Relationship Status

More of this:

Less of this:

More ladies swooning over my creative genius;
less guys standing in front of BFF posters with me.
More artistic finesse; less awkward-ness.
More proportionate arm length; less disproportionate arm length.
(I mean, check out those arms? Have another look. It looks even weirder the second time).

Nothing against Steve, but he found a better BFF than long arms over there. So is it really too much to ask for the same? I'm talking ladies lined up at my front door and outside every class waiting to offer me their name, number, and favorite color. I can deal with that. But until then, I tell my dad, my hands are tied concerning the advancement of my relationship status. Pops isn't hearing it. You have to go looking, he says. What? Go looking? I don't have time for that. Plus, I liked the good old days in seventh grade when they came to me. And anyway, who said they could stop? Is my hair less attractive now? I used to have a bowl-cut. Maybe I should get one of those again--bring back a movement lost to the toddlers. What about a mullet--those are time-less? No? Well, come on Dad, what could it be then? I don't look 27. I'm as hot as I was at 21. And I didn't have to do much looking then. So when did the screening process turn into a hunt? What? Of course I brush my teeth, Dad. I'm telling you, it's got to be the hair or something. Personality? Well, I don't know. You may have something there, but again, that didn't used to matter. Girls dug my bowl-cut and personality was incidental. Maybe I should work on a few jokes or something--let them know I'm funny so they don't think I'm so into my hair, even though I can't stop thinking about it and how I'm going to lose this one if the wind doesn't stop fro-ing my curls out. If I'm funny, I'll have a personality right? Sort of? What do you mean 'sort of?' Long walks on the beach? Dad, you're killing me. How's that personality? No one does that up here. It's Ohio. And it's freezing anyway. Ok, so you think I should at least try to talk to girls somewhere, in some venue, somehow, about something. Nice. Well that just kills it doesn't it. Dad, you know I can't talk to girls. They're weird. And their brains work in a way I can't get. I never know if I'm speaking their language or not. They have this weird text language that gets into all forms of communication and I'm left squinting at them, something they don't always like. LOL, :), U R (a picture of a sun), all sorts of variations on a smiley face theme, about a billion of these !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and another lol. What are you saying (squint)? I'm no good at this pops. I don't know what it's going to take to match me up with a representative of the other gender, but if it ever happens, it will be a miracle. But I'm a big fan of miracles, so I'll bank on that.

Until then, "Table for one!"

Win a Cruise! (please excuse model #4)

This is not now. This is months ago. This is not here. It's Taiwan. But you will pardon me, Steve took so many pictures I keep coming upon ones I've never seen. It feels new to me. My apologies to those of you who do not share this feeling. Congratulations on paying better attention than me. But indulge me. This shot reminds me of a Sears clothing ad of mixed decades and genres. Steve represents casual youth with his "Who Says" T-shirt and jean shorts. Mary goes back nearly six decades--the baby bottle, loud shades and a sun umbrella proving moms can still be fashionable. I'm obviously catering to the "wealthy business man on a cruise" group. And Sara? Sara kind of throws the whole thing into a satire. She fits in by undoing the accomplishments of models #1, 2,and 3. Nothing will sell now that suddenly we have a model looking at the camera, suddenly a model with a broken arm and a white cast in stark contrast to a black shirt, a model holding an umbrella blown inside out by an apparently angry wind. But stranger still, a model who is smiling despite frailty, a model that shows signs of being human. Models represent perfection and the non-existent world of human fancy. Ironically, that's how they sell. Steve, Mary, and I could be made of plastic for all anyone could care and they'd still bet on us, pay down the big money on a gamble for happiness. Model #4 isn't a model. She's obviously real. She'll make Sears no money . . . though she might make Hallmark some money if this picture included the caption: On your birthday we wish you all the love and joy money can buy! (Please ignore model #4).

. . . AFTER I go to Russia

Lena's right. What was I thinking? I won't go to Taiwan, I'll go to Russia.

Maybe I can go to Russia and then Taiwan, and then Russia again, and then Taiwan again to earn money, and then Russia again to spend it. Taiwan can fund my trips to Russia. Hurray.

This year

If every night turns out to be an all-nighter,
If that guy in class doesn't stop spitting on me from trying too hard to make his point,
If I still haven't found enough time to get my bike fixed,
If Obama's grassroots blitz doesn't ease up once he's in the House,
If I haven't managed to get past High Street unmolested,
If I still can't feel comfortable with the other gender,
If none of my internships for this summer work out,
If I can't get funding for next year . . .

I'm going back to Taiwan.

Who's in?

Dear Maren

I don't have a kid, so I don't have a camera, so I don't take pictures, so my graduate school experience is not documented in photos, and I don't have Steve here to take them for me, which is the only reason I have any pictures from Taiwan, which is old news, which is why I don't have new news, which is why I haven't updated my blog, which is why no one likes me, which is why I don't have a girl friend, which is why I'm not married, which is why I don't have a kid.

But I went to a wedding in D.C. last weekend and Becky was there and Becky has a camera (but not a kid--go figure) and Becky has friends and Becky wanted me to take pictures of her with her friends and Becky gave me her camera and I took a picture of me.

So here is a new picture of me so you don't have to look at old pictures of me so you can think I'm "an OK guy" so you can hook me up with your friends so I can get a girl friend so I can get married so I can have a kid so I can finally get a camera.

THE END

What's on your refrigerator?

BexLiz Creations (posted first on Becky's blog. re-posted here for purposes of necessary redundancy . . . then again, is my face ever redundant? apparently not.)

Bex and Liz sent me a care package for my first week of grad school. This was inside, accompanied by other goodies. Still struggling to acculturate myself to a new town, new house, new people, new life, new me? Not anymore; not with this thing staring back at me every morning from my refrigerator.

The CHronicles of Riddick

Have you seen this thing? This gem of all cinematic gems?

Reasons you should compromise your intelligence by viewing:

1) Vin Diesel
2) "There'll be one speed--mine. If you can't keep up, don't step up. You'll just die."

3) "What was that? You don't care if you live or die? ... Well, maybe I do. KEEP MOVING!"

4) Vin Diesel

5) "Me? I'm just passing through."

6) "I'll kill you with my tea cup."

7) Vin Diesel

8) When Vin dumps a canteen of water on his head to protect himself from scorching flames.

9) The steam coming off his head after coming out of the flames.

10) Vin Diesel

*

To Jared, to every bad-movie-night we had, to every dose of this mind-altering narcotic, to all the brain cells I lost in the process, and to our sponsors Vin Diesel and Ice Cube (xXx), thank you.

Steve's phone works again. For those of you interested in a sequel, that's it. I could hear Steve on the phone yesterday more clearly than when we used to live in the same room. So in case you were afraid to call him after reading my previous post, fear no more.

Hi steve .... what?

"Hey Steve, I can't understand you."
"Oh, weel I grrrt thrrris nrrrrrew pho...kurrr."
"No you didn't. You got weesled by some phone salesman. That ain't no new phone."
"No, I said-krrrr, I berrrrrt it'sssss the crack-k-k-k-k in the pho sssss."
"Like I said Steve, I can't understand a word. And that sounds nothing like what you said the first time."
"Hey, marrbe youkrr earses are messssst ooop!"
"Easy Steve. My ears aren't messed. Your phone's what's messed. And if you start turning on me, I'm going to think you's messed too."
"Grrrrrrr!"
"Is that a dog? I didn't know you had a dog."
"I don't have a rrufff. Hey Joe, remember rugrrrk do krrruchchch straggrrl?"
"Sure."

Pretty soon I just gave up trying to understand and started rotating through generic response A B and C to keep the conversation going as smoothly as possible.

"Joe, grphsed to foojellfff."
"Yeah."
"Ikcruchrr tosnoxxf"
"Uhuh."
"Riggle mic smiggle bigs."
"Exactly. Well, good talking to you, got to go."

This is the same courtesy Steve showed me on the back of a scooter in Taiwan. I'm sure he didn't hear a word I said with the wind catching each one and flipping it inside out before it got back to him. But I always left with the fuzzy feeling of having just had a very agreeable conversation.

Hopefully Steve went to get his phone fixed after our chat. Or at least to chew the company out until they promised him all sorts of technical compensation. I'm rooting for you, Steve. It would never do for the most technically savvy guy of our Berhan outfit to be stuck with a phone that transforms him into Chewbacca.

Speaking of cell phones, I finally got one. It's this shiny blue thing that does everything including shave my face and pop popcorn. There's no way of actually discovering all the gimmicks on it, but I enjoy new surprises every day. Besides breaking up ear plaque still lingering from my trip to Thailand, it also plays an Asian jingle whenever I'm feeling nostalgic for Taiwan, vibrates in my hand when I need a hand massage, and tucks me in at night after telling me I'm OK and people like me. I think it's alive. Kind of like Herold Crick's wrist watch in Stranger than Fiction. But I can't get it to palm-read or tell my fortune, so it does have limitations. If you want my number, call somebody you think cool enough to have it. Steve's one. But if you call him, don't complain if you can't tell what language he's speaking, let alone hear the number right.

Constructing a new template, not a new blog

Out with the old and in with the new.
But not completely out.
Remember the old. Prune it. Bring in new seeds,
Though these will need pruning soon enough.
Then do it again.

It wouldn't do well to forget Asia. Especially since it will be present in my studies (my Russian program will focus on Russian-Chinese relations). But I can't continue writing more chapters in a finished book, like epilogues good only for pampering the past. So I'm changing the book cover. It's a new book, set in the same binding with the first for consumer convenience. So go ahead, buy the set. Feel them the same, see them separate.

good bye's and clean up

no longer in the virgin cheeks club