There's been a mini oil rush upstairs for the last three days. I feel a bit like Joe Pesci from My Cousin Vinny.
"Do they start drilling for oil upstairs every day at 9 in the morning?"
"Nah!"
"Thank God! I was starting to get worri..."
"Usually they start at a quarter past 7."
"Ah...I see. Oh well, I never much liked sanity anyway."
As if a jackhammer to the ears is not enough, YY's mom coming to town and she's booked the drill-YY-about-her-relationship tour. And to finance the stay, she's getting a job here. At YY's hostel. Everything would be fine, but YY insists on taking out her earplugs when talking to her mom--just like that idiot Odysseus---and I've misplaced my ship's mast and ropes so I'm at a minor disadvantage. Here's the latest forecast, based on the many aftercasts of the past:
"Are you and Mark still together?"
"Yes..."
"Are you going to be together forever?"
"He promised me at least till Saturday."
"This Saturday? Or the Saturday before the heat death of the universe?"
"I'll double-check with him, but I'm pretty sure it's the first."
"I see. Well, daughter, riddle me this! What's the point of staying together till Saturday if you might break up on Saturday?"
Now that I think about it, what is the point of expiration dates? I changed the sticker on the jar of peanut butter just when it was about to expire for the third year in a row and I've been eating it with just minor post-consumption hallucinations. Let's just rip the expiration date stickers off of everything and nothing will ever expire again!
I've ruminated on subject for at least three seconds and I've come to the following conclusion: the problem is that YY's mom is from the past, a place way darker and scarier than the future, and even crazier than the now. Do you ever see people suffering in movies where they travel to the future? Never (sometimes). They're always walking around with stars in their eyes and becoming celebrities by reinventing sliced bread. Does anyone ever die now? Never. It's always "wait...did he just die? Damn! I missed it!" But anytime you see anyone time-machining it to the past, they get abducted by the government as food for their crazy scientists (you won't like them when they're hungry!), dragged into holy wars, and generally cruelly and unusually mistreated. Real life is the same way except less romantic. Your parents are the time machine and they come equipped with only one button: Back. Unfortunately, the last time I explained this theory to YY's mom she just nodded her head, an ancient body gesture that is the rough equivalent of the even more prehistoric one of twirling a finger near your temple (or so future me tells me).
Currently YY's mom is in the half-dark about us. That means she can see our silhouttes in the hazy room of her suspicions but she can't tell if we're making out or if one of us is getting CPR ("He's probably just giving her CPR. No wait, now she's giving him CPR...and now he's giving it to her again...I need to read up on the latest procedures..."). Actually, she probably knows everything. She's likely questioned all of YY's friends and relatives, read the latest blogs on the subject and watched the latest recordings from the nano-cam she installed in our ceiling fan. She's feeling very dizzy right now, and our ceiling fan is just a painting of a ceiling fan. She knows everything...but since YY hasn't told her anything explicitly, she probably thinks that what she knows is merely what she thinks she knows. If she finds out that what she knows is exactly that--what she knows, I may soon find myself in the censored area of foreign relations, along with this blog.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
VPN virginity taken (cheap)
My flatmate brought a new boy back today and he's been punching her in the funny bone for the last hour. She hasn't stopped giggling since they came back. I hope they have the window open because by my calculations they should be running out of oxygen right about now.
I just popped my VPN cherry, with ExpressVPN no less. My computer's been a most heinous network nazi when it came to sending/receiving anything vaguely important. Wanna download some porn? No problem. Wanna download the latest source code for your project? Sorry, we only support downloading porn. But you can upload the sources you just wrote. No wait, just kidding, you can only upload porn. Yea, the one you just downloaded will do. Thanks...hey you sneaky bastard! You just renamed your project folder into Porn and uploaded a ton of .java files with porn names. I'll let it slide this time but don't think you can fool me twice!
And so on. I accept a little hassle since I'm in the land of the free-to-do-whatever-you're-allowed-to-do but lately conversations with the network have gotten tiresome, repetitive, repetitively tiresome and most of all tiresomely repetitive. (It did bring one more self-descriptive phrase into the universe, however, so there is a small silver lining). Anyway, we'll see in the next few days if ExpressVPN can manage to sneak my shit through the fan.
I just popped my VPN cherry, with ExpressVPN no less. My computer's been a most heinous network nazi when it came to sending/receiving anything vaguely important. Wanna download some porn? No problem. Wanna download the latest source code for your project? Sorry, we only support downloading porn. But you can upload the sources you just wrote. No wait, just kidding, you can only upload porn. Yea, the one you just downloaded will do. Thanks...hey you sneaky bastard! You just renamed your project folder into Porn and uploaded a ton of .java files with porn names. I'll let it slide this time but don't think you can fool me twice!
And so on. I accept a little hassle since I'm in the land of the free-to-do-whatever-you're-allowed-to-do but lately conversations with the network have gotten tiresome, repetitive, repetitively tiresome and most of all tiresomely repetitive. (It did bring one more self-descriptive phrase into the universe, however, so there is a small silver lining). Anyway, we'll see in the next few days if ExpressVPN can manage to sneak my shit through the fan.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Women who hate cleaning, a new breed
I tricked myself into going shopping with YY today, as usual at the expense of my sanity. Normally I just flat out refuse...
YY: I need new shoes
Mark: like you need a punch in the face
YY: you need a new jacket
Mark: I just renewed the lease on the old one
YY: you're ugly. Let's cover you up with some clothes
Mark (pokes YY in the eyes): there ya go, all better now!
...but this time I decided to strike a bargain. Maybe it's cause I abandoned all my students in China. That in combination with the well documented fact that teaching instincts tend to flare up every once in a while like a bad case of herpes. Or is it the other way around? Either way, in the spirit of the completely unbalanced deals my parents made with me when I was young, we made a pact: I would go shopping with her for an hour if she read Prelude to Foundation (in Chinese). That'll teach her! I can't wait to see her suffer as she reads that awesome book...
Does bejesus ("you scared the bejesus out of me when you changed your underwear without me asking") have anything to do with Jesus? Cause saying "you scared the Jesus out of me!" just doesn't sound right at all. Scaring the Jesus out of someone...now that's something I need to experience. On both sides of the scared Jesus.
I think my female flatmate might be even lazier than Yuan Yuan, who in turn is even lazier than me when it comes to cleaning, something I would have thought impossible a few years back. But the universe just keeps expanding. There's a double sink in our kitchen, essentially two sinks side by side sharing a wall. My flatmate has had a pot with caked porridge soaking in water there for the last month. The other day I remarked to myself that due to evaporation and drinking (I was thirsty!), soon the water level in the pot would get low enough for the porridge to start rotting again (it already started once, before my flatmate mustered up the energy to pour some water in it). But then I looked again today and it was full almost to the top again! What a beautiful combination of action and procrastination on her part.
YY: I need new shoes
Mark: like you need a punch in the face
YY: you need a new jacket
Mark: I just renewed the lease on the old one
YY: you're ugly. Let's cover you up with some clothes
Mark (pokes YY in the eyes): there ya go, all better now!
...but this time I decided to strike a bargain. Maybe it's cause I abandoned all my students in China. That in combination with the well documented fact that teaching instincts tend to flare up every once in a while like a bad case of herpes. Or is it the other way around? Either way, in the spirit of the completely unbalanced deals my parents made with me when I was young, we made a pact: I would go shopping with her for an hour if she read Prelude to Foundation (in Chinese). That'll teach her! I can't wait to see her suffer as she reads that awesome book...
Does bejesus ("you scared the bejesus out of me when you changed your underwear without me asking") have anything to do with Jesus? Cause saying "you scared the Jesus out of me!" just doesn't sound right at all. Scaring the Jesus out of someone...now that's something I need to experience. On both sides of the scared Jesus.
I think my female flatmate might be even lazier than Yuan Yuan, who in turn is even lazier than me when it comes to cleaning, something I would have thought impossible a few years back. But the universe just keeps expanding. There's a double sink in our kitchen, essentially two sinks side by side sharing a wall. My flatmate has had a pot with caked porridge soaking in water there for the last month. The other day I remarked to myself that due to evaporation and drinking (I was thirsty!), soon the water level in the pot would get low enough for the porridge to start rotting again (it already started once, before my flatmate mustered up the energy to pour some water in it). But then I looked again today and it was full almost to the top again! What a beautiful combination of action and procrastination on her part.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Buying tickets
I haven't read very many comic books, approximately 0 (plus or minus 0) so far, so I don't know if there's a superhero with the superpower of falling asleep. But if there is, they owe YY a buttload of money for the adaptation. I've never seen anyone so gifted. She can fall asleep instantly whether she's tired from working 24 hour shift or just doesn't want to do what I order her to. I can push her over and she'll be asleep before she hits the floor. I can punch her in the face and she'll fall asleep, have a prescient nightmare and wake up in time to dodge the blow.
Not only does she fall asleep fast, but she sleeps more soundly than a pack of dead bears. The only thing that can consistently wake her up is pouring water on her (don't try this with packs of dead bears; Newton's 4th (and not surprisingly last) law says that 10% of dead bears are not actually dead), which I have to do any time I want her to brush her teeth.
This ticket to Thailand business was not fun at all. First YY researched:
click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click
And found a ticket. Then Gene tried to buy the ticket.
CLICK (Gene is a heavy clicker) fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail fail ("WTF! I didn't even click that time!") CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail
Then I decided to prove I was better than everyone else.
click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click cli.................WAIT!
And nearly bought a ticket with 1 stop through Hong Kong where YY is not allowed to go without a letter of recommendation from Chairman Mao. I think this pretty much ends the argument about whether Hong Kong is part of China or not.
After my tragic defeat, Gene clicked some more.
CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK (Gene is a heavy clicker) fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail done CLICK CLICK CLICK
...wait a second...scroll back 3 clicks...we're done! Amazing, sometimes you just never see it coming. And the moral of the story is: sometimes when you try really hard, you succeed by accident.
Not only does she fall asleep fast, but she sleeps more soundly than a pack of dead bears. The only thing that can consistently wake her up is pouring water on her (don't try this with packs of dead bears; Newton's 4th (and not surprisingly last) law says that 10% of dead bears are not actually dead), which I have to do any time I want her to brush her teeth.
This ticket to Thailand business was not fun at all. First YY researched:
click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click
And found a ticket. Then Gene tried to buy the ticket.
CLICK (Gene is a heavy clicker) fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail fail ("WTF! I didn't even click that time!") CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail
Then I decided to prove I was better than everyone else.
click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click cli.................WAIT!
And nearly bought a ticket with 1 stop through Hong Kong where YY is not allowed to go without a letter of recommendation from Chairman Mao. I think this pretty much ends the argument about whether Hong Kong is part of China or not.
After my tragic defeat, Gene clicked some more.
CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK (Gene is a heavy clicker) fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail CLICK fail done CLICK CLICK CLICK
...wait a second...scroll back 3 clicks...we're done! Amazing, sometimes you just never see it coming. And the moral of the story is: sometimes when you try really hard, you succeed by accident.
Friday, September 30, 2011
The Mercurial Cleaning Lady
The good thing about living with Yuan Yuan is if I ask her to put something somewhere, I don't need to worry about forgetting where I told her to put it; I can always find it later on the floor. Having first struggled against but then embraced this reality, I amuse myself with variations on the subject, at her expense if I can manage it:
"Can you put this in the trash can? Sorry, I mean next to the trash can."
"Where do you want this on the floor?"
"Take your shoes off when you walk around on our dinner table!"
"Oh my God! Is that a piece of empty floor I see peeking out? Quick! Cover it with this used tissue!"
"Where's my cellphone? I can't find it on the floor and I know I told you to put it on my desk."
"In case you're wondering later what your bra smells like, it's my left foot."
And then this morning I woke up without the feeling of dread someone with a healthy instinct of self-preservation would have produced as surely as a teenager produces erections. My instinct of self-preservation had taken private lessons with Bob Dole without me knowing and continued to sleep, limp and carefree, as I somnombulated through the waking hours. And then I tried to find the half empty bag of milk I put on the table yesterday to make some coffee and to my astonishment it wasn't on the floor. And neither was anything else. Yuan Yuan had cleaned the room without so much as asking me more than 600 times whether I'd like to help her. All I ask is a little consistency...
"Can you put this in the trash can? Sorry, I mean next to the trash can."
"Where do you want this on the floor?"
"Take your shoes off when you walk around on our dinner table!"
"Oh my God! Is that a piece of empty floor I see peeking out? Quick! Cover it with this used tissue!"
"Where's my cellphone? I can't find it on the floor and I know I told you to put it on my desk."
"In case you're wondering later what your bra smells like, it's my left foot."
And then this morning I woke up without the feeling of dread someone with a healthy instinct of self-preservation would have produced as surely as a teenager produces erections. My instinct of self-preservation had taken private lessons with Bob Dole without me knowing and continued to sleep, limp and carefree, as I somnombulated through the waking hours. And then I tried to find the half empty bag of milk I put on the table yesterday to make some coffee and to my astonishment it wasn't on the floor. And neither was anything else. Yuan Yuan had cleaned the room without so much as asking me more than 600 times whether I'd like to help her. All I ask is a little consistency...
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Going to Thailand to die
Mark gets out of bed, he trips over a strategically places shoe, he skids on a strategically placed bra, he spills into a split across two piles of strategically placed socks, he does an elbow freeze on a strategically placed thermos bottle, a head spin on a strategically placed kettle, a windmill around a strategically placed Macbook Pro and lands gracefully on a strategically placed chair. Crisis averted. Introducing the master of strategy...Yuan Yuan! And that is how you learn to be grateful for surviving each and every day, even if it's not always in one piece.
We're planning a 7-10 day trip to Thailand for mid-November, and since my parents aren't invited, I've started doing some research on where to go once we get to one of Thailand's airports (I've just learned that there is more than one and that Thailand and Bangkok are two slightly different things). Mostly "research" consists of looking at pretty pictures made in Photoshop of Koh This Beach and Phi That Resort (Koh = Phi = Photoshop in Thai), and saying "now if I only had a printer, I could print this picture out and just find it when I get there." But since I don't have a printer, I end up also researching How in addition to Where.
Some of the "directions" are completely useless. But some I can tell at first glance are going to be invaluable. Here's a diamond in the rough:
"[Going to Railay and Tonsai] From Ao Nang this is a very simple process. You talk to a boatman, identified by their numbered and coloured shirts..."
A most promising beginning that doesn't let you down:
"... who will tell you to buy a ticket from one of two booths on Ao Nang beach at 80B per person. When there are 8 people wishing to go you will be escorted to a longtail boat and captained around the dramatic limestone karst headland. You will arrive 15 minutes later, at Railay or Tonsai. If you are lucky, at high tide the boat arrives right on the beach, but if the tide is out then you will have to wade to the beach from 50 metres out. You will get at least your feet and calves, and possibly your bottom, wet."
Once you get past the style, you can see it for the information-rich nugget this is. Here's what I learned:
1. I'm going to have to review grade-school math and/or take an accountant with me.
2. I'm never getting to Ao Nang in a million years.
3. If I'm lucky and I do get to Ao Nang, my bottom will be wet when the tide brings my decomposing corpse to shore a few days and 15 minutes later.
Can't wait!
We're planning a 7-10 day trip to Thailand for mid-November, and since my parents aren't invited, I've started doing some research on where to go once we get to one of Thailand's airports (I've just learned that there is more than one and that Thailand and Bangkok are two slightly different things). Mostly "research" consists of looking at pretty pictures made in Photoshop of Koh This Beach and Phi That Resort (Koh = Phi = Photoshop in Thai), and saying "now if I only had a printer, I could print this picture out and just find it when I get there." But since I don't have a printer, I end up also researching How in addition to Where.
Some of the "directions" are completely useless. But some I can tell at first glance are going to be invaluable. Here's a diamond in the rough:
"[Going to Railay and Tonsai] From Ao Nang this is a very simple process. You talk to a boatman, identified by their numbered and coloured shirts..."
A most promising beginning that doesn't let you down:
"... who will tell you to buy a ticket from one of two booths on Ao Nang beach at 80B per person. When there are 8 people wishing to go you will be escorted to a longtail boat and captained around the dramatic limestone karst headland. You will arrive 15 minutes later, at Railay or Tonsai. If you are lucky, at high tide the boat arrives right on the beach, but if the tide is out then you will have to wade to the beach from 50 metres out. You will get at least your feet and calves, and possibly your bottom, wet."
Once you get past the style, you can see it for the information-rich nugget this is. Here's what I learned:
1. I'm going to have to review grade-school math and/or take an accountant with me.
2. I'm never getting to Ao Nang in a million years.
3. If I'm lucky and I do get to Ao Nang, my bottom will be wet when the tide brings my decomposing corpse to shore a few days and 15 minutes later.
Can't wait!
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Beard optimization
I was trying to give Yuan Yuan's face carpet burn with my (2nd day) 5 o'clock shadow today but she just giggled like the Pillsbury doughboy. I told her how when I was little my dad used to hug me and rub his neatly trimmed beard on my face and how it would always take me days to regrow my face afterwards and how I dreamed about having a coarse bristly beard like that when I got older so I could ambush strangers in the street and rub their faces raw with my thorny beard but how so far I hadn't gotten very far with this dream at all and how she'd probably have better luck rubbing her barely hairful Asian legs on people's faces. Then I realized that the tiny grain of truth in my story was nearly invisible behind the cotton candy sphere of imagination that I was weaving around it. Then I started trying really hard to believe in the imagined version, so that next time I could remember it as "the real story." I can't believe we use people's testimony as evidence. You might as well ask a complete stranger to imagine what might have happened.
"Do you solemnly swear to imagine the whole truth and nothing but the truth?"
"Absolutely not."
"Damn. Anyway, be advised that anything you imagine can and will be used against the defendant."
Yuan Yuan is the queen of disproportionate responses:
(walking outside)
YY suddenly jumps and shrieks like a squirrel being stretched in the 5th dimension. I frantically whip around and check her fingernails for any needles that may have worked their way under them by accident.
Me: what wrong??
YY: I just remembered! WE'RE OUT OF PICKLES!
Me: that word I taught you earlier, it was wrong. It means bian lun, not zheng lun.
YY: k, write down bian for me.
Me: how bout I write the first stroke (of the character) and you write the rest. (the first stroke is a dot)
YY: ok, but if you put the dot in the wrong place, I'll kill you.
Me: how can the first stroke be in the wrong place?
YY: shake on it?
YY: my mom is coming to Beijing to work.
Me: hmm?
YY: we have to break up. Or one of us has to die.
And the most ridiculous to date...
Me: f u!
YY: f u!
Me: (cries)
(don't forget to adjust for my creative memory)
"Do you solemnly swear to imagine the whole truth and nothing but the truth?"
"Absolutely not."
"Damn. Anyway, be advised that anything you imagine can and will be used against the defendant."
Yuan Yuan is the queen of disproportionate responses:
(walking outside)
YY suddenly jumps and shrieks like a squirrel being stretched in the 5th dimension. I frantically whip around and check her fingernails for any needles that may have worked their way under them by accident.
Me: what wrong??
YY: I just remembered! WE'RE OUT OF PICKLES!
Me: that word I taught you earlier, it was wrong. It means bian lun, not zheng lun.
YY: k, write down bian for me.
Me: how bout I write the first stroke (of the character) and you write the rest. (the first stroke is a dot)
YY: ok, but if you put the dot in the wrong place, I'll kill you.
Me: how can the first stroke be in the wrong place?
YY: shake on it?
YY: my mom is coming to Beijing to work.
Me: hmm?
YY: we have to break up. Or one of us has to die.
And the most ridiculous to date...
Me: f u!
YY: f u!
Me: (cries)
(don't forget to adjust for my creative memory)
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