Primitive Time Machine

Started playing Final Fantasy VIII yesterday - a famous if outdated RPG. RPG stands for Really really really ridiculously long but having a mildy interesting Plot Game. This is the worst type of game in the world, and unfortunately also my favorite. It is the kind of game that eats right through your time. If you have jet-lag and you need to disappear ten hours from your schedule before you can go to sleep, you play an RPG. With the advent of the first non-text-based RPGs in the early 90s, they were briefly considered as an alternative to general anaesthesia. However, the side-effects were determined to be incomparably more harmful to health.

Did you know that every year, five hundred million people in the United States alone, die of starvation because they are in the middle of an RPG and can't so much as take a five minute break to fill up on Tootsie Rolls? This is tragic, and considering our population is three hundred million, completely false, but it's distressing nonetheless. In China, the same statistic gives a number twice as big, though of course equally false.

Anyway, if you decide to follow in my footsteps, I would start with Chrono Trigger and Final Fantasy VII, the tried and true classics. If you're still alive afterward, you've earned yourself the right to decide the next ten titles on your own. Safety tip? Start out weighing four hundred pounds.

Kinda funny, from today (while watching Jack Bauer on 24):
Jack Bauer: You saved my life.
Mario: So, if you save someone's life twice, what does that mean? Cause if you save it once they have to be your slave.
Mark: You have to suppress two urges to kill them.
Mario: No you don't. You can suppress one and be their slave.

I tripped

Today Chun sent me some mind-blowing stuff. And also this cool optical illusion:

Blow My Mind

I spent the next half an hour staring at that woman, trying to place what movie I'd seen her in, and then another half an hour trying to get her to spin the way I wanted. Needless to say, this was very frustrating. I'm used to women unquestioningly doing what I tell them. But practice paid off.

Good news: 50% of the time, she does my bidding 100% of the time. I say the magic word and she switches direction.
Bad news: the other 50% of the time, she does the exact opposite.
More Good news: Chun says she will be learning this optical illusion move in her next dance class.

I sent this to Gene and he's now torturing all of his co-workers. If they're half as excited about it as he is, by nighttime I'll probably be receiving an IM from my friend in Shanghai: "Dude, friend send me link. You should to see this, it make crazy to brain."

And, changing the subject...1...2...3...

Gene has a severe case of spiritual ADD. Every month or so, he tells me about the latest greatest get-enlightened-quick scheme. By that moment, he's bursting at the seams with enthusiasm, and lives and breathes the new idea if not in life, then on AIM or the telephone.

Anyway, his newest philosophy is roughly this: "You can't do anything to get rid of your own ego. The best you can do is surrender every occuring thought to Buddha/Christ/Insert Other Messiah, and let it be taken away from you."

Necessary background: ego is THE obstacle to enlightenment.

Anyway, in terms of practice, this means: you think about your grandma in the shower - you surrender it to Buddha, you think about my grandma in the shower - you damn well surrender it to Buddha, you think about how depressed you are - you surrender it to Buddha, you memorize Pi to 2,000 places - you surrender your elitist ass to Buddha, you think about how good you are at this surrendering business - you surrender that too. To Buddha.

But since it's Gene, he's so enthusiastic that he's willing not only to surrender his own ideas, but other people's ideas and other people themselves.

Mark: i'm impressed they made this image (see above)
Gene: i am impressed more than u
Gene: because i surrendered your impression
Mark: haha
Mark: too funny
Gene: not too funny for me - i surrendered it too
...
Gene: mom surrendered it to me
Mark: ya'll are a bunch of cowards
...
Gene: your thought is false
Mark: not as false as urs!
Mark: surrender urs immediately
Gene: i surrender u
Mark: oh shit
Gene: and shit too
...
Mark: u sure love being an ass
Gene: why not - i surrendered my shit
Gene: this morning for an hour
Mark: you just surrendered this conversation to my next blog entry
...
I'm afraid the rest is unprintable.

Oh those naughty Chinese

Had a weird dream today during a power nap. There was some insect buzzing around, and Mario picked me up with one hand by one of my ankles while he swatted at the insect with the other hand. I found myself being shaken as a side-effect of his efforts, and suddenly there were all kinds of things sticking out of the wall, making what was already dangerous even more so. I remember a drawer and a doorknob being the main objects of my anxiety. I yelled down to Mario to put me down, but he couldn't hear me. It was frustrating but hardly surprising; he listens to music so loudly, that if we both have headphones on, I can hear his music better than mine. Anyway, I managed to work up enough apprehension at being shattered against the drawer and doorknob to wake myself up. Thank goodness, because another couple of seconds, and I would never have had to wake up again.

Read a funny Chinese joke today. In Chinese. It was really short though, so you're not required to leave extensive praise. Goes something like this:

Yi1ge4 bing4ren2 zai4 ta1de bing4chuang2 shui2de hen3 xiang1. Hu4shi2 ba3 bing4ren2 yao2 xing3 shuo1 "kuai4 xing3 xing3, ni3 hai2 mei2 you3 chi1 an1mian2yao4 ne!"

Compare that with the English version: A patient is lying in his sickbed, sleeping soundly. A nurse comes up to him and starts shaking him, saying: "Wake up, wake up! You haven't taken your sleeping pill yet!"

Later today, my Chinese Palabea friend and I exchanged dirty jokes, and I came to the shocking realization that Chinese people have made very big advances in the area of perverse humor. I thought Russians were experts, and Americans were getting there(though with more a benign style), but Chinese people are waaaay ahead of both. No subject is sacred to them. Anyway, initiation is tough, but don't worry guys, I'll pull through.

Talked to grandma on Skype today. She's computer illiterate, so to her, talking through webcam is like using a magic mirror. Now that she's using computers though, I better be careful what I say about her here. So...yea...

Monkeys

Today's daddy's birthday. On people's birthdays you're supposed to tell them what you think about them without holding anything back, no matter how horrible it is, right? Or is that at people's funerals? One sec, researching... What? That's lame. Apparently you're never supposed to tell anyone the whole truth about themselves, unless it's 99% complimentary or you're at a writing workshop. Or if you don't plan on them being useful to you in the future. Nation of liars and wusses. But...I guess I can abide by the rules this one time. Don't want to completely conform to non-conformity. You get a freebie today, daddy-oh.

Tomorrow's Sunday, but I'm afraid they'll miss me at church. If there's one thing I don't want to overdose on, it's Jesus' blood and body. Cocaine's bad enough.

Some random scenes from today/yesterday that seemed funny to me (I play the role of Mark):

(watching the climax scene of Soldier)
Mark: are they holding hands?
Mario: yea, they're about to die.
Mark: so if we were about to die, you'd be trying to grab my hand?
Mario: of course
Mark: I'm glad we're not dying then

(Mark's holding the remote and trying to turn off the tv, button sticks)
Mark: I keep pressing this button but it won't work. I think it's a sign...
Mario: of what?
Mark: ...that I need to keep pressing it

(pre-sleep discussion/meditation in their respective beds)
Mark: that was a good idea that Bill Gates had, to name his operating system Windows. Cause now everything's a window, browser window, game window...
Mario: yea, I'm pretty sure it was in the reverse order though.
Mark: ah. Good point. That makes more sense.
Mario: but who knows? If he called it Wildcat, we might be saying "man, I got all these Wildcats cluttering my screen."
Mark: haha. "Can you imagine if he called it Windows instead? Bill would never have sold a single copy!"
Mario: "well yea, not with stupid name like that. And Wildcat would never have been the multi-thousand dollar corporation it is today."
Mark: "the economy wouldn't even be in the thousands yet. They'd probably still have centi-cents."

You're Selfish

SPOILERS AHEAD. You'll have to read on to find out what's being spoiled. Don't say I didn't warn you though.

I've got about thirty pages left of Wonder Boys. The book. Snape kills Dumbledore. Aeris dies. Gollum is Frodo's father. Darth Vader is a thinly-veiled symbol for Jesus Christ.

Oof. Sorry, spoiler-Turret's.

Anyway, Wonder Boys has merited that rare award I bestow only on good books: I will finish reading it. It also has the wonderful quality of having a great movie made based on it. And that's all the summary you get.

Today, I have decided to become charitable. I've noticed that people love sympathizing with people in/with pain/grief/depression/handicaps. Nothing makes a person happier than cheering up a depressed comrade, the more depressed, the better. It fills you with that feeling of Mother-Theresa-ness and spiritual accomplishment, it makes you feel like you're contributing to society, and best of all, it makes you feel completely selfless.

OK. Obviously all of this is illusory (a good euphemism for the more obvious word). You think it works one way, but we all know deep inside that it's exactly the reverse. People help the needy because of intrinsic selfishness not because of acquired selflessness. I'm willing to concede a Jesus and a Buddha and a couple of others who I haven't heard of personally because they didn't become such prominent Hollywood icons, but the rest are just lying to themselves. And why wouldn't you lie to yourself? It makes you feel almost as good as if you had just carried a legless old lady across a ten-lane intersection.

Cynicism? Nah. This is actually a good quality of the human race. If we had to depend on selflessness to get help to those in need, then we'd definitely be cynical.

Anyway, the point is, I've decided to help people be happy. On request, I am willing to act depressed for at least a couple of minutes, and accept some consoling. Come over at any time and I will pretend to cheer up from my pretend sorrow. You won't regret it.

Note: the best way to console me is through my stomach. Tootsie Rolls and pizza will do just fine. Actually, go ahead and just leave them outside the door. You have my guarantee that I will feel better upon consuming them.

Mario, earlier today: Can you imagine being Chinese? That's the admirable thing about Chinese people, they deal really well with being Chinese.

I just asked Mario if he had anything else funny to say, and he failed to come up with anything. Disgusting. That is certainly no way to keep your few remaining friends.

La la la

Got back to writing songs today, for the first time in a while. I worked on one where I had some good music already but no vocals. Decent results so far, but of the two verses and two choruses, none have anything to do with one another. The first verse is no-way-out depression. The first chorus is about "free love" / polygamy / an orgy cruise. Verse two is some cryptic warning / "I told you so." And chorus two is some kind of identity crisis advice. Can't wait to find out what my brain will come up with for the bridge and final verse/chorus pair. One thing is certain though, it will be tasty.

I also did some recording today. I had Guitar Pro play the song I wrote about Chun and recorded myself singing the vocals to it. Came out better than I expected, but it could use another twenty or thirty takes. Here it is (use headphones, I tried to do some stereo mixing).

Chun

Ok, song's over Chun, you can stop blushing.

The next song on the to-be-written list is a song about Perry. Mario and I brainstormed some good ideas today. The theme of the first verse is "undercover Christian." In case you don't know, Perry is the biggest atheist on the face of the planet, despite being only a foot and a half over midget-size. Or rather, he hopes to appear so. But after listening to this song, you will be convinced that he's actually an "undercover Christian," overcompensating for his true beliefs. The chorus goes in a completely different direction, which I will keep secret for now.

In other news, the Tootsie Roll supply is running low. I now have to get into the bag up to my waist to reach the top layer. And that's after only two weeks! Another six, and we'll need a new bag. And I really don't want to, I'm finally starting to get the sharp end of the side-effect stick. My jaws are getting so strong from chewing Tootsie Rolls that all other food has the consistency of extra-creamy soup or oatmeal in comparison. Chicken drumsticks are like Jello to my bear-trap-like mouth. I don't even notice the bones. I hope I don't bite my tongue.

Adultery

I had a weird dream today. Well, two, but only one's PG-13 enough to tell, and even so, it's borderline.

I was living in some trailer in a trailer park (perhaps this is a prophetic dream), and I was friends with a couple of other families living in the next-door trailers. One of those families was a couple, and the wife and I seemed to have a history. I don't know what the history was, but I have the feeling it was mostly the horizontal kind. Anyway, we had a nearly adulterous incident in her trailer, but her husband came back and ruined it with the usual suspicious-husband's lack of tact. He didn't notice anything, we hadn't really gotten anywhere, but we couldn't very well continue in his presence. Somehow we stole a second and agreed that she was going to come over later that night, as soon as suspicious-husband slipped away into dreamland.

So later on, I was back in my trailer, it was getting dark, and I was considering my predicament. Unfortunately, I don't get much practice with these types of situations in my dreams, or in reality, so I found myself struggling with the moral issues. I finally managed to quiet my conscience. I told myself that it's not good to think so much, and that I could debate the morality at leisure after the deed was done. This is true to the philosophy of Emo Phillips, as summarized by this quote I often put into practice:

"When I was a kid I used to pray every night for a new bicycle. Then I realized that the Lord doesn't work that way so I stole one and asked Him to forgive me."

However, my conscience yielding to this excellent idea didn't put an end to my ruminating. I also considered the possibility of being shot in the head by a jealousy-possessed man upon successful completion of fornication, but failure to uphold secrecy. I was wise to remember the Russian saying that concerns secrets:

"When only one knows, only one knows. When two know, twenty-two know."

In my situation, the only way I could keep the secret to myself after the dirty deed was done, was with a brick upside the pretty head of my co-conspirator/mistress. And this my conscience would never let me do. My Mom has taught me that girls are at worst to be spanked, never to be beaten with weapons.

Anyway, all the excellent philosophy and common wisdom I am schooled in never amounted to anything. As it often happens in dreams, my conversation-with-self took about 10 seconds, but the outside world had meanwhile reached morning. Perhaps I was zooming around the inside of my trailer at an appreciable fraction of light-speed for those 10 seconds. In any case, she had never come.

I came out of my trailer only to find myself surrounded by grieving, slobbering people. "What happened?" I demanded of some blurry dream face. He told me. It turns out that the couple had fallen asleep and the husband had his arm around the wife's neck in a "we're lying on our backs and he has his arm under and around her neck" kind of way. Then, it seems like the husband dreamt that we had already perpetrated our heinous crime, because when he woke up in that very position, he found he had strangled her.

I woke up shortly after, but there was one last strange moment. This was everyone's unconditional acceptance of the fact that it was not the husband's fault. There wasn't even going to be a trial. This completely undermined my belief in dream-justice.

Anyway, how bout some real tragedy?

Mario has hit a new low. Yesterday he was sitting on the couch, reading something on his laptop, while flipping through the channels on TV. He might as well have been pressing the channel button with the TV turned off for all he saw or heard. When I commented on it, he gave a typically brain-mangling retort: "if there was something worth seeing, I would have looked."