Lies

I finally shaved today, mostly hair off of my face, but also about about 10 years worth of appearance. I am now smooth as a freshly flogged bottom, and finally less hairy. I can almost understand why Mario wants to get a Brazilian wax so badly, smooth skin is fun. Unfortunately, other people know it's fun too, and I'm starting to feel a little bit like one of those greasy goats at the petting zoo.

The sugar low is still killing me. I haven't started dreaming about chocolate yet, which means the worst is yet to come, but they sing to me from every cabinet in the kitchen, every bookshelf, every desk drawer, from under every upturned bowl. Yes, this is a very loaded house for a person in my position. My dental floss lies right next to a big jar of Jolly Ranchers that scream "Eat Me!" I almost accidentally strangled myself the last time I flossed.

Still, I lucked out. No sweets is a trifle compared to what could have been. You have to know Gene a bit to understand what I'm talking about.

Gene is a fan of drastic measures. If you say "let's take a vacation" and then pop a Honey Nut Cheerio, before you can crack it open he's already found a buyer for the house. If you suggest a half-hour meditation, you get put in the meditation stocks for three hours. When I naively released "let's not eat sugary foods for a month," just before I decided whether or not it was meant rhetorically, Gene was already pitching his own version: "That's ridiculous! Just give up sweets? That's way too hard. We're not eating at all."

Fortunately I have a mother who still has residual maternal instincts.

More polls below. Can you believe these are people's actual responses? Me neither.

If someone says/does something and you have the urge to feel offended, what do you do?

Mark: impossible situation. I'm always offended to begin with, saves me the trouble.

Ellen: impossible situation. I never leave the house and I screen my calls.

Mario: impossible situation. The urge to get offended? I've definitely never felt that...until now! How dare you accuse me of such a thing!

Gene: oof, that's a tough one. On the one hand, if I get offended, I get to skip today's movie according to the rules of the no-getting-frustrated 30-day trial. On the other hand, if I don't, I'll miss out on the 3 hour meditation to surrender the offended feeling to Buddha. Ah, never mind, impossible situation! I'm on a 30-day trial of not having any urges.

Chun: I keep on writin' that med school essay. It's not going to write itself! Although...maybe the tear stains on the paper will get me some bonus points! You think?

Pei: they will apologize. I will provide dirty looks and the silent treatment as hints.

Lucy: you ever seen Oldboy? I wouldn't do a damn thing differently.

Perry: make up sex usually solves the problem. Sometimes you need a stand-in though. Sometimes both of you do; wouldn't want to exacerbate the situation. God, people are ugly!

Igor: why would Renata say/do something like that?

Madelyn: get offended. Then buy lots and lots of shoes. Then take slow and painful revenge. First I play mind games with them until they beg for mercy, then I shoot them in the back of the head, 1984 style. HAHAHAHA!

Funny:

Mark: when do you want to go? (to the grocery store)
Gene: never
...
Gene: but in 30 minutes is fine

Administer to Combat Excessive Happiness

Morning meditation:

I meditated in Michelle's room this morning instead of downstairs. There were three of us: Ellen, me, and Michelle's boombox. The last of the three, though set to CD mode and on Stop, insisted on being a distraction. Every now and then, it would go into vocal fry with random Morse-code-like rhythms, like when you're searching for a radio station. Being a patient and peaceful meditator, I could only curse the gods (mildly, because of the 30-day no cursing trial) and make silent promises to throw the thing in the nearest river after the hour was up. Getting up and turning it off would be admitting weakness, something 30-day trial meditators never do.

After my arsenal of euphemistic insults ran dry, I decided that since in today's meditation I was practicing mindfulness - being aware of the state of my body and mind - that maybe the boombox was trying to help me. A couple of times I would slip into some thoughtstream that I only planned to be aware of but not take part in, and then the boombox's interruption was welcome. A few times I even thought it was being more than naturally prescient. But towards the end of the hour, the novelty wore off. Instead of "be mindful" warnings, the thing got chattery, more like "pay attention to me, pay attention to me!"

Being mindful is easier if there's a specific thing to be mindful of. Just waiting and being mindful is for the gurus. So I tried to monitor my breathing. The inner dialogue went something like this:

"In...out...in...out...in...wow, I could really use a piece of chocolate right now. Mmm, yea...oh yea, out...(cough)...held that one in too long, in...out...has it been an hour yet? No...mustn't check yet, it'll just be embarassing how much time actually went by...OK, surrender my boredom to Buddha...no, first gotta generate some reverence. I'm reverent, I'm reverent, I'm reverent, OK, I'm reverent enough, what was I surrendering? Wait, shouldn't I be monitoring my breathing? OK, here we go again, in...out...in...out..."

And so on. Funny how the mind is jumpy, and how easily it gets bored when it can't jump around.

Weird distracting sentence that flew by at one point:
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Ms. Odessa has one torn ear."

For writing hour, I wrote a morbid little amateurish poem to help put myself in a morbid mood later on, if I ever need help.

Schizophrenia

Recently I've split into two
One of me's addicted to you
One of me begs to let go
The other can't stand the word no

Ceaselessly they fight for control
One incites, the other consoles
Each demands the seat at the wheel
Neither wants to cease to be real

<1>:
Why are you so keen to forget?
There's still sweeter deeper regret
Pain must be explored to the end
Hide it and it might never mend

Spill bitter tears and enjoy
Doesn't it feel good to destroy?
Blame yourself blame her blame the world
Envy every boy with a girl
<--1>

<2>:
You wake up a quarter to three
Take the reins start pitying me
I hide out until you are done
Take my tired body and run

Sit and clear my mind of all pain
Beg the gods to turn down the gain
Find some peace, dissolve your attack
Quit halfway, I'm gone and you're back
<--2>

<1>:
Me me me, me me me me
I am here, you'll never be free
Go ahead and think you've been cured
You are weak, I can endure

I'll be in each song in each book
Dancing in the words in the looks
You'll run out of things that distract
And when you're alone I'll be back
<--1>

<2>:
Trick myself, donate some time
See a film, find words that rhyme
Tell myself I'm doing fine
Keep busy, stifle my mind

Talk to her, borrow her smile
Feel OK, rest for a while
Slowly heal, slowly make peace
Feel your grip slightly release
<--2>

This is not a battle; a game
These two are cruel, but they're lame
Both are fake, they shrink in the light
Weak, they gum but can't bite

Pity, fear, you cowardly beasts
For months now I suckle your teets
Time's up, I'll show you the door
Love her still, possess her no more


Oof, hope I don't reread that one soon.

Marathon?

Today was the marathon attempt. I'm cracking up even calling it an attempt. Nevertheless, something happened, it was more or less 7 miles long, so let's just call it that - an attempt.

There were several revelations that came during the during and remembered themselves to me during the after (obviously none of them concerned grammar). Here they are in no particular order:

1. A marathon is about 26 miles long...er than you think.
2. Optimism only gets you through about 1 mile.
3. Vomit burns. Both times. And in between.
4. I have the lungs of a chain-smoker.
5. Mario's lungs are actually made up of stacks of Camel Golds.
6. Those stacks of Camel Golds are made of real camel essence. Because that boy sure has endurance.
7. Sitting at the computer for four months is probably only the second best way to prepare for an attempt.
8. Typing speed and running speed are uncorrelated.
9. Running is not the best time to work out personal problems. The only thing I could think about was the personal problem of having decided to run a marathon.
10. Doing is highly highly overrated. I'm going to stick to 'planning to do' and 'lying about doing' from now on instead.
11. Not only can Mario not run a marathon, he can't even run a marathon while carrying me on his back.

The attempt started auspiciously. After half a mile, Mario was celebrating the 2% mark. "Dude, we already ran 2%! Just fifty of those, and we're done. Cake. Wait, it's only forty-nine more! How can we not finish?"

The first mile was indeed cake, and no, we weren't in a car. Unfortunately there was a second, which didn't go over so well with my head and stomach. At around two miles, they suddenly teamed up and betrayed me, with a pain-in-the-ass thing called pain. And the next five miles after that were pretty much a bloody haze of running and walking, though I'm reasonably sure it wasn't my blood. I may have strangled Mario a bit, and perchance some worthless passerbys.

Anyway, it's all over. Now I get to sit back and enjoy the perks of having attempted to run a marathon. These include not being able to walk, lots and lots of complaining about not being able to walk, having to take frequent sips of water between complaints because of a burning throat, and of course blushing and running out of the room when the word marathon clears the air.

Short and Bitter

Mario is currently taking apart his computer to clean the fan. So far there is $524.64 in the pool - bets on how long it will take for him to send it to the land of beyond-repair. If you want in on it, call quickly, the odds are in favor of sooner rather than later.

Pei: nice, u become more and more understanding and accepting just like I do. good
Mark: and u r becoming modest like me
Pei: u have nothing to do with modest

And now I must take leave to go cry in the corner.

Hot hot hot

Today I popped my "do something stupid and burn yourself" cherry. I had long figured I was immune because Mario averages three burns a week, making him a sort of lightning rod. My optimism didn't save me.

I'm afraid to say my burn was up to the stupidity standards Mario has set. His typical story is: "I opened the oven to get the chicken out and when I pulled out the pan with my bare hands, it burned me. How was I supposed to know it was hot?" To which I normally respond with a condescending laugh and a deprecating joke. Well my story merits the same treatment. Good thing Mario's asleep and doesn't read this blog.

I boiled myself some water for tea, made the tea, picked up the cup, and forgot about it somewhere on the way to setting it down on the dining room table. This is the hazard of trusting your body to your autopilot; sometimes, even he gets fancy. I realized I was in trouble just as I finished a complex dance move with my cup-bearing hand, and saw the liquid in the cup splash all over my first three fingers. There was instantly lots of pain, and for quite a while, especially since I didn't:

1. Drop the cup and run to the faucet to put out the six-inch flames on my hand.
2. Scream like a girl. Everyone knows this alleviates even the worst pain. This is why when a woman is screaming in the delivery room, you shouldn't panic. As long as she keeps screaming, she's as good as under general anaesthesia.
3. Put my hand up to my earlobe as Chun would have me do - according to her, earlobes are natural refrigerators; they absorb heat like a firstborn does your savings account. Well in this case, I would have ended up with a big blister instead of a face.

Instead I stood there and let the pain feast on my stupidity. Only when the water in the cup became completely placid did I put the cup down and do some of the aforementioned items.

I am reasonably sure this was a fluke, and that the next burn victim will again be Mario. Of course no one knows for sure but the burn gods. I'll be crossing the fingers I have left.

Ouch

Chun and I had a revealing conversation today, while necking half-way through The Importance of Being Earnest. I was feeling good about myself, Chun having just unleashed thousands of calories worth of honey onto my Winnie-the-Pooh ego. I was feeling invincible. Then the conversation took an unexpected U-turn:

Chun: I'll always be here to boost your ego.
Mark: You should throw some curveballs now and then, keep me on my toes. (What was I thinking??)
Chun: OK! What should I say? How about...you're ugly...or...you suck at guitar. Hmm...no I better not, I'm afraid I'll hit too close to home.

Read that last sentence again. OUCH! In other words: "you want honesty? Alright. You're a worthless Quasimodo."

The Importance of Being Earnest taught a valuable lesson: never feel guilty. Lie to your friend, betray your brother, tattle, cheat, but never feel guilty. It was especially inspirational to me because I have so much to learn in this department, being of Jewish blood, and thus having 12 extra guiltophilic chromosomes.

Put in an excellent effort today in terms of watching TV. Saw two Malcolm in the Middle episodes I'd never seen before, and realized I can appreciate physical comedy. There was a scene this where Malcolm, Reese and Dewey are trying to frame Craig (the resident fatty) for running over Reese's leg and causing the huge welling that was actually obtained in an incident better kept secret from mothers. At the climax, Reese is pretending to be in pain, bleating unconvincingly "oww, my leg, oww oww." Dewey decides to help out and punches Reese (much more convincingly) right in the wound,transforming the pathetic bleating into authentic screams of pain. I must have laughed for two minutes straight, tears, stomach clutching, knee slapping and everything. People in pain, what could be funnier!