I was traveling around Beijing all day today, on secret errands which I can't disclose due to patient <--> National Security Agency confidentiality agreements (signed implicitly via tapped phones and hacked email accounts). I've been on the subway a billion times, but today was the first time I noticed that the directions you get at the screen doors before entering the train are vastly different in Chinese and in English.
Here's what Chinese people get:
Ladies and Gentlemen, the train is arriving. Please remember to keep elbows away from gonads as you board the train, avoid spitting on each other, and most importantly, don't forget that it is our culture's great tradition to respectfully give your seat to elders, children, cripples and pregnant women (if it's a boy). Ride safely and politely, for God's sake!
And here's what foreigners get:
Ladies and Gentlemen, the train is arriving. Please stand firm and hold the handrail.
Now comes the pop quiz. Which way did you interpret this scenario? Is it that Chinese people need all those reminders to help keep them in line and not tear each other to pieces like wild animals? Or is it that foreigners are utterly hopeless, so wasting reminders on them isn't worth the cost of the electricity? Or did the writers guild go on strike in the middle of penning the 2nd announcement? Or did they flip a coin? Either way, shame on you, why don't you go think something nice about people for a change.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Monday, July 15, 2013
Take off your shirt. Now take off your rib cage.
I went to get a physical examination today. There's only one place in all of Beijing where foreigners can get a physical that carries any legal weight, so I got up at 6:30AM and triathaloned it there - walked to the subway, subway'd to the bus, bus'd to the middle of nowhere and walked some more. It was good weather to be healthy in, a relentless shower that occasionally scaled up to fairly convincing rain. The puddles were what made it fun, and I had extra time to enjoy them because I had no idea where I was going between the legs of the triathalon. Yes, it was very wet there. No, it wasn't very erotic. Yes, I just can't help myself.
Whenever I need to find a bus in China, I'm at a loss. And by a bus in China, I mean a bus anywhere. And by a bus I mean anything outside of our apartment. I'm hopelessly dependent on knowing where everything is beforehand, and since Yuan Yuan already knows where everything is, I don't even need to depend on that. If I'm looking for something and it's not on my computer, I call Yuan Yuan and ask her.
"Honey, where'd you put the tomatoes? In the fridge? Great. Which shelf? Okay, they're the red ones right?"
But this time Yuan Yuan was too busy to go with me, and the bus stop, sensing her absence, grew particularly nefarious. I got off the subway, picked one of the three available directions at random, mostly by virtue of it having a news-stand where I could ask for directions, and splashed merrily along. What I took to be a news-stand turned out to be a hot-dog stand, which I should have suspected was part of the bus stop's evil plot to waylay me. It must have known I was on a 30 day trial of being vegetarian and was testing me. If I even so much as licked a hot-dog (you get a free lick before you buy it), I would never find someone to take my physical in a million years. Unless I took a cab, then maybe in 15 minutes.
I asked the hot-dog vendor where the Beijing International Hygeine/Health Protection center was. He pointed at a hot dog. I repeated my question. He wasn't very happy about it. He assumed an irritated expression and wagged his thumb in a direction over his shoulder, roughly the direction from where I had come, but also only ~15 degrees off from another direction, over a bridge, which I was later to discover led straight to Hell. I pointed in the direction I had come from, and said "hmm?" He didn't confirm or deny and just repeated his pointing. I decided he was obviously lying and went across the bridge. 10 minutes later I came back and went in the direction he'd pointed out. I'd always had a weakness for reverse psychology, but how did the bus stop know that?
The physical examination itself was uneventful. I will therefore describe it in mind-numbing detail.
I was one of the first to arrive, and there was virtually no wait. I went from room to room getting signatures on my health sheet. I felt like I was carrying around a petition. "Will you vouch for my state of health please? I already have 5 signatures, I just need 2 more."
There were 7 components:
1. Blood test - barely felt it, the nurse was a pro. She was also a cutie pie. As she pricked my arm, she asked if I smelled a horrible stench. I was a bit perplexed, wondering if I'd accidentally crapped my pants, and whether she was now going to say she was obliged to give me a sponge bath. I raised an eyebrow quizzically. She explained that they were eating some Durian (fruit) earlier, and asked if I hated the smell. I admitted to hating it, but not to having smelled it. I complimented her on her needlework. She single-mindedly pursued the Durian offense and asked me if I'd dare try it. I said I'd do it for my country. She let me go in one piece.
2. Blood pressure & heart rate test - 115/68 I think, maybe not. The heart rate was 53, which the software the nurse was using labeled as "A bit too slow." I asked her if my heartrate was indeed too slow. She said yes, a bit. It was a dialogue for the ages.
3. Ultrasound (it's a boy)
4. X-Ray. I tried to go to the X-Ray room 3 times and each time some other doctor would rush over and intercept me and examine me. Then when the X-Ray was the only one left, a nurse's aid came up to me and took me outside to a bus. I climbed in, stood in front of a portrait of Mickey Mouse, with the words "Look here" inscribed on his forehead, got handed a big heavy triangular lead-filled groin protector and smiled for the judges while they irradiated my chest.
5. Electric conductivity test. The doctor clipped what looked like declawed jumper cables to my hands and feet, then stuck some leads to my chest. I asked her belatedly if she was going to shock the capitalism out of me. She said no. I can't remember what happened next.
6. Eyes and ears.
7. Food/Height test. This was the final test and held the biggest surprise. The doctor has the 2nd floor all to himself, and a spooky sign "Surgery -->" pointed right to his door, where he sat, beckoning me to come in quick before I missed my chance for a free amputation. He sat me down in a chair, scrutinized the palms of my hands for the briefest of moments, then probed all around and behind my jawline (presumably looking for hidden food caches, as the examination requires an empty stomach), then had me stand on what looked like a weighing device but with no display or little brass weights or demarcations of any kind. I asked if I needed to take off my flip-flops, he said no, and then pronounced me tall.
Guys, it took 27 years, but I've finally reached 1.8 meters. I'd like to thank my flip-flops, for giving me that extra boost, my doctor, for not giving a damn about accuracy, my parents, for believing in me, I couldn't have done it without you, and Yuan Yuan, who is always saying life would be perfect if she were just a little bit taller. Your dream has finally come true! To me.
Whenever I need to find a bus in China, I'm at a loss. And by a bus in China, I mean a bus anywhere. And by a bus I mean anything outside of our apartment. I'm hopelessly dependent on knowing where everything is beforehand, and since Yuan Yuan already knows where everything is, I don't even need to depend on that. If I'm looking for something and it's not on my computer, I call Yuan Yuan and ask her.
"Honey, where'd you put the tomatoes? In the fridge? Great. Which shelf? Okay, they're the red ones right?"
But this time Yuan Yuan was too busy to go with me, and the bus stop, sensing her absence, grew particularly nefarious. I got off the subway, picked one of the three available directions at random, mostly by virtue of it having a news-stand where I could ask for directions, and splashed merrily along. What I took to be a news-stand turned out to be a hot-dog stand, which I should have suspected was part of the bus stop's evil plot to waylay me. It must have known I was on a 30 day trial of being vegetarian and was testing me. If I even so much as licked a hot-dog (you get a free lick before you buy it), I would never find someone to take my physical in a million years. Unless I took a cab, then maybe in 15 minutes.
I asked the hot-dog vendor where the Beijing International Hygeine/Health Protection center was. He pointed at a hot dog. I repeated my question. He wasn't very happy about it. He assumed an irritated expression and wagged his thumb in a direction over his shoulder, roughly the direction from where I had come, but also only ~15 degrees off from another direction, over a bridge, which I was later to discover led straight to Hell. I pointed in the direction I had come from, and said "hmm?" He didn't confirm or deny and just repeated his pointing. I decided he was obviously lying and went across the bridge. 10 minutes later I came back and went in the direction he'd pointed out. I'd always had a weakness for reverse psychology, but how did the bus stop know that?
The physical examination itself was uneventful. I will therefore describe it in mind-numbing detail.
I was one of the first to arrive, and there was virtually no wait. I went from room to room getting signatures on my health sheet. I felt like I was carrying around a petition. "Will you vouch for my state of health please? I already have 5 signatures, I just need 2 more."
There were 7 components:
1. Blood test - barely felt it, the nurse was a pro. She was also a cutie pie. As she pricked my arm, she asked if I smelled a horrible stench. I was a bit perplexed, wondering if I'd accidentally crapped my pants, and whether she was now going to say she was obliged to give me a sponge bath. I raised an eyebrow quizzically. She explained that they were eating some Durian (fruit) earlier, and asked if I hated the smell. I admitted to hating it, but not to having smelled it. I complimented her on her needlework. She single-mindedly pursued the Durian offense and asked me if I'd dare try it. I said I'd do it for my country. She let me go in one piece.
2. Blood pressure & heart rate test - 115/68 I think, maybe not. The heart rate was 53, which the software the nurse was using labeled as "A bit too slow." I asked her if my heartrate was indeed too slow. She said yes, a bit. It was a dialogue for the ages.
3. Ultrasound (it's a boy)
4. X-Ray. I tried to go to the X-Ray room 3 times and each time some other doctor would rush over and intercept me and examine me. Then when the X-Ray was the only one left, a nurse's aid came up to me and took me outside to a bus. I climbed in, stood in front of a portrait of Mickey Mouse, with the words "Look here" inscribed on his forehead, got handed a big heavy triangular lead-filled groin protector and smiled for the judges while they irradiated my chest.
5. Electric conductivity test. The doctor clipped what looked like declawed jumper cables to my hands and feet, then stuck some leads to my chest. I asked her belatedly if she was going to shock the capitalism out of me. She said no. I can't remember what happened next.
6. Eyes and ears.
7. Food/Height test. This was the final test and held the biggest surprise. The doctor has the 2nd floor all to himself, and a spooky sign "Surgery -->" pointed right to his door, where he sat, beckoning me to come in quick before I missed my chance for a free amputation. He sat me down in a chair, scrutinized the palms of my hands for the briefest of moments, then probed all around and behind my jawline (presumably looking for hidden food caches, as the examination requires an empty stomach), then had me stand on what looked like a weighing device but with no display or little brass weights or demarcations of any kind. I asked if I needed to take off my flip-flops, he said no, and then pronounced me tall.
Guys, it took 27 years, but I've finally reached 1.8 meters. I'd like to thank my flip-flops, for giving me that extra boost, my doctor, for not giving a damn about accuracy, my parents, for believing in me, I couldn't have done it without you, and Yuan Yuan, who is always saying life would be perfect if she were just a little bit taller. Your dream has finally come true! To me.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Yesterday's Post
The Matrix was still magical, for the 63rd time. The perfect dialogue, the salad of spiritual references, the gorgeous special effects, the ineffable ineffableness, none of that has aged much. But the speed has slowed. I'm beginning to feel a generation gap. 10 years ago the Matrix was a rollercoaster ride, a non-stop thrill that throbbed with suspense. In 10 years, The Matrix will be Bladerunner, a languid film-noir. The newer sleeker models are higher velocity if not higher impact. They don't dole out meaningful dialogue in consumable chunks, they slam you with it like a slam poet and leave you to figure out the details for yourself on the 3rd viewing. In this sense, The Social Network moved faster than The Matrix. I didn't understand a word they said in their crossfire dialogues and yet I walked away with the feeling that they were saying something interesting. Poor Matrix.
I was reading up today on how networks work. Some of it was review for stuff covered in my Computer Systems Engineering (6.033) class at MIT, but concepts learned in my formal education are often obscured by so much fog that it'd be easier to try to see the Beijing sky. Some seemed completely new, in other words the fog in front of it has solidified into intrabrain Jello and is refracting the hell out of my searches.
My favorite thing about networks is the hilarious pessimism that defines the whole field. For example, TCP vs UDP (the two major communication protocols on the internet):
TCP: "There is absolute guarantee that the data transferred remains intact and arrives in the same order in which it was sent."
Sounds good so far...
UDP: "There is no guarantee that the messages or packets sent would reach at all."
That's the spirit I love. I understand that this is true by definition, that such a protocol is very necessary, but the wording is always so tragic. They build you up...
TCP: "Sir Sean Connery will deliver your packet himself if necessary. Tom Cruise will not rest till your packet is safely at its destination."
And then they murder you...
UDP: "We take your message and throw it in the shredder. Sometimes we miss and if your destination happened to be the floor, congratulations!"
Too much fun.
One of the things that frustrated me about my education at MIT was that very little of the main curriculum was focused on practical applications. There were "hardcore" classes that delved into operating systems and compilers and other witchcraft, where you could probably get some solid experience, but the required courses in the CS branch hardly stressed practical skill acquisition. In other words, we didn't code much.
What we did, was perform largely a depth-first search into important but (in my opinion) secondary concepts. Intro to Algorithms, for instance, was probably my favorite CS class, but at the same time probably one of the most useless. At a real job, unless you're a researcher, how often do you need to come up with low-level algorithmic solutions? About as often as you need to build a lightbulb as an auto-mechanic. It was about as useful to me as the Special Relativity class I took for fun. I'd much rather have gotten a firmer grasp on the next levels up in the software abstraction onion - object oriented programming, application design, common development patterns, as well as gotten some crash courses into the most commonly used technologies (especially in web application programming) - CSS, Javascript, Servlets, programming for mobiles. When I did an internship at Microsoft the summer after junior year, I had to learn all the practical skills needed for my project on the spot. My MIT education hardly helped me at all. When 5 years later I did some more serious hacking for two start-ups, I had to learn everything as I went. My MIT education played with itself somewhere in a far corner of my mind while I was getting my hands very very dirty.
I remember during the tour at MIT, when I was still a senior in high school, the guide was telling us how MIT teaches people "how to think." It sounds oh so romantic, but it's hadly true. It's more like you go to MIT to train to be a blacksmith and when you go to your first smithy after getting out, you find yourself constantly hitting your thumbs with the hammer you've never wielded before. But you sure know a lot about iron.
Anyway, MIT was fun, I don't resent it at all. I could have pushed myself harder and searched out the opportunities for practical application. It just wasn't force fed to me, like I think it should have been.
I was reading up today on how networks work. Some of it was review for stuff covered in my Computer Systems Engineering (6.033) class at MIT, but concepts learned in my formal education are often obscured by so much fog that it'd be easier to try to see the Beijing sky. Some seemed completely new, in other words the fog in front of it has solidified into intrabrain Jello and is refracting the hell out of my searches.
My favorite thing about networks is the hilarious pessimism that defines the whole field. For example, TCP vs UDP (the two major communication protocols on the internet):
TCP: "There is absolute guarantee that the data transferred remains intact and arrives in the same order in which it was sent."
Sounds good so far...
UDP: "There is no guarantee that the messages or packets sent would reach at all."
That's the spirit I love. I understand that this is true by definition, that such a protocol is very necessary, but the wording is always so tragic. They build you up...
TCP: "Sir Sean Connery will deliver your packet himself if necessary. Tom Cruise will not rest till your packet is safely at its destination."
And then they murder you...
UDP: "We take your message and throw it in the shredder. Sometimes we miss and if your destination happened to be the floor, congratulations!"
Too much fun.
One of the things that frustrated me about my education at MIT was that very little of the main curriculum was focused on practical applications. There were "hardcore" classes that delved into operating systems and compilers and other witchcraft, where you could probably get some solid experience, but the required courses in the CS branch hardly stressed practical skill acquisition. In other words, we didn't code much.
What we did, was perform largely a depth-first search into important but (in my opinion) secondary concepts. Intro to Algorithms, for instance, was probably my favorite CS class, but at the same time probably one of the most useless. At a real job, unless you're a researcher, how often do you need to come up with low-level algorithmic solutions? About as often as you need to build a lightbulb as an auto-mechanic. It was about as useful to me as the Special Relativity class I took for fun. I'd much rather have gotten a firmer grasp on the next levels up in the software abstraction onion - object oriented programming, application design, common development patterns, as well as gotten some crash courses into the most commonly used technologies (especially in web application programming) - CSS, Javascript, Servlets, programming for mobiles. When I did an internship at Microsoft the summer after junior year, I had to learn all the practical skills needed for my project on the spot. My MIT education hardly helped me at all. When 5 years later I did some more serious hacking for two start-ups, I had to learn everything as I went. My MIT education played with itself somewhere in a far corner of my mind while I was getting my hands very very dirty.
I remember during the tour at MIT, when I was still a senior in high school, the guide was telling us how MIT teaches people "how to think." It sounds oh so romantic, but it's hadly true. It's more like you go to MIT to train to be a blacksmith and when you go to your first smithy after getting out, you find yourself constantly hitting your thumbs with the hammer you've never wielded before. But you sure know a lot about iron.
Anyway, MIT was fun, I don't resent it at all. I could have pushed myself harder and searched out the opportunities for practical application. It just wasn't force fed to me, like I think it should have been.
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Coffee and Astronomy
I'm not a very loyal addict. My half-pound of coffee arrived today and my brain is steeping in a comfortable brown bath. I'm not even thinking about chocolate anymore. I am most certainly not thinking about warm gooey chocolate brownies fresh from the oven, of dipping Hershey's kisses in gnutella and then in fondue while surreptitiously scouting out the premises to finagle a moment of privacy in which to take the fondue head on, literally, or ripping off all my clothes and jumping into Willy Wonka's chocolate pool and seeing if my lungs can extract oxygen from liquid chocolate. If they can extract it from liquid oxygen, I don't see the problem. Coffee is fantastic.
The Daughter of Smoke and Bone is getting a little more exciting, though I can't shake the quasi-guilty feeling of reading something that may or not be quasi-pulpish. The only thing I can say for sure about it is that I'm still reading it. But I may reread The Name of the Wind when I'm done. Meanwhile in Lamb, Jesus is making friends with the abominable snowman. Biff has just proposed the theory of evolution to him and Jesus rejected it even faster than he did Biff's theory of universal stickiness (gravity). Good fun.
As soon as this entry is done, we're going to watch The Matrix. It's been a couple years since I saw it last, so pile on the shaming. My dad may disown me if he reads this and believes it. Mom will have to raise me all on her own, and the four of us (my sister will also be present) will have dinner together occasionally and talk to each other through her.
Dad (to Mom): honey, will you tell my former son to pass the salt?
Mom rolls her eyes
Me: It was only one time! For two years! How long are you going to punish me for this!?
Dad (to Mom): what are we watching after we finish this glorious dinner?
Mom: ...The Matrix?
Dad: and who's not invited?
Sister crosses fingers, hoping it's her
Speaking of epic, for those of you who are always complaining about hearing Stairway to Heaven in every corner of the room, listen to Astronomy by Blue Oyster Cult. It was my go-to track for short distance running, the two times I subjected the local gym's treadmill to that kind of unholy contrast between awesomeness and mediocrity.
The Daughter of Smoke and Bone is getting a little more exciting, though I can't shake the quasi-guilty feeling of reading something that may or not be quasi-pulpish. The only thing I can say for sure about it is that I'm still reading it. But I may reread The Name of the Wind when I'm done. Meanwhile in Lamb, Jesus is making friends with the abominable snowman. Biff has just proposed the theory of evolution to him and Jesus rejected it even faster than he did Biff's theory of universal stickiness (gravity). Good fun.
As soon as this entry is done, we're going to watch The Matrix. It's been a couple years since I saw it last, so pile on the shaming. My dad may disown me if he reads this and believes it. Mom will have to raise me all on her own, and the four of us (my sister will also be present) will have dinner together occasionally and talk to each other through her.
Dad (to Mom): honey, will you tell my former son to pass the salt?
Mom rolls her eyes
Me: It was only one time! For two years! How long are you going to punish me for this!?
Dad (to Mom): what are we watching after we finish this glorious dinner?
Mom: ...The Matrix?
Dad: and who's not invited?
Sister crosses fingers, hoping it's her
Speaking of epic, for those of you who are always complaining about hearing Stairway to Heaven in every corner of the room, listen to Astronomy by Blue Oyster Cult. It was my go-to track for short distance running, the two times I subjected the local gym's treadmill to that kind of unholy contrast between awesomeness and mediocrity.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Good Reading
I've been reading a lot lately and watching very little. I usually start several books at once and let them compete for my interest. Sometimes I end up dropping all of them but usually one grabs my attention and I'll abandon the others to their fate. If they deserve to be read, they'll remind themselves to me I figure.
The latest winner was The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, a charming novel (?) written entirely in letters, and thus constantly juggling ~10 voices. Though I really liked the book, I'm a very lazy reader, and when towards the middle I realized that this character Susan Scott, who showed up less frequently than the rest, was a blindspot in my mental cast lineup, I bulldozed through Susan's latest letter without skipping a beat. Someone else may have flipped through to the beginning of the book and sniffed out this woman's role (I'm reasonably sure she's a woman), but I'm not bothered by such minor inconveniences as not knowing who a character is. I read purely for the pleasure of the process, which is why I can reread all the books I've already read and enjoy them the same the 2nd time around. In fact, when I was younger, this was exactly what I did. I had two books that I loved, which was the only fact I remembered after reading them each time, and I would read them over and over while my parents tried to inveigle me into reading something new. "Didn't we say you'd like Three Musketeers? Trust us, you're going to LOOOVE ...(I forgot)." Yea, and you were right, Three Musketeers rocked so hard that who would ever need another book?
Anyway, dear Susan, these days, I'm more adventurous and I constantly read books I've never read before. I think. It's hard to tell sometimes, every book's a bit of a deja vu once you start either enjoying it or stop caring a fig for it.
The current book I'm munching on is Daughter of Smoke and Bone. So far it hasn't blown me away. It reads a bit like the supernatural (vampire, werewolf, zombie, turducken) adolescent melodrama crap my sister binges on (no offense sis, and good to see you here!), but it's also got a bit of a spunky Hellboy touch to it, which was decent fun...but I draw the line at decent. The main reason I'm still reading it is that it comes with Patrick Rothfuss's effusive recommendation, the Patrick Rothfuss who has us all biting our wrists (we already gnawed fingernails, fingers and hands off) waiting for the last installment in the Kingkiller Chronicle. I'm way more excited about it than you were about the 7th Harry Potter book. Trust me on this one Susan, go to the nearest bookstore right now (don't fret, there's one right on your Kindle), and get yourself a copy of The Name of the Wind, the first book in the soon to be trilogy.
Now I must really bid you farewell Susan, I've got some mean potatoes to peel.
The latest winner was The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, a charming novel (?) written entirely in letters, and thus constantly juggling ~10 voices. Though I really liked the book, I'm a very lazy reader, and when towards the middle I realized that this character Susan Scott, who showed up less frequently than the rest, was a blindspot in my mental cast lineup, I bulldozed through Susan's latest letter without skipping a beat. Someone else may have flipped through to the beginning of the book and sniffed out this woman's role (I'm reasonably sure she's a woman), but I'm not bothered by such minor inconveniences as not knowing who a character is. I read purely for the pleasure of the process, which is why I can reread all the books I've already read and enjoy them the same the 2nd time around. In fact, when I was younger, this was exactly what I did. I had two books that I loved, which was the only fact I remembered after reading them each time, and I would read them over and over while my parents tried to inveigle me into reading something new. "Didn't we say you'd like Three Musketeers? Trust us, you're going to LOOOVE ...(I forgot)." Yea, and you were right, Three Musketeers rocked so hard that who would ever need another book?
Anyway, dear Susan, these days, I'm more adventurous and I constantly read books I've never read before. I think. It's hard to tell sometimes, every book's a bit of a deja vu once you start either enjoying it or stop caring a fig for it.
The current book I'm munching on is Daughter of Smoke and Bone. So far it hasn't blown me away. It reads a bit like the supernatural (vampire, werewolf, zombie, turducken) adolescent melodrama crap my sister binges on (no offense sis, and good to see you here!), but it's also got a bit of a spunky Hellboy touch to it, which was decent fun...but I draw the line at decent. The main reason I'm still reading it is that it comes with Patrick Rothfuss's effusive recommendation, the Patrick Rothfuss who has us all biting our wrists (we already gnawed fingernails, fingers and hands off) waiting for the last installment in the Kingkiller Chronicle. I'm way more excited about it than you were about the 7th Harry Potter book. Trust me on this one Susan, go to the nearest bookstore right now (don't fret, there's one right on your Kindle), and get yourself a copy of The Name of the Wind, the first book in the soon to be trilogy.
Now I must really bid you farewell Susan, I've got some mean potatoes to peel.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
30 day trialarama
I'm experiencing extreme withdrawal. If any of you have ever been addicted to heroin, tips would be much appreciated right now. Today is the first day of six 30-day trials, the most important being a rerun, a classic, a killer, a challenge about which epic love songs have been written - no sugar. I don't know why I do this to myself, I would not approve if I were me. So far I've managed to slip into daydreams about candy roughly every 10 minutes. If I could just do a reality check every time I craved a piece of chocolate, I'd have already had 50 lucid dreams today.
The other trials are:
2. 300 pushups / planks mix & match, where a 2 minute plank is equivalent to 50 pushups. In 30 days, my lower back will have bigger pecs than my chest and I won't be able to do planks anymore because my abs will touch the ground. Children will use me as a rocking horse.
3. Read with Yuan Yuan in English for 30 minutes. Currently we're halfway through Lamb (The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal), hopefully we'll finish that this month. I'm accepting suggestions for the next book. Candidates need to be either extremely funny, or at a middle school reading level.
4. Being vegetarian. Piece of cake as chocolate is the only meat I care about.
5. Stretching - 2 mins each of 5 different stretches. I hear that being flexible can extend your lifespan and it makes sense; corpses are the least flexible people I've ever met.
6. Blogging every day. This one started yesterday. I've failed the previous two times I attempted this one, but will never admit it.
No sugar is undoubtedly the hardest; I've yet to invent a doable 30-day trial that's harder. Even the trial of doing 25 pushups every time I wanted to sit down, and the trial of no sitting down at all for 30 days (except to poop), pale in comparison. I've been to the fridge more times than I've done pushups and there's never anything new there. I've forgotten all about Mario. Unless it's secretly him that my subconscious is looking for in the fridge.
The other trials are:
2. 300 pushups / planks mix & match, where a 2 minute plank is equivalent to 50 pushups. In 30 days, my lower back will have bigger pecs than my chest and I won't be able to do planks anymore because my abs will touch the ground. Children will use me as a rocking horse.
3. Read with Yuan Yuan in English for 30 minutes. Currently we're halfway through Lamb (The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal), hopefully we'll finish that this month. I'm accepting suggestions for the next book. Candidates need to be either extremely funny, or at a middle school reading level.
4. Being vegetarian. Piece of cake as chocolate is the only meat I care about.
5. Stretching - 2 mins each of 5 different stretches. I hear that being flexible can extend your lifespan and it makes sense; corpses are the least flexible people I've ever met.
6. Blogging every day. This one started yesterday. I've failed the previous two times I attempted this one, but will never admit it.
No sugar is undoubtedly the hardest; I've yet to invent a doable 30-day trial that's harder. Even the trial of doing 25 pushups every time I wanted to sit down, and the trial of no sitting down at all for 30 days (except to poop), pale in comparison. I've been to the fridge more times than I've done pushups and there's never anything new there. I've forgotten all about Mario. Unless it's secretly him that my subconscious is looking for in the fridge.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Mario is history
Mario left yesterday, back to the land next to the land of the burrito. For the last three months we've been singing the refrain "if Mario leaves..." then "if Mario leaves in July..." and finally to "if Mario leaves at 1:30AM on July 9th..." (Note to self: good outline for a song). It started because Jia Yan and Yuan Yuan are hopelessly romantic at heart, having their brains filled from an early age with Chinese soap opera sludge. It still leaks out their mouths though we've stoppered their eyes and ears. If life were a soap opera, there would be a final "if" at the airport, a plaintive "if you leave me now..." and Mario's heart of anti-(social)matter would finally signal to him in furious Morse code that he has to stay. For the orphans, of course. Alas, the orphans will have to fend for themselves this time. Mario would appreciate the irony, he loves Charles Dickens.
When the game started, Mario would roll his eyes as he hadn't the shred of a Parmesan cheese crumb of a doubt that he would leave on schedule. But eventually he joined the party. "I haven't decided if I'm going to live with Ben or by myself when I go back. If I go back, I mean. And if Ben doesn't move here..." We all laughed at each episode of "If Mario leaves" and I'm sure Jia Yan's heart broke a little each time but she did a great job of hiding it. I only once saw her puffy eyed and that was on the last day, when the mystery was about to be solved and the "will Mario leave?" question was about to be casually duh'd out of existence. Apparently it was a four player game because it doesn't seem as fun anymore.
Today our new roommates arrived, fresh from the roommate factory. They're a Chinese couple, and half of them are pregnant. The first thing the pregnant half did upon arrival was jump on our electronic scale and complain about not being fat enough. I'm in love with her already.
They seem...nice. Like elves. After the weigh-in, they offered to take me out to dinner, which I politely refused, then they walked around outside until they hit their quota of toxic air and went promptly to sleep at 10:30. I have a feeling they might get up at 6 and make me breakfast, then leave some on the table and quietly slink off to work so I won't be shy about eating the leftovers in front of them. Then they'll come home and quarter me for eating their food. Cause they're evil elves. We'll see.
When the game started, Mario would roll his eyes as he hadn't the shred of a Parmesan cheese crumb of a doubt that he would leave on schedule. But eventually he joined the party. "I haven't decided if I'm going to live with Ben or by myself when I go back. If I go back, I mean. And if Ben doesn't move here..." We all laughed at each episode of "If Mario leaves" and I'm sure Jia Yan's heart broke a little each time but she did a great job of hiding it. I only once saw her puffy eyed and that was on the last day, when the mystery was about to be solved and the "will Mario leave?" question was about to be casually duh'd out of existence. Apparently it was a four player game because it doesn't seem as fun anymore.
Today our new roommates arrived, fresh from the roommate factory. They're a Chinese couple, and half of them are pregnant. The first thing the pregnant half did upon arrival was jump on our electronic scale and complain about not being fat enough. I'm in love with her already.
They seem...nice. Like elves. After the weigh-in, they offered to take me out to dinner, which I politely refused, then they walked around outside until they hit their quota of toxic air and went promptly to sleep at 10:30. I have a feeling they might get up at 6 and make me breakfast, then leave some on the table and quietly slink off to work so I won't be shy about eating the leftovers in front of them. Then they'll come home and quarter me for eating their food. Cause they're evil elves. We'll see.
Here's a slice of Mario before you go:
Mario: what do you think would be easier, if space was limited or time? ...Probably space.
Mark: unless you're stuck inside an egg
Mario: yea, good point. Even if the egg is light years across. Uhh...I feel so claustrophobic
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