Wednesday, February 29, 2012


I have broken my own word.  I told SB years ago that we were never, ever, ever going to get a video gaming system.  I didn't mind going over to Shoils' home and watching SB and company go wild on Guitar Hero, followed by awkward pelvic thrusts to Dance Dance Revolution.  I hardly batted an eye when he enthused over his (much) younger brother's realistically gory PS3 games.  But our home was to remain an oasis of tranquility.  The problem was that SB is not a tranquil kind of guy.  While I am curled up with my Kindle he is playing music (loudly) or watching a sporting or scientific event on the television.  Then I started realizing his viewpoint and came to the conclusion that I was a snob- a horrible, snooty snob.

Here I was, denying him a very enjoyable mode of entertainment while I wasn't denying myself anything.  There were some evenings when I would be so into the story on my Kindle that I ignored him.  Often he had to put on the headphones and make do so that I could enjoy the silence.  I was being unfair.  Worse, there was no compromise because as the techy person in our home, I controlled all access to electronics. 

So this past Christmas I bought him a Nintendo Wii system.  I exerted my techy control (though he will never know it) by purchasing a system that focuses more on non-violent entertainment.  It is not as though there are no violent games; you can play Resident Evil on the Wii, but the majority of available games seem to be centered on more wholesome fun.  For example, the Mario Kart game that is only available on Nintendo systems or in arcades.  SB loves it. 

Sb has gone home to visit his family for a couple of weeks and I have been buying more games for his upcoming birthday, which he can receive in the States and bring home.  I purchased a handgun, rifle, and pistol along with several hunting games (big game and birds) so that he can sit on the couch and shoot things (without gore) while I read my Kindle. 

Monday, February 27, 2012

costly victory

We won our semifinal rugby match but it was an expensive win.  In hindsight we probably should have dialed back once we had a comfortable lead.  On Monday morning the number of tries is overshadowed by three yellow cards and a red.  Which means that at least one of us won't be playing in the final next Saturday.

The good news is that two of the men's teams have also advanced to the finals.  It is the highest advancement that our club has had in the four seasons that I have been playing with them.  I'll let you know if next weekend ends in joy or tears.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

kind of

i like my body when it is with your

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

Edward Estlin Cummings

So maybe E.E. Cummings is talking about a different version of fur but when I read this I think of my pleasantly fuzzy SB with all of his sweaty masculinity and I feel all gooey inside.  I like to hug him and feel the differences between his body and mine: the triangular shoulders and big thighs that ice hockey players sport compared to my more fatty, curvy shape.  Today he told me that I was soft and feminine.  Goo.

Monday, February 20, 2012

one in 300 million

I come from a country of over 300 million, forecast to grow to 400 million in the next twenty years.  I have managed to believe that out of this vast population I am unique.  And yet despite my assertion that I am special I need to also believe that I am of similar mindset to others.  I read about things, political things, that occur in my beloved country and my blood boils.  It would be devastating to think that I am alone in my mindset.  I cannot accept that all of the 150+ million women feel differently from me on the decisions that the overwhelmingly male legislators are making concerning my rights.  How is it that SB's insurance company would cover Viagra while mine won't cover my contraceptive pills?  Has anyone seen the population forecasts for our country?!

My glimmer of hope is in regard to my other beliefs that seem to be opposite of what many of my elected government officials believe.  I have seen some of my most conservative friends change their stripes upon discovery, almost a decade out of university, that homosexuals are not quite the scourge of the earth and that they have been associating with gay friends and coworkers for years.  I recently read an email from a small town Texas Republican who shared that upon hearing of Whitney Houston's death, she was able to call her best friend and know that he was sitting in front of his television watching a video reel of her most popular songs and crying also.  That glimmer of hope keeps me pushing ahead until the time comes when my generation takes control.  And then I will find out if I am one of 400 million.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

delirious tremens

Last night SB dragged me and my gimpy ankle out to have dinner with another couple at Wooloomooloo, which is one of my favorite steakhouses in Hong Kong.  Who doesn't love a Tomahawk steak?  No, I didn't eat the whole thing but shared it.  I took the bone home for my neighbor's dog but unfortunately his owner says that he has food possessiveness issues.  So now I have a giant bone in my freezer while I look for the right pooch to share it with.

We had such a good time that SB and I didn't return home until midnight and finally made it to bed at 1am.  An hour later, I was still awake and cursing the server who had likely forgotten that my order was for decaffeinated coffee.  Of course I had to share the misery and woke SB to complain that I was wide awake and jittery.  He grunted in an attempt at empathy and flopped over.  And so I was left to stare at the ceiling in wakeful misery.  I was so caffeinated that I imagined feeling the floor shake a bit like how it does when the site next door is doing piling works.  As it turns out, I may have actually felt the 4.2 magnitude earthquake that shook Hong Kong last night.  Who knows.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

into the briar patch

SB was an absolute angel yesterday.  He rubbed my feet and fetched items around the home for me.  Of course this had less to do with Valentine's day and more to do with the fact that my foot is huge and purple on both sides of my ankle and on top.  It is my souvenir for a magnificently, awkwardly executed tackle on Saturday.  I knew something was wrong when I heard a popping sound and this was verified when I woke up on Sunday morning in excruciating pain.  SB has been my slave ever since.  He has been forced to do all of the hunting and gathering for our sustenance as well as put up with my less than ladylike reactions to being forced into an ice bath.

In my previous relationship I used to go all out for Valentine's day.  Looking back, I wonder if I was trying to compensate for the fact that the other 364 days of the year weren't so loving.  I needed a lot of flowers to mask the stench of a relationship that had gone sour and was slowly putrefying.  I even had an account with a flower delivery company which I used regularly, all the while hoping that my ex would one day reciprocate. He only ever gave me flowers after he called me a whore for having dinner with an old, platonic friend.  Pathetically it took a few more months before I finally ran screaming for the hills, in this case the Texas hill country where my aunt and uncle welcomed me and asked if I wanted them to shoot him.

The worst part of all was that the flower company's marvelous system of setting up accounts to easily send flowers to loved ones did not have a way to remove an account.  For years, every time I logged on to send flowers to my family or friends I would have to see the ex's name and address at the top of the account page.  I was finally able to find someone in customer service who was able to prune him out and put an end to my fear that I would one day accidentally send him good wishes. 

Monday, February 13, 2012


You might not realize it, but your brain is a code-cracking machine.

For emaxlpe, it deson’t mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod aepapr, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer are in the rghit pcale. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit pobelrm.

S1M1L4RLY, Y0UR M1ND 15 R34D1NG 7H15 4U70M471C4LLY W17H0U7 3V3N 7H1NK1NG 4B0U7 17.

The above is from an article called Breaking the Code: Why Yuor Barin Can Raed Tihs by Natalie Wolchover.  Who would have thought that I was such a code breaker?  It's an interesting read.

Friday, February 10, 2012

wheel on fire

In a recent interview with ESPN2, Wheel of Fortune host Pat Sajak admitted that he and Vanna White used to drink so many margaritas between taping that they had difficulty recognizing the alphabet by the end of the day.  This explains SO MUCH.

My grandmother used to watch the show religiously.  When I visited with her before dinner, we would watch some Lawrence Welk reruns and then move on to Wheel of Fortune.  As the years went by it went from mind numbing to painful.  I started to find things to do such as fetching her a glass of rosé so that I wouldn't have to listen to the opening notes of the show.  I wish that Sajak had shared this tidbit of news earlier because I would have loved to have joined him for a margarita...or three.  I bet that I would have been so much more delighted at solving the elementary puzzles if I were in a bleary haze.

Monday, February 6, 2012

Do you know what a nympho is?

SB has a friend named Shannon who he knows from when he was doing polo and she was show jumping.  She continues to live the horsey life in an equine enthusiastic area of the United States.  Even when not wearing leather boots and a smart jacket she was always well put together and eloquent.  SB is very fond of her and was happy to hear from her on Facebook Chat.  I have posted the conversation (SB in red). 

For some odd reason, the conversation was never picked up again though SB thought that they were just starting to connect at that point.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

our light in the darkness

I remember a conversation with two of my university girlfriends over a decade ago.  We bright and shining beacons of enlightenment were discussing our future plans, how we foresaw glorious careers in our chosen fields and whether we had time (or interest) for families.  One of the girls stated that with so many poorly educated women having multiple babies, it was her obligation to procreate so as to even out society.  We thought that she was insightful.

It is amazing how often the words you eat are the ones that you thought were the most meaningful.  Well, actually I may avoid the largest slices of humble pie as I have no children to show me how insignificant I am.  The other two are mothers of small children.  They have discovered that despite the elite education and smugness, they are just as dysfunctional as anyone else.  No amount of education or preparation has given them the ability to conquer these pink, squalling, puking bundles.  Imagine that, being brought low by something that is nothing more than an uncoordinated body attached to a giant head.  I wonder if there are other species in the animal kingdom who manage to survive and reproduce despite repeated dumbness.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Poi O Boy

This morning SB went for a morning stroll in Poi O with cousin Shoils (no biological relationship but they are quite the pair).  He came home with a large, stinking backpack full of seashells, which he proceeded to wash out in our bathroom sink.  Because he is who he is, the shells are clean now but the bathroom counter and floor are filthy.  He happily told me that he was planning to make me a necklace out of the shells.  He was delighted to show me how the shells already had little holes due to some evil sea snail that bores holes to eat the defenseless creatures inside. 

Later I heard him phone Shoils to advise her to wash out her booty of shells right away because of how nasty they smelled.  Perhaps Shoils is making a matching necklace for her husband.  Steve and I can rock some faux Polynesian looks.  I guess I should be happy that all SB brought home were shells, sand and muck.  Previously he returned from a walk with Shoils with sea urchin spines embedded in his foot.  He whined for the month it took for the spines to work their way out.

 Er, thanks? I'm sure they will look great draped around my neck.

 Shoils and SB; photo by Shoils.

Don't ask; I have no idea.  Photo by Shoils.