Caroline says: C'mon, be HAPPY.
Ryan says: I'll be happy if a Brazillian wax awaits me this evening.
Caroline says: um, ok.
Caroline says: but you said you're not sure why she's doing it, so you'd be happy she's there with or without the wax.
Ryan says: Well, not the wax so much as the result of the wax.
Caroline says: right, like I said.
Ryan says: She's wavering pretty bad. I don't think she'll go through with it.
Caroline says: Shasta said it reeaaaaaaaaaaalllly hurts
Caroline says: but that it might get less painful the more you do it. But why the hell would you do it again if it hurt so bad the first time?
Ryan says: Because the American mass media has delivered an unattainable ideal of what a woman should look like, and women will strive to achieve that ideal no matter the pain or mental trauma involved.
Caroline says: well, yeah.
Ryan says: You asked.
Ryan says: And, because of that, mental midgets like Jessica Simpson and Paris Hilton will continue to be hoisted up as ideal mates despite their absolute inability to think a coherent or meaningful thought about anything except themselves.
Caroline says: awesome
Ryan says: But I'd still like to see Mel with a smooth beav. That would be sweet!
Caroline says: sigh
I only spent just over a week in China, and that was ten years ago, when I was 18. But, because our class instructer, Mr. Stern, kind of was a Marxist, and he knew China better than I know Minnesota, the week consisted of a lot more than just the typical tourist stuff most people visit in China.
For example, because Mr. Stern knew an old flame who was a teacher in China, we visited a Chinese elementary school, and due to other close contacts, we visited the home of a retired professor, who maintained an extensive collection of American VCR movies and was particularly fond of Bruce Willis in Die Hard.
All in all, my trip to China included many entertaining stories, including the one I'm about to relate here.
Mr. Stern pretty much allowed us to do our own thing come the evenings, which meant our group of five students basically went out to find a place to eat and buy the cheapest and most circumspect alcohol we could find. Seriously, one night, they showed up at the hotel toting a four foot tall bottle of champagne that they bought from some street vendor.
Well, one night early in the week, in Beijing, we just picked this place to eat that looked like it might be good. We decided it might be good because the big filthy aquarium out on the sidewalk sported healthier looking fish than the place two restaurants down.
There was no indoor seating, only a few plastic chairs and tables set up outside. It would have been pleasant enough, I suppose, if it hadn't been for the huge trash heap around the corner that featured more wild dogs battling for scraps and more rats poking in and out than is probably even remotely healthy.
Despite the less than stellar ambiance, the food was really quite good, and there was a LOT of it for very little money. We tried to ignore the fact that a few stores down the street, a butcher was basically carving up half a pig on a barrel that looked like it harbored more E coli than an elephant turd. There wasn't much in the way of food regulation in China, is what I'm saying.
Rather than focus on the disturbing storefronts and their activities, we watched the traffic go by. Chinese traffic is a cacaphony of tooting horns and bicycle bells. Although cars are certainly a big part of the traffic, bicycles easily outnumber them. And I'm not talking about your basic two-wheeled bikes either. Every manner of bike can be seen on Chinese streets at any given time, particulary the three-wheeled versions that have a long wooden plank jutting out the back like some sort of pick-up truck.
The three-wheeled bikes were used to haul all manner of cargo, and it was amazing to see old, old, OLD men laboriously pumping their legs to keep their bikes going uphill despite a load of pottery, or carpet, or whatever that would break the back of even the most sturdy workhorse.
As we dined and watched Chinese life go by, one three-wheeled bike accidently bumped into the back of another three-wheeled bike. This collision occured right in front of us, not ever five feet away. Both bicyclists hopped off their bikes and started a fairly heated argument right there in the street. It could have been considered a type of dinner entertainment, except for one minor detail.
Right there, in front of our astonished eyes, we noticed the "cargo" of the bike that did the rear-ending of the other bike. There was a filthy previously white sheet kinda, sorta, covering the body of a very dead man, and his uncovered feet pointed skyward. We couldn't see the face or the body, but those pale dead feet were so obviously RIGHT THERE. There we were, having dinner, with a dead man just a few feet away. This was getting uncomfortable.
Finally, after about a six minute argument, the men got back on their bikes and started pedalling away. However, for the briefest of seconds, it looked as though our body-transporting friend was about to capsize. That was exactly what we didn't want to see. We did not want to see that body topple off the back of that bike. We did not want to see that sheet fall off to reveal a naked dead man. And, most of all, we did not want to have to help to get that body back on that cart, no way, no how.
Thankfully, the bicyclist was able to hop off and save the situation. He quick adjusted the body so the weight was more evenly distributed, and then he hopped back on his bike and pedalled away. It was probably the most surreal dinner I've ever eaten in my life.
That night, my hotel roommate, Tyler, threw up copious amounts of vomit all over the bathroom floor, and I accidently walked through it and had to wash my feet off in the sink.
And the moral of the story is: watch where you eat in China.
Have you ever woken up just mad at everything and nothing? Have you ever wanted to take whatever it is your officemate is eating and find some way to crush whatever it is she's eating into a fine pulp and cover her face with it and then just sit there an laugh at her until your anger subsides to somewhere below critical? Have you ever viewed your existence as an interminable irritation, despite having it all so awesome the kings of the world would envy you?
That's where I'm at today. For no reason. I don't understand it. Maybe I had a bad dream or something that I don't remember.
UPDATE: Thankfully, a little common sense always makes me feel less pissy.
Caroline says: so, now that I think about it, Mel must like me if I am the same as you. I mean, she likes you and all.
Ryan says: Yeah, I think she likes me.
Ryan says: She lets me put my penis in her, so there's that.
Caroline says: that's nice. Hallmark card worthy.
Ryan says: "To my most cherished girlfriend."
Ryan says: "you're with me when I most need a friend, and you're my lover too."
Ryan says: "When I'm with you everything seems fresh, and everything seems new."
Ryan says: "You make me feel as if I'm the most special guy you've met."
Ryan says: "And you let me put my penis in you, so there's that."
Caroline says: I'm getting all choked up (no penis pun intended)
Ryan says: I missed my calling. I was sooo meant to be a poet.
My parents fly in from Tokyo today. And boy will their arms be tired! *rim shot*
Seriously, why in the hell are they coming to Minnesota for one lousy week? Why don't they just go straight to Hawaii? You know, where it's WARM and there's NO SNOW!
No, they want to come to Minnesota, for one week, endure four days of insane jet lag, and THEN go to Hawaii. My parents make no sense to me sometimes.
But, on a positive note, I get to leave work early to meet them, and they buy me dinner. So I can't bitch too much.
In response to this:
Killing. The death penalty. War. How do I justify the killing of another person? Well, there are no absolutes, but this is where I'm at. . .
You see, you can argue about evolution versus creationism and all that, but I think the brunt of evidence pretty much supports the assertion that, at some prior point in our development, human beings were basically animals. From here, you have to assume divine intervention, a genetic mutation or alien experimentation led to our grotesquely huge brains.
The point is, despite our humanity, we have strong animal instincts bubbling beneath the surface, and those instincts, I think, lead some of us down some pretty sick paths. And, until another divine intervention, genetic mutation, alien experimentation, or scientific breakthrough that discovers how to deactivate the "evil" gene, we're pretty much stuck with those instincts.
So, we're going to have murderers. We're going to have rapists. We're going to have serial rapist/murderers. We're going to have sick fuck pedophiles. We're going to have meglomaniacal dictators who rule countries through the stacking up of bones of the citizens they lord over. In short, we're going to have people who, despite their brains, are basically still animals, or at least they let themselves be animals, if only for a short while.
They should be punished.
But, you know what? There are people out in the world who believe that people who take another life, or who rape a child, or who kill hundreds of thousands, should be extended certain niceties. Locking them up is WRONG. Killing them is WRONG. Showing pictures of them with long ragged beards being given a physical is WRONG. Denying them the dignity they denied other is just plain WRONG.
fuck that.
I dabble in the writings of pacifists and those who denounce capital punishment and who believe everyone can be saved if we just show compassion and turn the other cheek. Trust me, it's hysterical reading. There are those who believe every injustice in the world can be confronted and defeated through a little non-violent opposition. Apparently, if the likes of Stalin, or Hitler or Saddam ever managed to wrest control of the United States and activate their regimes of terror and oppression, they'd quake in their boots when a crowd of one million decended in peaceful protest on Washington D.C.
Puh-lease. They'd be gassed and disposed of before they could chant "Hell no, we won't go." And they'd be warming up the guns for the next wave of protesters.
Does it dehumanize us to kill those who kill? I have a hard time seeing that. If someone locks a person up and tortures them and rapes them and slowly kills them, you'd have a hard time convincing me that that person shouldn't actually endure the same treatment as punishment. Of course, most people, thankfully, don't have the stomach for such cruelty, so what are we left with? A switch. An injection chamber. A noose. It just seems ludicrous to me that someone who murders someone else should be rewarded with life.
And don't even start to tell me that they somehow deserve DIGNITY. To me, dignity is something you earn the right to have, it's not something you automatically have a right to no matter the despicable nature of your crimes.
Sometimes, I think, an animal deserves to be treated as such, no matter what kind of human skin they may be wearing.
A LATE UPDATE THAT PROBABLY WON'T BE READ: If you're still following this post and comment thread, I suggest you go here.
Top Official Is Confident Dictator Was 'Not All That Bad'
VATICAN CITY (Rhodes Media Services) -- Upon seeing the footage of Saddam Hussein being examined by U.S. servicemen, Yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/nm/20031216/wl_nm/iraq_Saddam_vatican_dc_2">a top Vatican official said that, in light of all the apparent suffering endured by the former Iraqi dictator, he's nominating the "Butcher of Baghdad" for sainthood status pre-emptively before his death even occurs.
"I felt pity to see this man destroyed, (the military) looking at his teeth as if he were a cow. They could have spared us these pictures," said Cardinal Renato Martino, head of the Vatican's Justice and Peace department and a former papal envoy to the United Nations. "Surely, suffering like this is akin to anything Christ himself endured. As such, I feel there is no alternative but to canonize him immediately."
The move came as a shock to many worldwide, who universally recognize Hussein as a murderer of hundreds of thousands of Iraqis, Iranians, Kuwaitis and others. Still, Cardinal Martino pressed his case, saying that the death of millions can not be compared to the dignity of a single man, especially considering how long Hussein's beard was upon his capture.
"Yes, yes, I'm aware that the man oversaw the killing of countless people, blah, blah, blah," said Martino. "The point is, he was being treated like a cow. You know. . . a cow? Mooooooo! Surely you can see the horrific embarrassment inherent in being treated like a moo cow. That's easily worth sainthood. Poor guy."
Okay, I'm not sure why or how it started, but at some point in the evolution of the Christmas season, The Wizard of Oz was introduced as an important part of the Holiday Spirit. Now, being that I'm lazy, I'm not going to do any research into this odd phenomenon, but I think my own conjecture can piece together a pretty convincing explanation as to why The Wizard of Oz is set to usurp Frosty in the pantheon of Christmas idols.
It started, I believe, in 1983, with the release of the immediate Holiday classic, A Christmas Story. For those of you not famliar with this movie, not to worry, if you tune into TNN or TNT or some other fringe cable channel come Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, chances are good that they'll be conducting a 24 hour A Christmas Story marathon. This is not a complaint, because I love the movie. FYI, the kid who sticks his tongue on a frosty pole and gets stuck, Flick, is now a porn star (thanks Michele).
Anyway, The Wizard of Oz played prominently in A Christmas Story because, I guess, Oz was released along the same time as the story line. Therefore, seeing as how A Christmas Story has become part of the Christmas tradition for many people, the Wizard of Oz just came along for the ride.
So, the girlfriend and I went to the Minneapolis Children's Theater showing of The Wizard of Oz on Friday night. It seemed like a very Christmassy thing to do. Last year, we went to see Once Upon a Forest and that was a great experience, so my expectations were high. And, boy, my expectations were met and exceeded. I don't care that they cater to stories more geared to younger audiences, the Children's Theater does an awesome, AWESOME, job of putting together a program. Sets, awesome. Costumes, awesome. Actors, awesome.
Toto, just TOTOlly awesome.
I didn't expect them to use a real dog. I kind of was envisioning an awkward attempt to give the appearance of a dog without really having a dog. I guess I didn't think it was possible to keep a dog from getting excited with a troupe of dancers and munchkins and witches and smog.
And, yet, there was a REAL DOG. A real, totally awesome trained dog. The drawback to having a real dog, I discovered, was that I kept trying to keep tabs on Toto to see if he was being obedient or if they non-stop action finally sent him into yips and circles. But, it never did. He was the perfect dog. All hail Toto! Of course, the dog's real name wasn't Toto, it was Snickers, and so now when I finally get a dog, I think I'm going to call him Snickers. That will only happen, of course, if my plans to acquire a dingo and name him Bingo ultimately fail.
I think I had the best line of the play, if I do say so myself. During the great witch-melting scene, they obscured her descent under the stage with staggering amounts of dry-ice smog, which wafted its way into the crowd. Mel and I were pretty close to the stage, so we got hit with a blurring wave of smog, and everyone started waving their playbills in from of them to disperse the cloud. It was at that point that I said, at probably an inappropriate volume, "Man, I hate breathing in second-hand witch!" The folks seated around me we very much amused by that. I wanted to take a bow.
Granted, Mel and I had stellar seats, basically four rows back, in the direct center of the stage, close enough to smell Dorothy's armpits, so the experience was made all the better through the proximity. But, wow, what a production. And Snickers was the best.
Mel and I briefly flirted with the idea of heading out shopping Saturday afternoon, but after 10 minutes of exploring the traffic, we gave up on that idea right away. Instead, we opted to whip up another batch of Japanese curry, but this time our goal was to find the BIGGEST bell of garlic we could find and use half of it in our cooking. The end result was a curry that tasted heavenly but which turned us into a couple of the stinkiest garlic stacks in the history of mankind. It was great fun laughing about how bad we both smelled. We're kind of sick that way.
Sunday, after driving back to Rochester, I finally garnered enough ambition to go for a five mile run. It was a slippery exercise, owing to an inch of snow and ice that had yet to be attended to. I'm thinking this winter may finally be the one in which I buy a health club membership to head off the possibility of a severe ankle sprain.
A realization set upon me as I ran around the local Silver Lake: I've hit a time in my life where I'm immensely happy and content, but I'm feeling the urge to explore a next step. I don't know what that step is. A house? A new job? I don't know. But something inside is pushing me to find out what's next. It was a strangely exhausting realization, which was probably partly due to the fact I was running. But, beyond that, I think I felt immediately exhausted because the thought of breaking from routine and extending exploratory life tendrils into other unknowns is just daunting and tiring by nature. Exciting, sure, but tiring.
And now it's Monday, and I wish I had a dog named Snickers.
UPDATE: Oh yeah, I almost forgot, some guy named Saddam Hussein was captured or something in Iraq. Apparently, he was some sort of big name there, in that country. It was funny, though. I was without Internet access all weekend, and then I got home at about 2:30 p.m., pulled up a Web browser that has MSNBC.com as the home page, and I wondered "why the hell is Charles Manson in the news?" The I read the name Saddam Hussein, and my jaw dropped. No. fucking. Way. I'll save the commentary for those on the deeper right and left, for they both seem to be covering it just fine. I'll just quick quote Jon Stewart who, on his Daily Show with Jon Stewart, the day Saddam's statue fell, which I think still applies: If you are unable to feel joy at the sight of Iraqis rejoicing at the fall of Saddam, then you are lost to the idealogical left. If you are incapable of feeling sorrow that we had to resort to violence to accomplish this objective, then you are lost to the idealogical right. Either way, turn off the television, you won't like this program.
Then again, for some Iraqis, it's not about rejoicing, it's about something unexplainable.
