, look it up nay-sayer. It's not true? No way!
Friday, December 5, 2008
If It's On Sale, It's On The Bank Statement
Michelle's birthday's coming up soon. She's turning 12 plus or minus 6; it's hard to tell at that age. As always, I'm short on ideas for presents. It's been a long time since I was a twelve year old girl, and with all these "forty is the new twenty" and "seventy is the new twenty one" I can't even narrow down which millenium she belongs to. Should I get her a tricycle or some razors (for shaving; it's too early for her to be clinically depressed), a bib or a wheelchair? I've asked some experts, they're still analyzing the data. Wish me luck.
We went to Kroger's for some grocery shopping today. They're all set for Christmas, and there's a massive sale. Except for grapes, which at $964.99/lb seemed to be compensating for all of the other items put together, literally everything was marked down. So now, not only are we broke, but in two days time we'll be fatter than Señor Christmas stuffed with Dasher and Blitzen's entire family trees. Christmas trees of course.
I followed a schedule today for the first time in 22 years. Not the whole day of course, but from 1:00PM to 4:30PM I lived a life of order and premeditated action. This included an hour of Chinese, half an hour each with two guitar books, and half an hour of ear training. I am not skipping out on the chance to brag about it since there's no predicting how organized I will feel tomorrow. Clap your hands if you believe I can stick to this for more than just today. Now if you clapped your hands, go see a shrink. Clapping to yourself for no reason is a first-rank positive symptom of schizophrenia according to the Schneider classification. Either that, or you're a Nazi for following orders blindly.
An hour and a half ago, Mario put a 10oz frozen pizza in the oven. Usually within 10 minutes we hear the first hissing sounds of cheese globs committing suicide on the red-hot coils. I just went to check on it. The oven was set to a comfortable defrosting temperature of 0. Fahrenheit of course - this isn't a magic oven, and only I'm loony enough to take a pizza out of the box and plastic wrap and put it back in the freezer to cook.
Mario (seeing me at the oven): is it burning?
Mark: dude, you forgot to turn the oven on.
Mario: that wasn't the question. I said, is it burning?
Mark: nope, this one's a champion.
We went to Kroger's for some grocery shopping today. They're all set for Christmas, and there's a massive sale. Except for grapes, which at $964.99/lb seemed to be compensating for all of the other items put together, literally everything was marked down. So now, not only are we broke, but in two days time we'll be fatter than Señor Christmas stuffed with Dasher and Blitzen's entire family trees. Christmas trees of course.
I followed a schedule today for the first time in 22 years. Not the whole day of course, but from 1:00PM to 4:30PM I lived a life of order and premeditated action. This included an hour of Chinese, half an hour each with two guitar books, and half an hour of ear training. I am not skipping out on the chance to brag about it since there's no predicting how organized I will feel tomorrow. Clap your hands if you believe I can stick to this for more than just today. Now if you clapped your hands, go see a shrink. Clapping to yourself for no reason is a first-rank positive symptom of schizophrenia according to the Schneider classification. Either that, or you're a Nazi for following orders blindly.
An hour and a half ago, Mario put a 10oz frozen pizza in the oven. Usually within 10 minutes we hear the first hissing sounds of cheese globs committing suicide on the red-hot coils. I just went to check on it. The oven was set to a comfortable defrosting temperature of 0. Fahrenheit of course - this isn't a magic oven, and only I'm loony enough to take a pizza out of the box and plastic wrap and put it back in the freezer to cook.
Mario (seeing me at the oven): is it burning?
Mark: dude, you forgot to turn the oven on.
Mario: that wasn't the question. I said, is it burning?
Mark: nope, this one's a champion.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Torture Korean-style
Yoga graced my house today, and us mere mortals (Dad, Michelle, and I) evacuated to Barnes and Noble. The store kicks us out at 11PM, and we usually have another half hour of waiting till the yogis have had their fill of our couch and mood lighting. To pass the time, we park in a NASA-sized parking lot at the church at the end of our street, and zombie around till we get the "all clear" phone call. There's no entertainment there save Michelle's incessant chattering. Every now and then, Dad shushes Michelle: "Shhh, the priests are sleeping...with the priestesses." She's 11, there's no point in hiding the truth from her anymore.
That reminds me, Michelle's going to middle school this year, that day camp where you make unfortunate friends and memories that bring you to the psychiatrist later in life. Sadly I can't impart any social wisdom onto her, as I have been a near-recluse for the last years. My days of being a social butterfly of a little girl are long gone.
Chun told me excitedly today that she'll soon get to dice animals in the name of science. That includes mice, rabbits, rats, and probably some others I've repressed. I'm glad she's having fun. Go Chun!
I'm still on the Korean film spree, though the last couple are begging me to switch back to Hollywood. I'm talking about A Moment to Remember and Daisy, which start off cute, and then end with a dense hour of despair. Men weep or die, women lose their minds or die, and then if someone hasn't died yet, they die. The ones who manage to somehow survive all that weep or lose their minds. The aftertaste is one of hopelessness and loss. This of course doesn't make them bad movies. On the contrary, if you're Chun, they're very cleansing and provide an opportunity to use the famous tear ducts. But if you're Mark, a seasoned traveler of the movie universe, life has taught you there's a limited number of watchable movies, and sooner or later you're going to have to watch that movie you already watched seven times for an eighth time. And eight horrible endings is just too much.
That reminds me, Michelle's going to middle school this year, that day camp where you make unfortunate friends and memories that bring you to the psychiatrist later in life. Sadly I can't impart any social wisdom onto her, as I have been a near-recluse for the last years. My days of being a social butterfly of a little girl are long gone.
Chun told me excitedly today that she'll soon get to dice animals in the name of science. That includes mice, rabbits, rats, and probably some others I've repressed. I'm glad she's having fun. Go Chun!
I'm still on the Korean film spree, though the last couple are begging me to switch back to Hollywood. I'm talking about A Moment to Remember and Daisy, which start off cute, and then end with a dense hour of despair. Men weep or die, women lose their minds or die, and then if someone hasn't died yet, they die. The ones who manage to somehow survive all that weep or lose their minds. The aftertaste is one of hopelessness and loss. This of course doesn't make them bad movies. On the contrary, if you're Chun, they're very cleansing and provide an opportunity to use the famous tear ducts. But if you're Mark, a seasoned traveler of the movie universe, life has taught you there's a limited number of watchable movies, and sooner or later you're going to have to watch that movie you already watched seven times for an eighth time. And eight horrible endings is just too much.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Camp
More nonsensical letters:
Hey Michelle,
First of all, you should know better than to call me before 3PM. At my age I need my sleep. If you don't want to wake me up, please call between the hours of 6PM and 7PM.
I'm still in Boston, though I've been alone most of the time starting 15 minutes ago. Everyone here is in paid slavery from 9 to 5. Booooring. It's Chun's first day today. She has mandatory orientation, something like that punishment in school where you write nonsense on the board 50 times:
"This hospital was built in 1874. 70% of the people who've attended this hospital are now dead. 80% of new employees experience acute depression, anxiety, migraines, vomiting, and jumping-out-of-windows tendencies...blah blah blah."
While she's away, I've been sitting in the apartment yelling "Ah Ah Ah, Ee Ee Ee, Oh Oh Oh, sss, sss, sss, SSS! SSS! SSS!" at the top of my lungs, after/along with my virtual singing teacher. There have been no complaints so far, so perhaps what sounds to me like nails across a blackboard really sounds like angelic choirs of Robert Plant clones.
Surprise! Chun's going to write to you too! The next paragraph or three are from her. Not to put her on the spot, but she has the funniest, most interesting stuff to say to you. I hope you're as excited as I am to see if she can live up to the pressure.
Later, gator
Mark "Too Good To Be True" Vayngrib
Hi Michelle!
This is Chun, not Mark. I started work today. It was pretty wonderful, but if it doesn't get a whole lot more wonderful fast, I might have to throw myself off the roof. Hopefully it'll be a 1-story building. Mark's been wonderful so far, but surely you know how amazing he is. Let me just say that twice more: Mark is soooo amazing. AMAZING! OK, calm...calm...breathe...Ommmmm. Phew! OK...I'm trying to think of other stuff to say, but all I can think about is how great Mark is...hmm...bye I guess.
Just kidding, it's Mark again. Chun will send you a letter via mail.
See ya soon,
Mark "Sometimes Also Chun" Vayngrib
Hey Michelle,
First of all, you should know better than to call me before 3PM. At my age I need my sleep. If you don't want to wake me up, please call between the hours of 6PM and 7PM.
I'm still in Boston, though I've been alone most of the time starting 15 minutes ago. Everyone here is in paid slavery from 9 to 5. Booooring. It's Chun's first day today. She has mandatory orientation, something like that punishment in school where you write nonsense on the board 50 times:
"This hospital was built in 1874. 70% of the people who've attended this hospital are now dead. 80% of new employees experience acute depression, anxiety, migraines, vomiting, and jumping-out-of-windows tendencies...blah blah blah."
While she's away, I've been sitting in the apartment yelling "Ah Ah Ah, Ee Ee Ee, Oh Oh Oh, sss, sss, sss, SSS! SSS! SSS!" at the top of my lungs, after/along with my virtual singing teacher. There have been no complaints so far, so perhaps what sounds to me like nails across a blackboard really sounds like angelic choirs of Robert Plant clones.
Surprise! Chun's going to write to you too! The next paragraph or three are from her. Not to put her on the spot, but she has the funniest, most interesting stuff to say to you. I hope you're as excited as I am to see if she can live up to the pressure.
Later, gator
Mark "Too Good To Be True" Vayngrib
Hi Michelle!
This is Chun, not Mark. I started work today. It was pretty wonderful, but if it doesn't get a whole lot more wonderful fast, I might have to throw myself off the roof. Hopefully it'll be a 1-story building. Mark's been wonderful so far, but surely you know how amazing he is. Let me just say that twice more: Mark is soooo amazing. AMAZING! OK, calm...calm...breathe...Ommmmm. Phew! OK...I'm trying to think of other stuff to say, but all I can think about is how great Mark is...hmm...bye I guess.
Just kidding, it's Mark again. Chun will send you a letter via mail.
See ya soon,
Mark "Sometimes Also Chun" Vayngrib
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Lies
More dutiful letters from a dutiful brother:
Hi Michelle,
This is Mark (your brother). Nothing's happening here, so I'm forced to make up lies to entertain you. Anywhere from one to all of them might be true though, so make up your own mind about which you believe.
While you've been away, crazy things have been happening here. From here on, nothing but the truth:
First of all, Mom's having another baby! And due to the marvels of modern science, the doctors said they could speed up her gestation period (usually 9 months) to two and a half weeks, AND it'll be born 12 years old. Unfortunately, since we don't have the money to take care of it, we're gonna have to dump it at the local adoption clinic. 12-yr-olds are about $30 a piece these days, so that's a clean profit.
Dad changed his name again, you'll never guess to what. His new name is Michelle. He wants to prove he can be a better Michelle than you, so you better practice every day in camp. Meanwhile, he's definitely proven to be a louder and hairier Michelle, though we haven't voted on whether that's better or worse.
Grandma bought a leash for Boris with a little electric tazer attached. Now she can give him a mini-heartattack without straining her vocal chords. She's also been spinning webs of lies about me promising to come over three times a day, but I've been calling her bluffs, and not going.
I have this annoying pimple on my face, with a hair growing through it. I tried to rip it off, but it must be a mutant or something, it's way too strong for me. Finally managed to kill it with a combination of John's holy water and a blow-torch.
Finally, some sense fell down from the sky and I've decided Texas life isn't for me, and anyway, it's about time to get married and have some children. Chun's flying in this Wednesday, and we're going to the altar on Thursday. Everyone except Serge and Natasha are invited, we can show them photos afterwards. Mom and Dad have reluctantly postponed enlightenment for the next 20 years, so they can devote all their time to spoiling their grandchildren: little Ding Dong and Ming Cheung.
OK, I think you'd better go now, too much good news is bad for the kidneys.
-Mark "the whole truth and nothing but the truth" Vayngrib
P.S.: Don't worry about missing the wedding, we'll save you a slice of cake.
Off to Boston tomorrow for a little while, though you should pretend you don't know this, whoever you are, in case I don't want to see you. Today's ass-ignment - finish Eat, Pray, Love, start and finish A Wrinkle In Time. Jonathan Strange has been ruthlessly abandoned; after suffering through 100 pages awaiting the arrival of the main character and some sign of action replacing description as the main vehicle, I remembered that I am an excellent quitter and hung an early ending on the crap novel. I harbor little doubt that my 100-page version is at least eight times better than the original 800-page one.
Hi Michelle,
This is Mark (your brother). Nothing's happening here, so I'm forced to make up lies to entertain you. Anywhere from one to all of them might be true though, so make up your own mind about which you believe.
While you've been away, crazy things have been happening here. From here on, nothing but the truth:
First of all, Mom's having another baby! And due to the marvels of modern science, the doctors said they could speed up her gestation period (usually 9 months) to two and a half weeks, AND it'll be born 12 years old. Unfortunately, since we don't have the money to take care of it, we're gonna have to dump it at the local adoption clinic. 12-yr-olds are about $30 a piece these days, so that's a clean profit.
Dad changed his name again, you'll never guess to what. His new name is Michelle. He wants to prove he can be a better Michelle than you, so you better practice every day in camp. Meanwhile, he's definitely proven to be a louder and hairier Michelle, though we haven't voted on whether that's better or worse.
Grandma bought a leash for Boris with a little electric tazer attached. Now she can give him a mini-heartattack without straining her vocal chords. She's also been spinning webs of lies about me promising to come over three times a day, but I've been calling her bluffs, and not going.
I have this annoying pimple on my face, with a hair growing through it. I tried to rip it off, but it must be a mutant or something, it's way too strong for me. Finally managed to kill it with a combination of John's holy water and a blow-torch.
Finally, some sense fell down from the sky and I've decided Texas life isn't for me, and anyway, it's about time to get married and have some children. Chun's flying in this Wednesday, and we're going to the altar on Thursday. Everyone except Serge and Natasha are invited, we can show them photos afterwards. Mom and Dad have reluctantly postponed enlightenment for the next 20 years, so they can devote all their time to spoiling their grandchildren: little Ding Dong and Ming Cheung.
OK, I think you'd better go now, too much good news is bad for the kidneys.
-Mark "the whole truth and nothing but the truth" Vayngrib
P.S.: Don't worry about missing the wedding, we'll save you a slice of cake.
Off to Boston tomorrow for a little while, though you should pretend you don't know this, whoever you are, in case I don't want to see you. Today's ass-ignment - finish Eat, Pray, Love, start and finish A Wrinkle In Time. Jonathan Strange has been ruthlessly abandoned; after suffering through 100 pages awaiting the arrival of the main character and some sign of action replacing description as the main vehicle, I remembered that I am an excellent quitter and hung an early ending on the crap novel. I harbor little doubt that my 100-page version is at least eight times better than the original 800-page one.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
I Rule
Visited my cousin and his new wife today. After putting on some clothes, they ate breakfast in front of our malnourished faces and tortured us for information. Specifically, my cousin took an unexpected interest in my choice of career-path - not having one. He threatened me with gefilte fish so I blabbed like a girl-scout. He expressed doubts about the potential success of not earning any money, and told me to contact him when I'm ready to reform and follow him into law.
Driving Michelle to the sleepaway camp drop off tomorrow at 7AM because I'm such a good brother, and because she's still better at yelling and whining than I am at tuning it out.
Played/sang some Beatles/Something Kinky songs with Mom/Michelle today, with microphone/guitar, and an odd number of good ears. Upon completion, we decided the quantity of fun garnered merits a reoccurence. Perhaps even one as temporally proximal as tomorrow.
Chun showered me with ego-candy today, so I'm high as a kite, and sprinting to brush teeth and sleep before Dad comes upstairs and shoves a Ford Explorer through my bubble. Come to think of it, I've got to try this out on my friends - flatter them silly and then hit them below the belt with a figurative folded chair from IKEA. That'll teach them...something.
Driving Michelle to the sleepaway camp drop off tomorrow at 7AM because I'm such a good brother, and because she's still better at yelling and whining than I am at tuning it out.
Played/sang some Beatles/Something Kinky songs with Mom/Michelle today, with microphone/guitar, and an odd number of good ears. Upon completion, we decided the quantity of fun garnered merits a reoccurence. Perhaps even one as temporally proximal as tomorrow.
Chun showered me with ego-candy today, so I'm high as a kite, and sprinting to brush teeth and sleep before Dad comes upstairs and shoves a Ford Explorer through my bubble. Come to think of it, I've got to try this out on my friends - flatter them silly and then hit them below the belt with a figurative folded chair from IKEA. That'll teach them...something.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Not much
Recording session scheduled for tomorrow. MIDI will play drums, Mark will provide the other instrumentation, and Mom will do the yapping with perhaps Michelle harmonizing; the men in this house have very limited ability to stay on pitch.
Reading Jonathan Strange and M. Norrel. Easy read so far, but haven't decided if the potential entertainment value is worth the risk of reading 800+ pages only to have read The Magus over again.
Going to visit more relatives tomorrow, then taking care of Dad for the rest of the day - he plans on getting pretty sick.
Reading Jonathan Strange and M. Norrel. Easy read so far, but haven't decided if the potential entertainment value is worth the risk of reading 800+ pages only to have read The Magus over again.
Going to visit more relatives tomorrow, then taking care of Dad for the rest of the day - he plans on getting pretty sick.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Family
Being an excellent brother, I put up with all kinds of demands from my not so baby sister. The latest is to write letters to her while she's at sleepaway camp. This borders on the ridiculous, because she is back every Saturday morning for the weekend. This means that in order for me to successfully get a letter to her by Friday, I have to sprint to the post office as soon as she gets on the bus on Monday, and scribble something mildly entertaining down before their truck leaves. Here's the last one I sent her:
Hi Michelle,
Hope this week is even more fun than last week! While you're away I make sure to practice Stairway to Heaven, do algebra word problems, and watch two movies a day so that you don't fall behind. It's a rough life being both you and me at the same time. I've even picked out some sneakers and a dress for myself, but Mom and Dad are making me choose one of the two.
Did you play guitar at the talent show? Or did you decide to do something else instead? What did other people do? I guess you'll have to tell me at home because by the time this letter gets there you'll have already complained to me in person about not writing.
Dad and I are doing pushups twice a day now, so prepare to see two muscle-bound warriors when you return. I don't want to brag, but our beauty is on a truly meteoric rise.
OK, I don't want to keep you in your tent too long and get your counselors fired, so go pretend you like them.
-Mark "I can barely type cause my muscles are so huge" Vayngrib
P.S.: Here's a cute joke I found:
Teacher: You copied Fred's test didn't you?
Student: How did you know?
Teacher: Fred's paper says "I don't know" and yours says "Me, neither!"
Unfortunately this won't earn me any credit with Michelle. One letter is worse than none, being half as good as the two-per-week she ordered.
Managed to convince my parents to come visit relatives with me yesterday. Going alone means becoming the center of attention, and my inflated sense of modesty abhors such situations. Ergo, I have to take a wingman - in this case two.
Visiting anyone is always most difficult for Dad, especially if it's relatives. The tragedy isn't in the action, but the aftermath. He goes, he plays the social butterfly, he almost makes them believe he still gives a damn, and no one but his roommates - me, Mom and Michelle - see the vomit-laden journey home.
Hmm...I suddenly grow suspicious of his habit of going to sleep last. After all, he does put up with Mom and me, and sometimes Michelle for long stretches of time. He probably has to pump his stomach nightly and self-prescribe obscene quantities of anti-depressants. I half-want to sneak downstairs tonight and throw down the curtain, but it's almost like spying on Santa during Christmas; I'd much rather believe in the gruesome fairy tale than the indubitably more mundane truth.
Hi Michelle,
Hope this week is even more fun than last week! While you're away I make sure to practice Stairway to Heaven, do algebra word problems, and watch two movies a day so that you don't fall behind. It's a rough life being both you and me at the same time. I've even picked out some sneakers and a dress for myself, but Mom and Dad are making me choose one of the two.
Did you play guitar at the talent show? Or did you decide to do something else instead? What did other people do? I guess you'll have to tell me at home because by the time this letter gets there you'll have already complained to me in person about not writing.
Dad and I are doing pushups twice a day now, so prepare to see two muscle-bound warriors when you return. I don't want to brag, but our beauty is on a truly meteoric rise.
OK, I don't want to keep you in your tent too long and get your counselors fired, so go pretend you like them.
-Mark "I can barely type cause my muscles are so huge" Vayngrib
P.S.: Here's a cute joke I found:
Teacher: You copied Fred's test didn't you?
Student: How did you know?
Teacher: Fred's paper says "I don't know" and yours says "Me, neither!"
Unfortunately this won't earn me any credit with Michelle. One letter is worse than none, being half as good as the two-per-week she ordered.
Managed to convince my parents to come visit relatives with me yesterday. Going alone means becoming the center of attention, and my inflated sense of modesty abhors such situations. Ergo, I have to take a wingman - in this case two.
Visiting anyone is always most difficult for Dad, especially if it's relatives. The tragedy isn't in the action, but the aftermath. He goes, he plays the social butterfly, he almost makes them believe he still gives a damn, and no one but his roommates - me, Mom and Michelle - see the vomit-laden journey home.
Hmm...I suddenly grow suspicious of his habit of going to sleep last. After all, he does put up with Mom and me, and sometimes Michelle for long stretches of time. He probably has to pump his stomach nightly and self-prescribe obscene quantities of anti-depressants. I half-want to sneak downstairs tonight and throw down the curtain, but it's almost like spying on Santa during Christmas; I'd much rather believe in the gruesome fairy tale than the indubitably more mundane truth.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Giving Guests What They Deserve
Boris and Natasha came over today to help us put a dent in our groceries, and to give Dad a chance to expound on his favorite topic- "what you're (all of you) doing wrong in your life." This encompasses most things, so there was no shortage of conversation material.
Boris is a fairly quiet guy with a bald head of low to medium shine. He and Dad used to work together. Natasha is Boris's woman, and owns the rights to all of the voiced opinions in their relationship. The conversations at the table were naturally between Dad and Natasha, and occasionally between Natasha and Dad. The others sat back, listened, and restricted themselves to occasional nervous quasi-giggles so as not to deflect the stream of preaching onto themselves. I wasn't present at the sermon, having retreated to my sanctuary upstairs, but judging by the suffocating silence that ensued upon B & N's departure, many wonderful things were said.
Michelle came back today and proceeded to unleash a torrent of camp songs onto my poor ears. Having feasted on 24-bit silence for 5 days, sticking a fork up there probably would have felt better.
Saw a Korean romantic comedy yesterday called My Little Bride, pronounced Eorin shinbu. It was more than less tolerable, and a couple of scenes were quite funny. The main source of entertainment was the extensive repertoire of facial expressions exhibited by the main actress. It also explains why the movie is rated moderately high - white people have a hard time telling Koreans apart unless there's some artificial disambiguation factor - in this case facial antics of a caliber usually reserved for emoticon upgrade packages.
The story is not too elaborate. A 16-yr old high-school girl is forced to marry an older (~25) friend because otherwise her beloved trickster grandpa refuses to have a pulse. The newlyweds then spend the next 2 hours falling in love with each other, while pretending to drive each other up the wall in the neoclassic Korean way.
Boris is a fairly quiet guy with a bald head of low to medium shine. He and Dad used to work together. Natasha is Boris's woman, and owns the rights to all of the voiced opinions in their relationship. The conversations at the table were naturally between Dad and Natasha, and occasionally between Natasha and Dad. The others sat back, listened, and restricted themselves to occasional nervous quasi-giggles so as not to deflect the stream of preaching onto themselves. I wasn't present at the sermon, having retreated to my sanctuary upstairs, but judging by the suffocating silence that ensued upon B & N's departure, many wonderful things were said.
Michelle came back today and proceeded to unleash a torrent of camp songs onto my poor ears. Having feasted on 24-bit silence for 5 days, sticking a fork up there probably would have felt better.
Saw a Korean romantic comedy yesterday called My Little Bride, pronounced Eorin shinbu. It was more than less tolerable, and a couple of scenes were quite funny. The main source of entertainment was the extensive repertoire of facial expressions exhibited by the main actress. It also explains why the movie is rated moderately high - white people have a hard time telling Koreans apart unless there's some artificial disambiguation factor - in this case facial antics of a caliber usually reserved for emoticon upgrade packages.
The story is not too elaborate. A 16-yr old high-school girl is forced to marry an older (~25) friend because otherwise her beloved trickster grandpa refuses to have a pulse. The newlyweds then spend the next 2 hours falling in love with each other, while pretending to drive each other up the wall in the neoclassic Korean way.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Thursday
Played some tennis today with Wang, Lee and Bolach. Didn't win, so there's nothing to write about. Did get sunburned though; I now look like the Kool-Aid man.
Michelle returns Saturday morning at the crack of noon, a fatal blow to my sleeping schedule. Weather forecast is positive - sunny, hot. Volume levels inside the house are to double, number of stores visited per day - triple. Yep, it's back to reality.
Learning how to use my GNX3, so my $300 in Guitar Center's vault can feel like they accomplished something.
Saw Hellboy today. Pretty dumb, and pretty long.
Michelle returns Saturday morning at the crack of noon, a fatal blow to my sleeping schedule. Weather forecast is positive - sunny, hot. Volume levels inside the house are to double, number of stores visited per day - triple. Yep, it's back to reality.
Learning how to use my GNX3, so my $300 in Guitar Center's vault can feel like they accomplished something.
Saw Hellboy today. Pretty dumb, and pretty long.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
The Eve of Tomorrow's Tomorrow
Time to broaden my musical horizons. I've been listening to the same Led Zeppelin song for the last 8 years. This moment, some of Michael Jackson and Madonna are trickling into my downloads directory. Michelle's leaving early tomorrow for five fun-filled days of nostalgia-for-home-camp. After the emotionally charged days of the past several weeks, I lack the energy for a twenty minute sobfest, so she's kindly allowing me to escape with a quick and groggy morning hug and a five day consolation session with my parents. Piece of cake compared to the daily.
Today's been a long day. In the morning I campaigned in the east for hours, attaining a mere status of Roc upon victory. I resumed the murder and pillage in the evening, and lasted only an hour before tapping out from fatigue. I just don't have the stamina of my 12-year old self. And even victories just don't have that same taste of glory anymore. I wish someone would just uninstall Heroes from my machine.
I've started and dropped four or five books in the last couple days. High Fidelity, Me Talk Pretty One Day, Fight Club all received a frustrated Alt-F4 for failing to arouse lasting interest. The survivors are:
Battle Cry of Freedom - being at Barnes and Nobles, it's irritatingly un-Alt-F4-able.
The Diamond Age - I haven't yet reached the fateful page 25 where decisions are made and sentences carried out.
Mosaicos - the Spanish textbook endures even the harshest down-sizing.
I've been given the 5-minute movie warning. All thoughts suddenly scramble, and all I see in front of me is the tower of ice cream I'll soon be erecting, and shortly afterward, consuming.
Last thing. Eric Wang has challenged me to a duel tomorrow. Weapon of choice - tennis racket. Place - Rutherford (duh!), the Wang is as always car-free. Chances of winning - we'll know tomorrow after the match; I've narrowed it down to 0% or 100%.
Today's been a long day. In the morning I campaigned in the east for hours, attaining a mere status of Roc upon victory. I resumed the murder and pillage in the evening, and lasted only an hour before tapping out from fatigue. I just don't have the stamina of my 12-year old self. And even victories just don't have that same taste of glory anymore. I wish someone would just uninstall Heroes from my machine.
I've started and dropped four or five books in the last couple days. High Fidelity, Me Talk Pretty One Day, Fight Club all received a frustrated Alt-F4 for failing to arouse lasting interest. The survivors are:
Battle Cry of Freedom - being at Barnes and Nobles, it's irritatingly un-Alt-F4-able.
The Diamond Age - I haven't yet reached the fateful page 25 where decisions are made and sentences carried out.
Mosaicos - the Spanish textbook endures even the harshest down-sizing.
I've been given the 5-minute movie warning. All thoughts suddenly scramble, and all I see in front of me is the tower of ice cream I'll soon be erecting, and shortly afterward, consuming.
Last thing. Eric Wang has challenged me to a duel tomorrow. Weapon of choice - tennis racket. Place - Rutherford (duh!), the Wang is as always car-free. Chances of winning - we'll know tomorrow after the match; I've narrowed it down to 0% or 100%.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
I Love Watermelon
I have pimped out all of my skills on Craigslist, with the frail hope of earning a dollar here and there giving private lessons. If there's something you want to learn that I don't know, and that you are willing to pay for, tell me. I will learn it and teach it to you.
Went to Barnes and Noble's again today, read a bunch of books that failed to make an impression on me. My sentimental half screams that this is because I'm still heartbroken from The Time Traveler's Wife, but I punished it with a Civil War book. Next time it'll keep its fat mouth shut.
Did some writing today - got well on my way into a song that started out about Tina, but tragically lacked a necessary depressing quality, and thus slowly transformed into a love song for Chun. I am now frantically juggling Tina between a slow blues, and an open window.
Meanwhile, Mario has come out with a new single, mourning his love for Iris, who is unfortunately a willing captive of a better man. The song is nearly complete, lacking only lyrics, but they will undoubtedly come around soon and be somewhere high on the scale from 1 to Pathetic.
Michelle asked me to tuck her in today. I considered it for a brief moment and then laughed in her face, a move which somehow doesn't hold the same element of surprise as it used to.
Michelle has a fat friend, who conveniently stores all self-consciousness for her condition in Michelle. Whenever Mom says "hey Michelle, where's fatty?" or Dad asks "where's Piglet?," Michelle inexplicably gets as offended as if it were her own liposuction-filled future they're talking about. Being intrinsically mild-mannered and considerate, I generally restrain my witty insults, and if anything, try to turn the conversation to safer and less fertile ground - such as how fat people contribute to society. By the way, has anyone found the answer to this one yet?
Went to Barnes and Noble's again today, read a bunch of books that failed to make an impression on me. My sentimental half screams that this is because I'm still heartbroken from The Time Traveler's Wife, but I punished it with a Civil War book. Next time it'll keep its fat mouth shut.
Did some writing today - got well on my way into a song that started out about Tina, but tragically lacked a necessary depressing quality, and thus slowly transformed into a love song for Chun. I am now frantically juggling Tina between a slow blues, and an open window.
Meanwhile, Mario has come out with a new single, mourning his love for Iris, who is unfortunately a willing captive of a better man. The song is nearly complete, lacking only lyrics, but they will undoubtedly come around soon and be somewhere high on the scale from 1 to Pathetic.
Michelle asked me to tuck her in today. I considered it for a brief moment and then laughed in her face, a move which somehow doesn't hold the same element of surprise as it used to.
Michelle has a fat friend, who conveniently stores all self-consciousness for her condition in Michelle. Whenever Mom says "hey Michelle, where's fatty?" or Dad asks "where's Piglet?," Michelle inexplicably gets as offended as if it were her own liposuction-filled future they're talking about. Being intrinsically mild-mannered and considerate, I generally restrain my witty insults, and if anything, try to turn the conversation to safer and less fertile ground - such as how fat people contribute to society. By the way, has anyone found the answer to this one yet?
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Long Day
Mom's looking over my shoulder, so I can't unleash my full writing potential. Half will do.
Went to Hana's house today. They were definitely unprepared to entertain me. I was counting on at least some singing, money showering, and "we're not worthy"'s accompanied by heads banging against the floor, but all I got was a good meal and an even better serving of boooring. They all camped out in the den and watched a recorded Turkey-Germany soccer match, and no amount tears or begging succeeded in making them tell me to shut up and go home. I don't understand, if you have a match taped and can watch it any time, why would you ever watch it? Especially when I'm around waiting to be entertained.
Mom's learning Stairway to Heaven so she can go to Guitar Center and piss them off - all guitar stores have Stairway to Heaven on their blacklists. Luckily for them, she only practices once every couple of months, usually in different and not always consecutive years.
Chun studying for MCATs is reflecting poorly on my self-esteem. Every now and then, she'll come at me with a "hey, I've got a really easy question for ya...," just to make sure I feel like a moron when I can't even understand what it's asking. I of course proceed to do just that, and she has her fill of laughs. Then she leaves me and returns to her career-building, while I frantically shake my computer upside down so my tears don't short its circuits.
Michelle's having a sleepover today, so there are suddenly two Michelles in the house (her friend is also a Michelle). This is pretty much your classic domestic nightmare. Right now they're upstairs and judging from the sounds, they're either mudwrestling, practicing dropkicks, or sacrificing an uncooperative goat. I hear thud after thud, and lots of giggling that'll soon make its way downstairs, meet Mom, and seamlessly become sobbing if not screaming.
Went to Hana's house today. They were definitely unprepared to entertain me. I was counting on at least some singing, money showering, and "we're not worthy"'s accompanied by heads banging against the floor, but all I got was a good meal and an even better serving of boooring. They all camped out in the den and watched a recorded Turkey-Germany soccer match, and no amount tears or begging succeeded in making them tell me to shut up and go home. I don't understand, if you have a match taped and can watch it any time, why would you ever watch it? Especially when I'm around waiting to be entertained.
Mom's learning Stairway to Heaven so she can go to Guitar Center and piss them off - all guitar stores have Stairway to Heaven on their blacklists. Luckily for them, she only practices once every couple of months, usually in different and not always consecutive years.
Chun studying for MCATs is reflecting poorly on my self-esteem. Every now and then, she'll come at me with a "hey, I've got a really easy question for ya...," just to make sure I feel like a moron when I can't even understand what it's asking. I of course proceed to do just that, and she has her fill of laughs. Then she leaves me and returns to her career-building, while I frantically shake my computer upside down so my tears don't short its circuits.
Michelle's having a sleepover today, so there are suddenly two Michelles in the house (her friend is also a Michelle). This is pretty much your classic domestic nightmare. Right now they're upstairs and judging from the sounds, they're either mudwrestling, practicing dropkicks, or sacrificing an uncooperative goat. I hear thud after thud, and lots of giggling that'll soon make its way downstairs, meet Mom, and seamlessly become sobbing if not screaming.
Monday, June 23, 2008
An Argument for Contraception
Got back from the awards ceremony barely alive. It is definitely going high up on my experience blacklist, right next to the Happening. The awards ceremony is a species of revenge against parents - a hybrid of PTO meetings, school concerts, and Nazi concentration camps. Parents are herded into the bleachers of the gymnasium, shoulder to shoulder, so as to promote rapid sweat gland activation. The room is then heated to 400 degrees. Flesh eating bacteria are deployed from ceiling vats. Six-inch knives are passed out - small intestines and kidneys are removed and passed down the aisle for holding. No bathroom breaks. Then the ceremony commences.
The teachers hold all the power. Figuratively, and literally, because they're walking around with coolers on their heads and little battery-powered fans in their hands. They have a small table stacked with awards, but don't be fooled, it's the most misleading table in the world. Every plaque is really a 500-sheet ream of certificates, every certificate is perforated and turns into 50 ribbons, and every ribbon has 100 stickers on it, to be handed out individually.
The awards start out auspiciously - band, chorus, biggest nerd. You think - this can't take much longer, everyone's already gotten at least three. I was particularly deluded - my sister had the best spot due to her last name - Vayngrib. Applause was requested to be held till all names were called, and for each group, she was almost always the last one. Thus, applause invariably occurred right after her name, which I'm sure has completely corrupted her ego.
Musically talented, artistically talented, dance troupe...on and on, and they all sound reasonable, and they all sound like they're nearing the end. In the back of the gym, you can see some of the teachers playing a drinking game - whenever students from their class receive an award, they take a shot. By now you can hear them too. Most parents are still fighting - cheering and pretending to be happy to not give the teachers the satisfaction - but many have already zombified.
Then it gets ridiculous.
Biggest Jew-fro, Ugliest Girl, Student You Didn't Know We Had, Biggest Bully, Most Hopeless, School Slut, Most Awards This Year, Biggest Asskisser...The parents are losing hope, who makes these up? I can smell fear, or is that the rapidly spreading pitstain of my neighbor?
Finally...after an eternity of sadism, the teachers have had their fill. The parents of the children who received less than 20 awards are called up, and stoned in front of everyone. By this time, no one cares, and are just thankful for the extra breathing room. The bell finally rings, and everyone who's still alive exits with their heads down. A few are carried out on stretchers.
The teachers hold all the power. Figuratively, and literally, because they're walking around with coolers on their heads and little battery-powered fans in their hands. They have a small table stacked with awards, but don't be fooled, it's the most misleading table in the world. Every plaque is really a 500-sheet ream of certificates, every certificate is perforated and turns into 50 ribbons, and every ribbon has 100 stickers on it, to be handed out individually.
The awards start out auspiciously - band, chorus, biggest nerd. You think - this can't take much longer, everyone's already gotten at least three. I was particularly deluded - my sister had the best spot due to her last name - Vayngrib. Applause was requested to be held till all names were called, and for each group, she was almost always the last one. Thus, applause invariably occurred right after her name, which I'm sure has completely corrupted her ego.
Musically talented, artistically talented, dance troupe...on and on, and they all sound reasonable, and they all sound like they're nearing the end. In the back of the gym, you can see some of the teachers playing a drinking game - whenever students from their class receive an award, they take a shot. By now you can hear them too. Most parents are still fighting - cheering and pretending to be happy to not give the teachers the satisfaction - but many have already zombified.
Then it gets ridiculous.
Biggest Jew-fro, Ugliest Girl, Student You Didn't Know We Had, Biggest Bully, Most Hopeless, School Slut, Most Awards This Year, Biggest Asskisser...The parents are losing hope, who makes these up? I can smell fear, or is that the rapidly spreading pitstain of my neighbor?
Finally...after an eternity of sadism, the teachers have had their fill. The parents of the children who received less than 20 awards are called up, and stoned in front of everyone. By this time, no one cares, and are just thankful for the extra breathing room. The bell finally rings, and everyone who's still alive exits with their heads down. A few are carried out on stretchers.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Movies
Saw some more movies today - Get Smart, and the new but still less than incredible Hulk.
Get Smart was fairly entertaining. The Rock plays what he looks - a jolly imbecile. Steve Carell cracks the usual metajokes - they're funny because they're not funny - which is really confusing for my sense of humor; I feel like it's part of some horrible setup to get me to laugh in the wrong situation. Anne Hathaway, my pet peeve, is a little less annoying than usual; I managed to sit through 2 hours of her without slitting my wrists or gouging my eye sockets out with the car keys. I've been trying to zero in on what exactly irritates me about her, ever since her debut into my life with The Princess Diaries. After this insightful movie, I got to wondering again. It's not her legs, or her breasts, I reasoned. Not her skin, not that cute little mole on the inside of her left butt cheek, not her hair, not the blonde bombshell she used to be before the plastic surgery. Hmm...what else is there to a person?? And then I had a breakthrough, when I accidentally hit the mental zoom-out button. The flash went off right away. It's her mouth! That thing looks so normal, and then she speaks. Suddenly, you're staring at a hole with a head attached to it. This made me suspicious. Had I seen Anne Hathaway before The Princess Diaries? After doing some research, I finally found that her breakout role was actually much earlier - on the cover of the Pink Floyd DVD - The Wall:
Now to juxtapose it with today:
Here's another:
What a skeleton in the closet!
(Upon further investigation, I have found that I'm pretty much the last person on the Internet to realize her mouth is huge. Oh well, at least now we all know.)
The new Incredible Hulk was admittedly better than Ang Lee's version, but then again, most of my turds are. Edward Norton has built up some good acting momentum, so he probably felt safe cashing in. Robert Downey Jr. has lost all self-respect - in the movie, he makes a cameo to pimp out himself and Iron Man. After the movie, when I took my ritual cleansing piss, he was handing out flyers by the urinals. I held my bladder till I got home.
Tomorrow's a busy day. I have to wake up at 8 to drive Michelle to school. Then I have to wake up again at 9 to attend some bogus post-graduation award ceremony. She seems confident that she's gonna get something. I'm not up for anything this year, so I'll just be praying for an early dismissal.
Get Smart was fairly entertaining. The Rock plays what he looks - a jolly imbecile. Steve Carell cracks the usual metajokes - they're funny because they're not funny - which is really confusing for my sense of humor; I feel like it's part of some horrible setup to get me to laugh in the wrong situation. Anne Hathaway, my pet peeve, is a little less annoying than usual; I managed to sit through 2 hours of her without slitting my wrists or gouging my eye sockets out with the car keys. I've been trying to zero in on what exactly irritates me about her, ever since her debut into my life with The Princess Diaries. After this insightful movie, I got to wondering again. It's not her legs, or her breasts, I reasoned. Not her skin, not that cute little mole on the inside of her left butt cheek, not her hair, not the blonde bombshell she used to be before the plastic surgery. Hmm...what else is there to a person?? And then I had a breakthrough, when I accidentally hit the mental zoom-out button. The flash went off right away. It's her mouth! That thing looks so normal, and then she speaks. Suddenly, you're staring at a hole with a head attached to it. This made me suspicious. Had I seen Anne Hathaway before The Princess Diaries? After doing some research, I finally found that her breakout role was actually much earlier - on the cover of the Pink Floyd DVD - The Wall:
Now to juxtapose it with today:
Here's another:
What a skeleton in the closet!
(Upon further investigation, I have found that I'm pretty much the last person on the Internet to realize her mouth is huge. Oh well, at least now we all know.)
The new Incredible Hulk was admittedly better than Ang Lee's version, but then again, most of my turds are. Edward Norton has built up some good acting momentum, so he probably felt safe cashing in. Robert Downey Jr. has lost all self-respect - in the movie, he makes a cameo to pimp out himself and Iron Man. After the movie, when I took my ritual cleansing piss, he was handing out flyers by the urinals. I held my bladder till I got home.
Tomorrow's a busy day. I have to wake up at 8 to drive Michelle to school. Then I have to wake up again at 9 to attend some bogus post-graduation award ceremony. She seems confident that she's gonna get something. I'm not up for anything this year, so I'll just be praying for an early dismissal.
Yesterday
Was invited to go to a wine/liquor tasting event in New York today. I declined, as I usually do most invitations, and instead sat at home and imbibed some Harry Potter y la Piedra Filosofal.
Michelle's steadily getting better at guitar, but more importantly, her patience is growing by leaps and bounds. She can now practice a song for 35 straight seconds before getting distracted by something shiny. What's even more amazing, there's a 50% chance that that shiny something is an item she already owns, and doesn't require me to drive her to buy immediately. These two put together explain the sharp drop in my frequency of driving to the store from 20 times/day 2 years ago to 4 times/day these days. The sneaky third factor is that she probably already has most of what's in most stores by now. I am slowly earning my freedom.
Still recovering from the emotional drain The Happening inflicted on me.
Michelle's steadily getting better at guitar, but more importantly, her patience is growing by leaps and bounds. She can now practice a song for 35 straight seconds before getting distracted by something shiny. What's even more amazing, there's a 50% chance that that shiny something is an item she already owns, and doesn't require me to drive her to buy immediately. These two put together explain the sharp drop in my frequency of driving to the store from 20 times/day 2 years ago to 4 times/day these days. The sneaky third factor is that she probably already has most of what's in most stores by now. I am slowly earning my freedom.
Still recovering from the emotional drain The Happening inflicted on me.
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