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
Showing posts with label camp. Show all posts
Showing posts with label camp. Show all posts
Monday, July 21, 2008
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.
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.
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%.
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