March 27th , 2008
"Gong gong gong vuh vuh vuh zuh zuh zuh."
Like the gutteral wet slobbering of a vommiting pig.
Everytime I hear shanghainese people speak to each other, I feel like I'm watching monkeys bicker in an ugly dance of self-defense. No warmth, no emotion, just assholes being defensive and offensive. Each sentence is a preemptive strike full of sarcasm and fear, malicious and hurtful, vile and bitter.
The only expression that could possibly be positive in the conversation is laughter, but its invariably twisted into something malicious, like hyenas sucking the will from their prey to make it an easier and more submissive kill.
Show a shanghainese person empathy or sympathy and their reaction is to take advantage of you. And if one genuinely cares for youthe best they can do is not hurt you. The warmer you are, the more they will pull away. To shanghainese, refraining from attack is love...
Wonderful city...
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March 26th , 2008
China's still a little backwater compared to the States. China may be godless, but just replace the word "religion" with "tradition", and its no different than most of the mid US. A lot of Chinese men hold an animosity towards foreign men especially. The society's still repressed, and jealousy quickly sprouts when a repressed public meet one more liberated and happy. Women here are moving forward more quickly than men because liberation in their case means escaping a male dominated society. While most are good and kind men, there are western men take advantage of this deceitfully, coupling the resultant anger in the population of lonely Chinese guys.
The cultural revolution left the boomer generation here with much less education than the preceding and following generations and the boomers outnumber the latest generation by 2 to 1 (due to the one-child policy). The cultural revolution, if you don't know or don't remember was one to re-instill purity in the Chinese nation, much as Hitler wanted to re-instill purity in Germany, except the Chinese were more successful and Mao is still seen as a hero by many. Even those who think that what he did to the country was wrong dare not say he was a bad man or even that he wasn't a hero, not for fear, but for the constant infusing of doctrine and dogma into their education and media.
Right and wrong are very fuzzy ideas here. Much like Americans, they have a sort of moral laziness, and rely on someone else to define right and wrong for them. Americans look to the bible. Chinese look to tradition. In both cases, the government is controlled by and controlling those answers that are given to the public, one openly and obviously and the other less openly, but still obviously. Luckily for both governments, people like to live with their eyes closed and sales-figures in rose-colored glasses have not dwindled in a long time.
Might makes right in China. As a large part of the population is very far from wealthy and struggles daily, being overworked and severely underpaid, they see the "clever" ('clever' is the Chenglish word for deceitful and crooked) businessman as a sort of hero, a role-model for their children. In Shanghai especially, money is king. The social requirements for a man to get married are A) he must own a car, B) he must own a home, C) he must have a "good" job, supposedly something with decent pay and a future. This norm is followed in zombie-like fashion without question or thought, and the rare sub-population who defies these ordinances are seen as dirty and westernized. The result in Shanghai is a population of young men who expect to purchase a bride, and therefore a population of young women who sell themselves as little more than lifelong prostitutes.
China's official policy on foreign people is to welcome them and support them. Bring in business. Infuse China with wealth and power. All the while, the Chinese media, which I remind you is completely government controlled, constantly portrays "foreigners" (not foreign people, political correctness is a long way from coming to China) as morally corrupt, wild, and dangerous. This is to keep them separate, instill a fear and hate of "foreigners" while supporting the using of the resources and opportunities they bring. The result: patriotism and national pride are as rampant in China as are racism and bigotry.
Why instill a population with such contradicting ideas? Simple. You cannot control a nation with tradition if the population sees outside liberal cultures and societies as more desirable than their own, and as a result of China's "clever" education process, you will be hard pressed to meet the Chinese person who will not tell you of their pride in China's 5000 years of history and culture. The fact that said history was rife with civil war, brutality, and oppression need not enter their mind. Chinese do not see themselves as individuals, but rather as parts of groups, so to question the history or culture of China is to insult their very being. I advise others to tread lightly in this subject.
Controlling a Nation. Good, Bad or Necessary? I don't know...
I'll make this a multi-parter. Too much to write in one sitting.
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March 19th , 2008
LINE 01: RUN She is sweet to me.
LINE 10: RUN I am sweet to her, and nurture her sweetness with
LINE 20: RUN She becomes distant or apathetic or careless.
LINE 30: RUN I continue to be sweet and ask her to stop being distant.
LINE 40: RUN She tells me where to put it or calls me a child or blames me in some fashion for her bad mood affecting her attitude toward me when in fact it is 9 times out of 10 a result of shit rolling downhill and the nice guys being at the bottom... (this means, for the english impaired, that she gets hurt by someone else, and then hurts me to make herself feel better, consciously, subconsciously, intentionally, carelessly, passively, or aggressively, it makes no difference)
LINE 50: RUN I try to be understanding and talk with her through her problems.
LINE 60: RUN She throws it in my face.
LINE 70: RUN I get pissed off (funny how getting "shit on" makes you get "pissed off") and I explode.
LINE 80: RUN She acts like a distant hurt person for a day or two and then feels sorry...
LINE 90: intBitterness = intBitterness + 1
LINE 100: intTrust = intTrust - 1
GOTO LINE 1
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March 15th , 2008
I'll always love May. I still dont trust her. I will continue to look elsewhere for the support that I imagine she cannot give me. Maybe this is unfair. Maybe I should suffer and wait. I promised her I would drink too much tonight. I tried very hard to keep that promise, but I believe I may have gone a little bit over the top. I am lucid, but not fully in control.
I like myself when I am like this and I hate myself when I am like this. I am easy-going, kind, confident, and a decent human being. However, I am not the most responsible.
I danced with a stuffed rabbit tonight. I named it. I stroked it and held it gently... I am not using metaphors. This doesnt mean i met a woman and did bad things to her. I actually danced with a stuffed rabbit in public. People thought me strange. I didn't care. I teased a girl. I think I will more and more often... I dont really want to "close the deal" as it were. I love somebody. I love her deeply and my life, soul, and hope is forfeit because of it. But the teasing is fun.
I am a terrible man. I am a wonderful terrible man...
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March 10th , 2008
I’m not spoiled or rich. I had no silver spoon. My parents moved out of state when I was 18. I worked in a burger joint for a few years and threw newspapers at night in my late teens and early twenties. I tried to stay above water and keep my ideals in focus. I attended classes in local community colleges, changing majors as often as underwear; psychology to philosophy, liberal arts, art history, political science, film… I later even spent quite a bit of energy in marketing and business classes, as it seemed a necessary evil.
Previously, I had found my hand forced in choices of life and career paths, sometimes influenced by circumstance, partly by societal pressures, but in the end, only made possible with the help of good old fashioned self-delusion and denial. In the end I realized I had spent more time trying to make money than find contentment when making choices. Though the latter focus was never completely lost in my attention, its priority became superficial and far too many justifications and compromises were allowed to be made to properly suit its needs.
I have found painfully, but hopefully not too late, that this direction was not simply unsuitable, but rather impossible for the straight-edge high school hippie who would impart on others such words of advice as, “conformity breeds mediocrity,” and, “radix malorum est cupiditas.” While preaching the evils of wealth while pushing his own controversial limits, he absorbed such materials as he could find through inspiring teachers and friends. He was enamored with penitent stories like ‘The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner’, comforted by William Blake’s simple and dichotomous beliefs and his Charlie Brown like approachability in poems such as ‘A Poison Tree’, and resolutely envious of the morbid and satirical wit of more modern authors like Douglas Adams.
When I ended my last job after almost 5 years of employment, stagnating in the dogma and politics of that soulless arena, I took advantage of the much-anticipated opportunity to re-discover myself. I left everything I knew, emptied my 401k, and headed for China, far away from pressures and expectations that had controlled the patterns that ruled my life. I studied Chinese at Jiao Tong University, taking no conventions seriously. I indulged in a deletion of self, testing all the values, stigmas, and judgments I had made in previous years. Some things truly surprised me, or rather some people, but often I would only find affirmation of my old self, my old beliefs and ideals.
Much like a faulty pendulum, I am finding center. So it is time to re-contribute. It is time to do so without letting myself fall into the pit of materialism and unjustifiable justifications that trapped me in previous times. I am looking to further my personal knowledge in all things and to disseminate truth when and if I have the opportunity. To keep myself interested, I hope to do so as creatively as possible. To keep others interested, I hope to do so as creatively as possible.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
- Robert Frost
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March 7th , 2008
I am beyond tragically "emo" these days. Everything I do, everything I see, I just want her there to make it better. I haven't been in this much pain for years... Anything emotional, anything with a crescendo, anything moving in the least pulls tears from my eyes. I'm a child again, crying as bob sagget hugs his three kids at the end of a twenty-minute melodrama.
The passing years of perspective living on all sides of cool, loved and loving, hurt and dealing pain leave me with an all too clear image of how completely pathetic I look to the world right now... I've given up cool. I've given up appearances or pretense or self-defense...
I am pure and raw and bleeding, completely exposed and completely unconsolable and unconsoled. No one could ever give me enough right now, and those who might dare try would be sucked dry, left an empty husk, as week-old melon-rind, begging the vampire to open a vein to ther lips.
So I ask no one, I dare not. I have no veins left to open. I beg the one who took my blood to help me, to return it, foolishly... foolishly... She knows who she is. She knows what she is. Her heart runs deep. Her body is calloused.
Once I told her I had a dream. In the dream, I died. Only then, when she realized what the word was and why my life had been given, could she use everything I had given her. Only then could she understand and become what she was destined to be sloughing off the pain and protection, hiding only behind reality and the truth and her own enmity and integrity, a far more powerful and realistic force than me, and coupled with my energy, with every ounce of blood and tears I had poured into her... pure and perfect and sad and eternal...
It sounds like the worst kind of manipulation, to tell someone such a dream. But the dream was real, so clear and poignant, with hints of a sixth sense, like projected deja vu. It was more than a year ago, I think. Then, I was certain then I would die within the hour. I just wanted her to know before I had no chance to say goodbye...
I lived on, as most things do... far past their usefulness, and I forgot the dream... as I forget many things...
But here I am, sobbing over my keyboard, inundating myself with duncan shiek's "she runs away", foo fighters' "walking after you", chris isaak's "wicked games" dave mathews band's "satellite", india arie's every song she ever made, etc... pushing myself into cliched hysteria and hoplessness, striving hard to hit bottom...
And the dream floats back, the urgency of it subdued, but the power increased ten fold...
These are the pills my sister gave me for sleeping when I was in the states...
There are too few, and my pain, my desires for oblivion, revenge, and transferral of spirit into those who would be more productive with it than I don't yet outweigh what I once called my optimism and hope, but have come to realize is only my basest animal self-protection afforded me by my egotistical and delusional psyche and fear of 'final disappointment'... "Is that all there is?" - peggy lee.
I have more and more faith I will defeat the lesser reasons and find stronger pills... but not today... Maybe I will row to the middle of a calm lake in autumn, as the golden leaves of a black trunked forest reflect against the sunset-lit ripples in the peacefully undulating water. Maybe I will find Hemmingway in my golden years... maybe I will join Christ and Lennon in my double-san...
Whatever the case, when my final tears hit the water, I hope the ripples go far and wide, deeply and gently pushing the actors n what was my story into roads less travelled and paths more pure. If I never see the sunlight, I hope through me, someone will... I love you Maymay...
In your eyes, I can see that you've had enough... and it pains my head...
Even if I live to be a hundred and two, I dont think I'll ever get over you...
When you dream, what do you dream about? Are they colored or black and white, yiddish or english or languages not yet conceived?
i have to speculate that god himself did make us into corresponding shapes like puzzle pieces from the clay.
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March 4th , 2008
I've told this story too many times. So here's the short. I went out, had some drinks and some malatang. fuzzy fuzzy fuzzy, was walking in the street with my friends, a chair hit the back of my head. I turned to just barely see some Chinese guy, and say "为什么" (chinese for "why?") He continued to beat me in the head with the chair. I took a step, stumbled and twisted my ankle, fell to the ground saying, "why, why, why..." in chinese. I was beaten unconscious.
I woke up in bed 4 or 5 hours later, hair matted and caked in dry blood. My friend was with me. I guess they carried me home. The report was that I had spoken loudly to the chinese man and he did not understand because I spoke english. I asked if I had spoken angrily. My friend said no, and that the man was drunk. I asked if they called the police. No one had.
This is not the first time... This is just the first time the guy had a chair... Racism here needs to be addressed. Teaching future generations is not enough. Social mixing is basically prohibited through means such as this... I am tired and in pain... The one person here I call family has not really been available...
I feel worse now than I have in a long long time. I am angry. I am hurt. I am sad. I feel unconsolably helpless...
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March 1st , 2008
Every time I see something beautiful
It strikes too harshly into contrast
the rest of the world and its futility
My stomach tightens, My throat constricts
I wince and jerk my head down and away
trying to hold back the realization that reality
is
what reality is
Disappointment crushes my frail body
and I feel my soul welling up
trying to escape from my eyes
like a precognitive rodent
from a sea floor-bound vessel
I feel only flesh around me
Blood pumping, gushing clumsily
through a mass of marbled meat
I can hear the greasy creaking of sinews
pulling wet sloppy cartilage,
grinding it against rough dilapidated bone...
Everything is real and painfully physical
Other empty shells brush against me
I feel sick from the stink of their sweat
and the give of their fat.
I don't want it anymore...
I cant keep watching
If good is potential, If god is justice,
If good is beauty, If good is truth,
If god is respect, If god is ...
If men truly have the ability to think and choose
Then this world is an affront to all that is holy
Cognition without disgust is my sacrilegious...
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February 28th, 2008
I'm okay this morning. Feeling better, a little freer this morning. Having a brighter outlook. Looking forward to new experiences again, excited by the prospects of life.
I was invited to go to Hangzhou this weekend by a frend of mine and his wife, two of the only two truly sweet people I think I have met in this city for whom I can find no ulterior motive or reason for deception. I wish I could go, but I work weekends and have to give two weeks notice to take time off. I really should change my schedule, but I would find it hard to part with the lazy days in which I enjoy my own secluded melancholy.
It's 7:12 AM here. I woke up around 5, smelling like the soap from the massage place downstairs, horribly strong and dry, its fragrance tastelessly repugnant in its mechanic's motor-oil-removing soap-like smell. Coupled by the
wall unit heater burning every molecule of water into two dry hydrogens and a lonely oxygen, compounded by the dehydrating effect of the three bottles of saki I drank at dinner last night, and multiplied by the cheap massage oil clogging my pores and replacing any moisture I had left in my skin with a dry itchy greasy sunburn-like starchiness, I found my eyelids had shrunken like a newbie inmates puckered sphincter around my dry and seemingly pea-sized eyes.
Hmmm... that was descriptive. :)
Anyway, I got up, drank some water (gave some to my eyes too), peed, and couldn't sleep. So I turned on a light that was far too bright and resumed 'Spin' by Robert Charles Wilson.
It's good. Fairly sensual, interesting, not predictable, comfortably real thus far. And best of all, it made me feel good. An hour later, my mind was stimulated, my heart was a bit excited, and my soul was just a tad warmer. I put down the book and turned off the light, and noticed he sun was up.
The light coming through the window brought the descriptive summer scenes of the book with it's barbeques and multiple sunsets and true love-making under an infiniteand impossible living sky to life. I know that in all actuality, it's cold and dreary outside, and that the city out there is full of horrible and cruel people, but I feel good in the comfort of this room with the notions and ideas implanted by a man who disseminated them through dried dark wet dirt patterned onto flattened dead tree matter bound by what once might have been parts of a champion thoroughbred.
Thanks, Mr. author. Thank you dirt. Thank you tree. Thank you horse. Nothing particularly good is happening, but through random instances of variables only seen by me and god, I feel good this morning, and I'm proud to a product of even more complex events and actions who can both understand why and continue to feel it. Thanks Mr. universe. Thank you sister. Thank you father. Thank you mother.
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February 19th, 2008
To anyone who has been paying attention to the comments, May is Charlie. She has been reading these days. I thought she might. She has moments of weakness, sometimes long moments. She has been, in her own way, kind. I can't say she hasn't changed at all. Her philopsophies have changed and radically, it's her habits that remain the same... and even those are slowly changing. Though I can't be hers in the way that I once was, a main reason being I believe my presence and support enabled her to stagnate, and though my heart aches and my ability to trust has been ripped out, I truly wish her luck and I support her in her endeavor to change should she truly try to. I ask that you do the same. I know all this sounds horribly patronizing, arrogant, and flip-floppy, but it's not. It's meant to be sincere and genuine. With the note that I am prone to hyperbole, I mean every word I write now, just as I meant every word I wrote before.
My reasons for the good will:
- Whether she properly knows how to or not, whether its a side-effect of her own selfishness or not, she has been with me a long time and shown me great acts of love
- Selfish and stupid as it sounds, she is one of the few people who has power to give my faith back to me...
- She loves my family. She felt that time spent with them was one of the best times in her life. She and they deserve to have that known between them and I absolutely believe it to be true. After all, I have a great family
- Mama told me black and white is not good, which means no one is all evil, which is absolutley true
- Lastly, I do love her, and always will. My heart will always have a piece missing as will my life without her. My bane, the beast of shanghai.
Yes, maybe her words are meant to manipulate and she doesnt even know it, but she still hurts, and water comes out of her eyes, and yet she still writes them, the kind and humble words as an anonymous party. She takes her time to make things right, but eventually, she almost more than at least half the time, does in the end make things right. And the percentage is going up all the time.
So many have called me stupid. Said not to be honest with people who hurt me, but that just seems counterproductive. If she was noone, I would agree, but she's not. For better or worse, she was mine.
I invite you to comment support or disdain. I do not know everything, and the words I'm saying now mean nothing more than meow to an animal. I remember a time when people who did things wrong were held accountable for their transgressions. This is how they grew, through shame and judgement. Nowadays, too many people just ignore problems or show a kind face, enabling idiots and assholes to be idiots and assholes for all eternity. It takes the village to raise an idiot. Constructive criticism can be harsh. Love can be tough. And without it today, you may be left with an idiot and an asshole. Don't get wishy-washy just cause she reads this. Don't hold back because you might crush my soul. For me and for Charlie, please fire away at us both.
By the way, if I disagree or don't respect you, I'll put you on my naughty list. Charlie, on the other hand, will make your life hell through very very complicated means that not even she will understand. Seriously, though, to those of you who know her, she does care how you feel. She stills cries, she still bleeds.
I hate you May
I love you Charlie
My brain hurts...
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February 17th, 2008
When May first met me, she liked me because we both subscribed to the same beliefs in freedom and living honestly. I enabled in her a kind of irresponsibility and separation from the life her parents, her friends, and her society had pushed into her head as right and necessary. She showed me that the material girl can dream of more, that people are all trapped in the same vice; a vice of expectation, each pigeonholed into some thing or another. And at the same, time, I felt deeply comfortable with her, something which I never wish to be misunderstood or underplayed for the appeal of it was and is truly awesome and indescribable, and, though I have theories and meticulous records psychological, chemical, and biological assumptions stored between synapses, the mechanics of it still remain beautiful and undiscovered.
- i am not stupid -
i miss happiness and peace
and faith in small things
and safety
and security
and everything
...
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February 16th, 2008
My x-girlfriend is possibly one of the worst human beings I've ever met. I know now what attracted her to me. She was so like my first girlfriend; careless, successful, and irresponsible. There are at least ten other words floating in my head that don't exist to describe her, and several dozen that I can't write here and keep this blog suitable for all audiences. But I will illustrate my point through satirical allegorical metaphor.
I fell on a knife... from a second story window, broke three ribs, my leg, and fractured my skull. She was busy and had to go somewhere, so she walked by and said, "I love you. I have to meet some people for dinner. I dont really like them, so it'll be short. I'll be back soon," and tossed me a band-aid as she headed out to the clubs for dancing with everyone else, and I do mean everyone.
After the next two hours of agonizing pain and internal bleeding leading to my painful death, I was... well... dead. She called me and said, "ok, I'm on my way out. Just wanted you to know."
As my dead body spit blood, I was able to breathe out the words, "What?! I've been waiting for two hours? You're just going out now?! eeeeeeuuhhh...." Eeeeeeuuhhh.... was the sound of my soul falling out of my mouth and rolling into the gutter due to the sudden disappearance of all faith in people and its being replaced by my utter disappointment of the world. I make this sound nightly... I should record it sometime...
She became angry, and said, "God, If you're just gonna act like that, I guess I shouldn't have called at all. Whatever. Anyway, I'm busy so I have to go. I left you a band-aid so you are ok now. Right? Byebye." (The "Right?" even almost sounded like a question as it blended into the "Byebye.")
Two and a half hours later, when I could barely see the asphault on which my face was planted because my eyes were drying out and rotting in my skull, she called again. I didnt pick up because I was dead and soulless. So she sent a message, "I'm leaving now, have a good night."
I didn't respond. Y'know, the whole no soul thing. She called several more times a few hours later, finally sent another message, "Where are you? I'm sorry you felt bad, are you dead or did you go out? I can't sleep now. Don't make me worry!"
If I thought for half a second she gave a rat's ass about me, I might have regained a bit of soul, but she oozes with false concern only when she doesn't want to feel guilty or be held responsible later. It's part of her do-as-little-for-people-as-possible-without-seeing-myself-as-a-monster philosophy. My soul couldn't justify filling her quota for the night. She'll find another way to fill it anyway.
I sent her a message, "My leg's broken, my ribs are cracked, and my brain is getting too much oxygen. Sorry I didn't pick up. I was resting. It would have been nice if you had helped me. But I know you don't care enough to, so just forget it. I'm dead, what's done is done, leave me alone. I'll do something else with my dead soulless body."
"Don't say I didn't care! I called you! I'm great and super! And I gave you a band-aid! Ok, have fun. Goodnight :)" she replied
It went on and on. This is no exaggeration. This is a girl who would look at you in disgust for being sick with a 104 degree fever for a week, who would answer the phone from another man's bed, "What?!" angry at you for bothering her, who would call you "a child" for wanting to spend time with her the last night before she went under the knife for surgery. And this is how she treats those she loves.
Why did I love her. I know now. I never gave up on my first girlfriend. I needed to know that these people who seemed careless and terrible were in fact salvagable, that they had souls too and that the world wasn't a bad place. I know better now. I know now that there is black and white, and that some people have no other purpose but to take and take and let others suffer. It isn't a place that is bad, it's the people.
Some of you might say this is harsh, but its true. What's really sad is my x knows this website, but never gave a shit about it in the two years we were together. She could have known me deeply, but never really cared. She'd rather shop online for handbags and boots. If she ever reads this, it'll be at least a month from now, maybe six. She'll continue to tell herself she cares and she's great and she loves me. I doubt she ever will... read this, I mean. I have no idea if she is capable of love.
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February 6th, 2008
In this dark and this empty
land that I dwell
where heaven is earth
and heaven is hell
deceit is the game
self is the world
the gift of a turtle
love has unfurled
flesh for a time
blood for a pearl
chickens for boys
ducks for the girls
Shanghaied in Shanghai
eat crow and stew pigeon
buddhists turn christian
peace clouding their vision
the sky is not grey
the grass is not brown
upside and down
spin it around
mei ge ren pian ren
mei ge xin tai hei
nothing nice to hear
nothing nice to say
gouge out your eyes
and play in the sun
sometimes the blind
can forget there is none
the sign of the beast
best worn for luck
the masses are dying
while none give a fuck
Shanghaied in Shanghai
cant call it hell
the devil won't come
there're no souls to sell
- Fragilebob
feb 6, 2008 22:43
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February 6th, 2008
It's New Year's Eve here in Shanghai. It's about 9pm. I'm naked in bed, a little cold, watching old Stargate: SG-1 episodes on pirated DVD. There are fireworks of every color and variety exploding outside my seventh floor apartment window. And I am utterly alone.
I woke up about an hour ago, saw several messages and a few missed calls on my cell phone. Friends, lovers, admirers... Mostly people I truly treasure, people who have been good to me in hard times, but few who I think understand me, and no one I truly feel I trust... It's not necessarily their failing, more likely mine. I am too, well, for lack of a better word, "fragile" to keep the ever-sunny disposition that some people manage to use to hide distrust and shield themselves from intelligence.
The only call I answered was that of my ex. It's been kind of a crummy day. Silly people being silly, adults acting like children, alienating people.. alienating me. Some surprises from some, but the same old from others. "A group is controlled by its least healthy member." I find it more and more true the longer I persist in meeting new people.
I haven't written about my ex here at all yet. Sadly, I haven't written here much at all over the last few years mainly due to her... She's put me through a lot of pain. I've put her through some hard times too. We lived together for the better part of a year, have found some insurmountable differences, and have decided to part.
Its very difficult for me to write about these kinds of things because they are so close to my heart, so the juicy and the jesting is absent from this entry. But she did some good things today to try to fix a bad situation. It's too little and too late to save her and my romantic future together, but I wanted to give her kudos for her efforts and give her recognition for her change, especially in light of some of her influences. Monkey see, monkey do. Carrot, stick, and all that...
Her mother deserves some recognition as well. 妈妈, you are a conundrum, a dilemma, and a paradox. Inconsistency tires me, but surprises tantalize me. I despise a person who takes advantage of those weaknesses.
Digression: It's more lonely than I thought, and not made better by the fact that in some ways it is my choice. I don't want to be alone... I want inspiration, support, and integrity... I will not settle... I am doomed to remain in the title of this entry...
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February 3rd, 2008
Relationships are so bloody complicated. Social paralyzation appears to be the inevitable outcome of life, sooner or later. Whether it be the failure to move out of a bad relationship or the inability to try moving into another good one, the results are the same.
Actually, I'm playing this up a bit. I am ever the optimist, expecting that something good will happen tomorrow, or maybe the day after... actually, I'm sure something terrible will happen tomorrow and the day after, but things will clear up someday...
The problem with this is that the after-someday time is growing shorter and shorter. I'm by no means old, but I'm not so young anymore either. When my father was my age, he had been married ten years, had an eight-year-old son and a 3 year-old daughter.
Probably foolishly, I think I am ready for the kids, but finding a suitable pot of soil to plant them in, as it were, is not so easy. So here I sit, petrified, just coming out of yet another dissapointing episode in the life of Bob. I am not ready to move forward, but extremely fearful that I might slip back.
Uninteresting. It's the only word I think suits me. When anyone becomes a pattern, what is the point? I know I'm not so simple, but I am also painfully aware of how poeple appear to each other, and sadly, I am a person.
So the goal for now is simplicity. I don't know if this includes bliss, ignorance, or stupidity. I drank socially for the first time in quite awhile last night and found it easy to let the mind wander to simple things without guilt or fear. I'm not sure I like the feeling actually. It feels... irresponsible. It feels counterproductive... I am not an irresponsible man. I will not be a counterproductive bob.
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January 31st, 2008
I just read over a few of my old entries. It's hard to believe I havent updated this in over a year. I find myself disappointed... My thoughts over the last year have been less than divine or philisophical, perhaps not completely without hope, but I do find my current station stagnant and uninspired when compared with what I once was.
These last few months, I have been looking to re-invent. I want to announce that my brooding, angry, hopeful, romantic, irritating self is back. I will be trying to drastically improve upon both what I was and what I have become. My newfound patience for stupidity is a thing I am not sure if I will keep. It seems sometimes that it serves both the world and myself well, but I don't know if it is truly an ally or foe.
I think I need to meditate on the glass... the glass of doom...
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June 13th, 2006
Last night, I got my hair cut by Kenny, the gay chinese stylist. My friend brought me. translated "cut four inches off, exact same style" and then left. I hadn't had a haircut in 4 months, so I thought this would do the trick, especially as Kenny came highly recommended.
I found that Kenny likes to cut and cut and cut. He likes layers. He likes old men. I had no way to stop Kenny as I did not see him (glasses were off) and I can not speak enough chinese to direct him anyway, so I looked a little more mature and with a lot shorter hair than I was comfortable with.
So I called my friend, "Help! Tell Kenny it's too clean. Make it a little choppy." Realize that the translation from a western language to an asian language was required for this little game. Then throw in the "my Chinese friend with a decent but not flawless grasp of the english language was in the middle of a business meeting with a new client" variable... If you've ever played telephone as a kid, you can let your mind wander creatively as you try to imagine what Kenny must have been told.
Kenny began to cut again. He cut alot. Then he cut some more. "He was a professional," I thought. "Just Let him do his work. Close your eyes and it will all be over soon."
Anyway... it's choppy
(Please, someone tell me I'm still beautiful)
Even though I saw it and died inside, I was still under the impression that it must have looked good to someone due to Kenny's high recommendation and implied skill. So I tipped him well, tried to smile and be gracious, and left the salon in a stupor... trying to like it, trying not to care.
Seven stories of escalators with mirrored walls later, I was panicked.
I waited for my friend in the front of the mall, curled up in a ball seated on the edge of the planter trying not to look too tragic. My friend, the event planner who is way too cool for me, showed up and smiled, but I could tell. She looked left. And there was a nervous twitch, a tightening of her jowels and a quick gulp of shame hidden beneath her smile.
She called me a "girl" during dinner due to my incessant whining (which I thought I was being rather manly and tactful about), but I could tell she was compensating, she felt guilty. She kept looking down or away. I joked about it to make her less uncomfortable, and she told me a similar story about her boyfriends hair, which she still feels resonsible for... Ah, relived guilt compounded by my situation... excellent! Someone should suffer for this tragedy!
The next morning, I gave up and trying to part it or push it out of my face and it became the mop you see above. I went online and moaned to some girlfriends, who were very supportive (and thats all I really need, beautiful women telling me I'm a fine man). so I got brave enough to go out for lunch.
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June 4th, 2006
"And Jesus cried with a loud voice, and gave up the ghost."
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April 26th, 2006
A thought occurred to me yesterday while waxing random thoughts with a new friend. I could not possibly be more than I actually am, so I must be less, limited by my own perceptions and self-defeatism... The subsequent questions ineveitably being, "Who is the me that imagined me? What dreamed me up? Is it infinite? Is it limited?" and finally, "How can I become it?"
The resulting lack of answers to such ridiculous questions quickly quashed this line of thought, so I let it marinate... bothering me in the hot part of the back of my head.
Unfortunately, today, in a related tangent, I began to realize I'm only a figment of others' imaginations as well, even more limited than I had suspected by my own thoughts. This is nothing I hadn't already known, but I realized it to an uncomfortable degree today. "A depressed face, a wet carpet, and a strange floral sheet..." This is "the impression of u" (u being me) as stated by Eggy today.
"Wow. That's... horrible." I could hardly be less. "I suppose a plain face, unnoticeable carpet, and unremarkable sheet would be worse, but not terribly so." ... She just laughed and agreed.
Does the number "one" know it fills a larger role. Does it actually fill a larger role or is it just hopeful thinking? Is it's finite value truly part of a larger value or is it really only one, differing from all other one's only in temporality and location? Does it have boundaries or were those simply defined by others trying to put chaos in order, separate and identify, limited themselves by further imaginary separations.
If a tree falls through an eternal void, does it exist?
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April 25th, 2006
"Life is Marvelous"
- Fragilebob and Beauty
April 25, 2006 12:22 PM
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April 19th, 2006
Freedom is a thing we take for granted, though rarely does it truly exist. Taxes and death are not the only circumstances we can't cheat. To believe otherwise is not only foolish, but irresponsible and selfish. The problem with the illusion is that for anyone with an open mind and half an imagination, the need to feel each experience, be it good or bad, and the misconception that it is indeed possible to do so will not quickly enough be hindered by reality. Dreams will only be smashed by practicality when they seem just within reach.
Since I've been in China, this is much less the case. I hear the word traditional quite often. It is the measurement of this quality in a person that truly defines them here in a world striving so hard to push forward into the next step of societal evolution. It is a beautiful time. It is a time of nearly unadultered change. It is a time in which I feel at home. Though it is ancient, the country is like an infant in many ways. Here, I am a teacher. I speak english. I am liberal. I am socially responsible. Here, I was born with the silver spoon. I have the opportunity to either take advantage of the nation's naivety or responsibly guide it into the next generation. The temptations to execute the former have not been lost on me, but the self-loathing and white guilt inspired by encounters of fellow foreigners have kept me in check.
I hope I continue to meet such horrible people...
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April 5th, 2006
I should have been more careful with it. It had broken before, and though I was able to mend it, I did so crudely and quickly. My attentions were too unfocused. And now, a part of it is lost forever. Perhaps it will turn up unexpectedly in a pocket or in the dustpan after I do some serious cleaning, but my hopes run low...
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January 30th, 2006
As time is short and so is money. I have been forced to start hocking my childhood. This is a Time Walk from Magic the Gathering. It is a very rare card that we, the dorky multitudes, would wet our pants over as we roamed the halls in high school. It is now on ebay where I will be selling a great many of my other memories as well. This is my "Woody The Cowboy" if you will. A part of me is dying, but as I have kept it locked away for several years I cannot justify keeping it longer. It deserves a chance to play again.
Oh, Time Walk
Oh, Time Walk
Your edges are curved and so soothing
Though you're faceless and odd
to many, still I nod
in your direction
with approving a glance
Oh, Time Walk
Oh, Time Walk
Your letters are bold and impressive
The love of a boy
for his childhood joy
is what truly
defines this romance
Oh, Time Walk
Oh, Time Walk
Your dark skies are ominous and brooding
Though I've yet to earn
a fair extra turn
after this one
Please give me a chance
Oh, Time Walk
Oh, Time Walk
Your profit margins are far too divisive
I so want you to stay
while your flesh rots away
Derreliction
impedes my finance
Goodbye Time Walk... You will be missed. {:(
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January 26th, 2006
The Reason
As I'm leaving for China in 24 days, I figured, better get as healthy as I can to fight off malaria, typhoid, bird flu, hepatitus, etc..
So I went to the dentist (for the first time in 5 years).
The Meeting
The dentist was kind, gentle, and kind of a hottie, too. Couldn't have been older than me, but I couldn't hold that against her.
Her first question was one I hadn't prepared for. "Do you floss once a day?"
Damnit. What lie can I tell and get away with? Damnit! Why can't she be uglier? Damnit! Why didn't I floss yesterday!? "No... more like two to three times a week," I told her.
"Well," she smiled approvingly. She bought it. Awesome! "That's better than nothing," which was closer to the truth, "but you really should floss at least once a day."
The Examination
She started the exam. I wasn't worried. I had been through these before. I haven't had a cavity yet, and I knew that any personal neglect would be hidden by my super-genes. My tooth angels had not failed me yet, and I had paid them overtime during the last few days with extra brushings. Yeah, Maybe I was smug, but I had the precedent to be so.
She dug right in with an unknown sharp and shiney object. There was pain, but not alot. I could tell she was not out to hurt me. This was an extremely good sign. I have it on good authority that if you piss off a dentist, they have been trained to stab you in a nerve that will make you fill your collostamy bag and then some. The longer my pants were clean, the more at ease I felt.
"Mmmm," she would grunt ambiguously as she worked away at my mouth. Though I couldn't tell whether it was a sign of approval or disdain, I did note that the groans were not unpleasant. They were not unlike the sounds one might make if they found an unexpected chocolate, or similarly, if their significant other found an unexpected G-spot. However, I was skeptical that either had been found in my mouth, so I clenched my buttocks in anticipation and simply hoped for the best.
The Verdict
Apparently, the lifespan of tooth angels is closer to dogs than to humans. The one thing I had not counted on was that five years earlier, I was not old and decrepid, and my tooth angels were still with me.
The dentist leaned back, turned around, and handed me a mirror. "I want you to see something," she said. It quickly occurred to me that she was probably not going to show me how wonderful and amazing my teeth were. Damnit...
"Hold this up while I floss." She flossed between two teeth. "You have to get below the gumline," she demonstrated, "on both sides of the gum." She spoke with authority, but not accusingly."
She pulled the floss back out and showed me that it was red where she had used it.
"Do you see the blood? This tells me that you haven't been flossing for the last six days."
Damnit! "Oh yeah, I... uh... didn't floss this last week, I... uh-"
"Do you see the little bit of wetness?" she continued. "That's bacteria. It eats the same food you do."
Damnit, Damnit! no way to save face on this one... Just look apologetic and a bit confused.
She went on to tell me that the two back bottom teeth had separated from the gum nearing 5 millimeters accompanied with a slight bone loss below the tooth, both of which were signs of Moderate Periodontitis.
The other teeth had been anywhere from 0 and 1 millimeters in the front to 3 and 4 in the back, only signifying Gingivitis and Early Periodontitis. These could be cleaned and would show improvement through better care and maintenance.
The good news. Still no cavities. That's right, I finally won one of the gene pool lotteries. 26 years old and still not a single cavity.
"You have good teeth," she told me. Yes! I was so proud. A perdy girl saw my teeths, A-hyuck. One of the angels must have survived. "But," she said
Damnit! There's a but!
"You need to have your wisdom teeth removed. Usually the cut-off age for this procedure is 25 because of the way the bone develops and there may be permanent damage during the procedure to older patients."
D'oh! I've known this for five years, everything except the bone damage thing.
Through it all, she was still as cordial as one could be, even playful, not talking down to me at all, not threatening to make me crap my pants, but just showing what seemed genuine concern. I felt... guilty, but still very comfortable and quite cared for. It became my mission to make my teeth the whitest things on the face of the earth. It was the right thing to do! She deserved it!
She finished up and told me she'd check to see if they could get me in for a cleaning today and dissapeared behind the wall.
The Pitch
A few moments later, the young woman from the front desk came out to explain my options...
She explained that, though my insurance pays for 100% of the cost of "routine" cleanings, it only paid for $140 of the $230 cost per quandrant for a deep-cleaning procedure known as SRP (Scaling and Root Planting). "Luckily" for me, the dentist had only deemed the two lower quadrants as needing of SRP. The upper teeth only needed regular deep cleaning (which after insurance, would only cost me another $156). Lastly, the cost of the antiseptic mouthwash to keep the blood clear during the cleaning was another $110.
"Now, your wisdom teeth are impacted. The two partially boney extractions (bob giggles) will cost you $90 each. The two fully boney extractions (tee-hee) will cost you $110 each after insurance."
"So... What exactly is the difference between a partially boney and a fully boney?" I asked ;)
"Well, non-boney is completely outside the soft tissue."
I thought, "Where else would it be?"
"A fully boney is still completely inside the soft tissue..."
Heheh. Sounds about right.
"And a partially boney has just errupted from inside the soft tissue."
Bwahahaha (wipes teary eyes). I physically chuckled this time.
As pennance for my transgression against the gods of flossing and mentally equating dental terms to "doing it" in various stages of flacidity, I was also forced to pay for Arestin for the two teeth that were having the worst Periodontal problems in the back.
"Arestin is a fairly new antibiotic that actually remains in the pocket between the tooth and gum for 14 days and helps shrink the size of the infected periodontal pockets," or so I was told. The cost of Arestin to me - $90 per tooth. Aaaauuugh!
While I'm all for shrinking the soft tissuey pockets around my bony erruptions, $90 a pop is a bit steep. Thank God it was just the two teeth.
"You'll have to be put under general anesthesia for the procedure to pull all four wisdom teeth, and after your insurance, the anesthesia will cost you $454."
This is the awkward silence where I silently choke and shit a brick.
"Is there any way I can just use local anesthetic during my partially boney and fully boney extractions?" I asked. I though to myself, "I really wouldn't mind being awake while you ripped teeth out of my head. It would probably hurt less."
"No, the surgeon won't do it unless your under."
"Kinda takes all the fun out of the boney eruptions :("
Swing and a Miss
She smiled and continued, "and the Rota-dent Toothbrush is $120. So your total comes to 1,460"
"I'm sorry, the what? How much?"
"The Rota-dent Toothbrush is a far superior toothbrush offered only at dental offices with special training. It's much better than.. Have you seen it? I think we've got some literature on it around here somewhe-"
"Yeah, I've got the pamphlet here... and... I don't think I'm gonna be getting that today, but thanks."
Strike Two
A bit flustered, she said, "Um... Okay. Well, I know its alot of money to pay at once and not alot of people have that just layin around, so we do do financing - "
"How much is just the cleaning today?" I was already told they couldn't get me in for the extractions 'til next month anyway. I didn't see any reason to finance something I wasn't getting now. Besides, anyone who's seen the Sanford and Son episode with the stereo company and the Grey Foxes knows that credit is just another word for rip-off. If I couldn't afford to fix my mouth, I wasn't about to do it.
"Um," she was even more flustered now. I wasn't mean, just quick. I used to work in a marketing department with a bunch of soul-sucking demons :P. Poor girl never had a chance. She already got me on the Arestin and deep cleanings, so I was getting a little defensive. The $120 tootbrush just wasn't gonna happen. "I'll have to go check," she said and meandered off a little confused and wounded, but not before I got a discount on the Arestin as well.
The dentsist came back. I asked here how neccesary the Arestin was. Quite convincingly, she assured me it was. When she described the alternative, I was sold.
The Procedure
The cleaning itself was quite surreal. The topical novacaine came first. It numbed me faster than I expected. Then the shots. God, she pushed that needle in deep. Four shots on the bottom. Two on the inside and two on the outside gums. The ones on the inside hurt bad, real bad. I could feel it slide down to the bone, dull and deep. She shook my cheek as she did the inner shots. It did seem to lessen the pain. No idea why, but I was very impressed.
As I was having my mouth cleaned, I looked up past the masochistic dental tools working away at my spongy flesh, through the hazy mist of mouthwash hovering over me illumiated by the harsh and blinding dental light, and into the purple eye-shadowed eyes of my dentist and those of her also-quite-adorable assistant. I had an overwhelming urge to tell them, "If I'm ever abducted by aliens, I hope they're as pretty as you two," but my mouf wuz fuww ob cwap, tho I didnd.
There was one 'incident'. She slipped with the grinder and cut a gum or something. They didn't explain it or even really stop the work, but the assistant dove in fast and hard with the mouthwash and dental vacuum right after the mishap. Ah, sweet novacaine. I didnt feel a thing :)
The rest was almost calming. They worked quickly and smoothly. She finished up by showing off the Arestin applicator (which you could tell she was very proud of) and giving me four quick injections into the fleshy pockets around my periodontally inflicted back teeth. I have to admit, it was quick and painless, and seeing as how the alternative is having a specialist cut back your gums to prevent more bacteria buildup between the gums and teeth, if the Arestin actually does what it promises, then... I don't feel like it was money wasted.
Not quite an appifany, but nontheless, my day. I was kind of sad when it was all over. It was like a spa for my mouth. :(
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January 22nd, 2006
I would like to announce I have received my first donation to my Chinese Study Abroad Shanghai Adventure Fund! All I had to do was post my girlfriend's cleavage and whine! $5.90 is now the the donation to beat, boys and girls.
Warning - If $5.90 is not beat, I may post my own cleavage. Sadly cleavage is not too difficult to find on the human body, be it male or female. The degree of how disturbing this cleavage will be will directly coincide with how unhappy I am. You have been told!
In fact, screw it. Here's my first Bob-cleavage
-->
Is it old lady butt, or is it just my hand? <mysterious spooky ghost sounds> ... So, Yeah, It's just my hand, but soon it could be old lady butt if you aren't all more benevolent.
As for my sole benefactor (D) - You know who you are. You are my hero! My faith in sex in marketing has been restored. Let me know if you ever need a kidney... or a just a kid... Actually, I have bad kidneys... but my offspring would be... well... probably angry liberal dorks with bad vision and kidney problems... so I'll try to think of something else. Regardless, thank you sincerely - Bob
BTW - Was the the boobs or my sheer patheticness that pushed you over the edge? I must know or it will haunt my dreams.
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January 19th, 2006
I caught an episode of the Boondocks the night before Martin Luther King day. Typically, the show is rather hit or miss. It's opinions, controversies, and revelations are almost quaint at times when compared with the hardcore satire of series like the Simpsons or South Park. But it is in it's infancy. Every once in a while, it does shine through like a glorious beacon of discontent.
"Return of the King" was one of the best episodes to date. Though seeing Dr. King portrayed as on old doddering fool brought some heavy discomfort and quite a bit of anger to my jaded heart, there were shining moments when he expressed a muddled and confused melancholic disappointment in the state of affairs of America today.
His speech near the end about the haplessness and hopelessness of this generation and his exhaustion and dissapointment with it all is only made unconfortable by the gratuitous use of the word "nigger". Sadly, he offers no solutions or reason, but just vents frustration and says he's moving to Canada.
I submit that the phenomenon goes far beyond "urban" culture. I'll admit I'm young and my experience is limited by my time on this planet, but my generation appears to pale in comparison to most of the latter half century.
Once, the young had a mission. Sure, they were always careless and playful, full of misdirected anger and passion, but beatniks looked inward for persepective and soul, feminists and panthers fought for equality, even hippies preached peace and love while they screwed and got high. Though their methods may have been questionable, they had a purpose.
Today, those emotions have no real outlet or place in society. It seems that idealism in any form, unless sanctioned by the radical religious right, has been squashed. Feelings are only for psychopaths and terrorists. Progressive is just a synonym for the now demonized "liberal". Those who have been hurt and seek justice or are weary are "bitter". Emotional investment or good old "love and caring" is now mostly just an obsessive illness of which jealousy and paranoia are symptoms.
My uncharacteristically optomistic theory of the day is that today's children are not inherently bad or shallow. Rather, the next fix, whether it be sexual, narcotic, primal, or material, it is all they care about because it is all they are allowed to care about.
My other theory involves geese and butter, but the gist is "Comfort breeds mediocrity." This was a theory I used as a war-cry in highschool. It is also more along the lines of the Boondocks message, being, "Only in hard times did the black community come together for a common purpose." It's more easily explainable, so ignore the rest of the post if you don't get it.
Yay for the Boondocks and it's memorable tribute to Dr. King.
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January 14th, 2006
Who's Hotter?
Bob, of course.
Why?
Top ten reasons fragilebob is hotter than Sawyer.
1) Doesn't look like an old leatherbag.
2) Smile dude, it's a nice day.
3) Nice Winter/Autumn coloring, while the
poor Sawyer from Lost is stuck wearing yellows and greens :P
4) Better taste in clothing.
5) Glasses are sexy, how sophisticated!
6) Not a redneck ass!
7) Flabby is the new slim!
8) Ambiguously gay is the new rugged.
9) Doesn't remind people of their alcoholic abusive parents
10) Has a klingon for a penis! (have you seen how textury their foreheads are? Kapla!)
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January 12th, 2006
Since I never had a chance to write about the Vegas trip, here's a teaser.
Say hello to my little klingon!
He got a little out of hand and attacked Fragilegirlfriend
The Vulcans joined in, which, at first, was a bit awkward.
But in the end, Fragilegirlfriend got into it.
What a trooper!
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January 7th, 2006
So fun.. So fun...
Actually, the only good thing about unclogging a tub is the insane home abortionist photo-op.
Step 1 - Pour a Butt-Load of Draino Down the Drain
Warning: Do not use an actual butt to measure the amount of draino. This can have adverse effects on the draino. Follow the directions on the anti-clogging agent before using. Don't wine to me if you don't. Actually, do. Then I can make fun of you.
Step 2 - Try a Plunger
If the buttload doesn't work, you'll have to plunge. This is not as easy as it sounds. You first have to remove the over flow plate -->
Then, use some wire to clear out any obstructions (soap-scum, grime, long beautiful flowing jesus hair, etc..) that may be in the drain and the overflow tube (the tube behind the overflow plate, genius).
You'll need to plug the overflow tube before you start plunging. Forget this step and you'll end up with a face full of wet sludge, so don't... or send me a picture and I'll post it.
Once you've plugged the tube, get your plunger and pump it like your in a flaming earthbound airplane. You may want someone to hold the rag in place as well, or you may end up with a face full of wet sludge-covered rag.
Step 3 - Get Really Frustrated
This is one of the more important steps. If you fail to get extremely angry, upset, or whiney, people may see you as someone who likes to do this sort of thing and will ask you to do it again. Piss and moan incessantly!
Step 4 - Auger Time (Oh-oh, Oh-oh, Can't touch this)
If the draino was tainted, you have a face of wet sludge-covered rag, and you were unsuccessful in guilting surrounding bystanders into completing the task for you, it's time to purchase an auger cable (sometimes known as a pipe-snake... :D ooh-la-la). -->
You'll feed the auger cable into the overflow tube (or your pipe-snake into the hole). Apply only slight pressure at any resistance while turning clockwise to clear obstructions or navigate sharp turns (isn't it amazing how similar pipe-snake and trouser-snake usage is).
Step 5 - Lather, Rinse, Repeat
At some point pull the snake back out, turning counterclockwise at resistance. Invariably, you'll pull back some nasty goop, so clean off your snake.
Use hot water to test the drain. It still won't be cleared, so after about 15 minutes of rest (this may take a bit longer if you're more advanced in years), put your snake back in and start working it again. Usually the second time around, you don't need to work as hard to get it in :D.
Step 6 - Screw Up and Give Up
When you've been at it for half an hour, the pipes are squealing, and you can hear the augor scratching in the U-pipe in the sink behind you (which is obviously the wrong pipe and has now been clogged as well), it's time to call a plumber. You really should have done that in the first place rather than consulting a blog about how to fix a bathtub drain. What were you thinking?
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January 6th, 2006
| |
|
Relationship 1 |
|
Relationship 2 |
| Fragilebob: |
|
Hey, mom, can I use your shower? |
|
Hey, mom, can I use your shower? |
| Mother: |
|
Oh. Is the other bathtub backed up again? |
|
Why? What's wrong with your bathroom? |
| Fragilebob: |
|
Yeah, It won't drain. It takes nearly an hour. |
|
The tub won't drain. It's all backed up again. |
| Mother: |
|
Yeah, go ahead. I'll take a look at it. |
|
<grimaces>.... |
| Fragilebob: |
|
We already used llike a whole bottle of Draino trying to fix it. |
|
It takes nearly an hour to drain... |
| Mother: |
|
Alright. I'll see what we can do. Just use our bathroom 'til we get it figured out. |
|
<huffs at inconvenience>... |
| Fragilebob: |
|
Ok. You want me to call around or do anything? |
|
<stands waiting>... |
| Mother: |
|
No, that's ok. We'll figure it out. It's old plumbing anyway... We've had so many problems with it already. |
|
<sighs - stil looking at the tv>
Well...
I suppose... |
| Fragilebob: |
|
Alright. Thanks. Love you. |
|
I'm sorry? |
| Mother: |
|
<smiles> You too. |
|
<rolls eyes> I suppooose... |
Which mother is yours?
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Gazoo
January 3rd, 2006
Don't kid yourself.
Not only is the glass half empty, but whatever is in the glass is evaporating even now as you ponder this question. What you saw as half full isn't half full any longer. The liquid particles in the top membrane have gained enough energy from the surrounding matter to escape their viscous membranic prison.
Good for them, yes. Good for the particles. Good to be free. Good to fly away and coalesce with other freed particles to play and fall upon the head of some unsuspecting umbrellaless soul.
Not good, however, for the man in the suede jacket with no skyward held water-shield. Not good for the thirsty glass observer contemplating his own outlook on life. Those free particles may have hydrated a cell on the verge of mutating, on the verge of becoming malignant. It may have been healed, but now it is over...
My advice to you: "Carpe diem! Grab the glass! Drink it now! Don't think! Careful, don't spill... "
"Ah... That is good... That is better, isn't it... "
"What? What's that you say? It was half full of air, and half full of... arsenic? Oh, well... Look on the bright side. It wasn't quite half full."
"Ponder this in the remaining seconds you have... "
You're older than you've ever been
And now you're even older
And now you're even older
And now you're even older
You're older than you've ever been
And now you're even older
And now you're older still
Time is marching on
And time is still marching on
This day will soon be at an end
And now it's even sooner
And now it's even sooner
And now it's even sooner
This day will soon be at an end
And now it's even sooner
And now it's sooner still
You're older than you've ever been
And now you're even older
And now you're even older
And now you're even older
You're older than you've ever been
And now you're even older
And now you're older still
They Might be Giants - Lyrics for "Older"
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January 1st, 2006
Three Words:
Ebay
Froogle
Harmony Central
Ok, so it's four words, shoot me. It's still three websites, so bleh :P.
I have found what I believe to be great luck and wisdom in buying my very own first guitar with this combination of online resources. Ebay to buy the guitar, Froogle to ensure you aren't getting ripped off on price, and Harmony Central for the guitar reviews. I've been playing for only half a year now on a loaner guitar, but need my own for the trip to Shanghai. Fragilegirlfriend has generously offered to put $250 toward the purchase price of my choice guitar as her big Christmas present to good ol' Fragilebob, (kisses) so I'm not going chinsey. I'll spend the hundred or two extra to get a good mid-range guitar.
+
=
I'm partial to acoustic guitars, not only for the pan-handling readiness, but for the mellow folk-singer Jesus Christ Superstar look as well. In the end, I have decided to go with a combo acoustic/electric type guitar (mostly for the addition of the cutaway, but the versatility isn't a negative either - as long as you pay enough to keep the sound rich) I'm torn between the Ibanez AEF37TCS and the Alvarez FD60. I know they aren't the best guitars under the sun, but they have good reviews, are going for reasonable prices, and are the kinds of guitars that look like someone who would be carrying them would be hot and sexy (spelled s-e-x-x-y for They Might Be Giants fans, mmm... yes.... that would be me boys and girls - hot, sexxy and a They Might Be Giants fan) But seriously, the sound unplugged, cutaway style, and mid to lower action of these guitar models is the real draw for me.
By the way, Jon Graney reviews some guitars on Harmony Central and is friggin hilarious...
The Shape-Shifter EQ includes bass, mid, treble and shape. I tried to change the shape, but no matter what I do, it still looks like a guitar. :)
I'll probably buy the Ibanez AEF37TCS acoustic/electric guitar because of that line. Someone should hire that dude to spice up the catalogs :D. Or maybe... I'm just easily amused...
I am waiting to post this until I buy my guitar so you beotches don't try to steal it out from under me... Wish me luck... in the... past? Can you pray backwards maybe.. or is that a little satanic?
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December 31st, 2005
Apparently, some of you would like to buy the Wal-Mart Christmas bear. Well, before you complete that decision, please click here and read this. If you still want to buy the Walmart's Christmas Bear, I'm all for it. Otherwise, Happy New Year and congratulations.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!
- Robert Burns
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December 28th, 2005
The closer the date gets, the more excited and more apprehensive I am.
Undoubtedly, China will be amazing. The culture shock alone will be an adventure. Traveling the streets and absorbing a completely different world is an opportunity that relatively few are able to experience. I'll be almost completely independent, with the world and myself to contemplate. It is a thrilling prospect.
On the other hand, 5 months is a long time to be alone. And I know myself. I am shy and discreet by nature. I truly hope I don't fade into the background and sit in my room wallowing in lonely misery. I've always had a rough time when it comes to meeting people. Perhaps starting each day with 40 oz. of Jack will grease those wheels. :D
Then I think again, five months will be over before I know it. And everyone I meet in China will be, if not lasting contacts, memories I will look back on with fondness. The goal is for Fragilebob will grow in character, and hopefully in wisdom and not just sorrow.
Kids, I know I haven't gone yet. But I already recommend it. Make life an adventure. Five months can slip by unnoticed in the mundane reality of routine, but in flux, it will be hard to forget.
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