Today I found myself entering the name of a coworker into my cell phone. His name is Mansoor, but Sony Ericsson's built-in dictionary assumed that I meant Manpons. Um, right. Sounds like something for me to put into my manpurse, in the company of my iPad (with wings).
No doubt, Urban Dictionary already has entries for all these. And so much more.
Poor Mansoor...
There are few types of people that I truly despise in this world, but I reserve a special place in my heart of darkness for those who have nothing better to do with their sorry lives than to spam others' inboxes, or worse, to hijack their computers with malware like viruses, trojan horses, adware, spyware, etc. Earlier this week I fell victim to one of the latter attacks, and I am still trying to recover functionality. It probably had to do with my little online vice, SurfTheChannel.net. I recommend against visiting. This entire episode, which has cost me hours of wasted time and lost sleep, leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and makes me seriously consider buying an Apple for my next computer.
To make the week just a little worse, I had Lady Gaga stuck in my head all day today, which was not only another harrowing experience, but frankly an embarrassing one.
We live in a fallen world.
Just an editorial comment here: I finally began tagging my posts. I had thought about tags ever since starting this blog, but just never got around to it. Well, three years later, voilà, the three most common themes in my writing:
Roots: People and experiences from my past, shaping who I am today.
Wings: Experiences of today, including travels and my work in aerospace.
And, of course, Turds: I don't feel an explanation is necessary, but perhaps instead an observation that this blog needs more turds. I'll get right on that.
Exhibit A, from the beloved site Engrish.com:
This post is not nearly as intellectual or poetic as the title may suggest.
By the second day after having met my buddy John at our church in grad school, I and everyone else were already hearing the wonders of this new movie, "Super Size Me." Today, some five and a half years later, I finally watched it. The movie is basically a documentary by and about Morgan Spurlock, a man who went on a monthlong diet of all McDonalds, all the time. And though the detrimental effect on his health was not all that surprising, it was still disturbing. I used to permit myself a visit to the fast food counter any time I was waiting in an airport during a meal time, as though it were some kind of a treat. Now, realizing how frequently that occurs, and then imagining those anti-fungal French fries coursing their way through my system, perhaps I should reconsider. (Oh, but those delicious hash browns! Follow the link if you want to read one of the best blog posts I've come across, from a random Google search to make sure I spelled "hash browns" right.)
One other tidbit I picked up from the movie: Apparently I grew up in the only state in this country that required physical education is grades K-12. Who knew? And all along I thought everyone in the U.S. was subject to mandatory fitness testing, heartrate monitors, and some awfully hypocritical PE teachers (of which one in particular comes to mind, whom we affectionately called Big Al). I don't mean to complain. In fact, I am grateful for the grade school days of crab-walking relays and kickball tournaments, middle school choreographed renditions of Tootsie Roll (the one scarring memory I couldn't completely block out), and high school games of floor hockey, ultimate frisbee, and the annual 5K run. Most of all, I am grateful for the overbearing sense of guilt I feel for not running as regularly (or compulsively) as I used to.
I dare say those were some fun days.
Rarely do I cook something and then hesitate to eat it, because I'm mostly proficient in the kitchen, and I generally love to eat. But, crap, that was some terrible oatmeal.
Aside from smoothies, I think I just suck at making sweet things. Desserts are especially foreign to me. If I stick to making savory soups and stir-fries, I'll be fine. And if a high-sodium diet should lead to hypertension later in life, I'll at least console myself with the fact that it's not diabetes.
On that pleasant note, here's to avoiding hypertension, diabetes, and obesity in 2010!
I'm not actually still in Japan, though by the looks of my last post, one might begin to wonder.
2009 was an intense year. It wasn't as bad as 2008 or previous years -- no one died among family and friends this year, hooray -- but it was definitely breakneck speed at times. A year ago, I wouldn't have planned to travel so many miles (Japan and Alaska both for the first time!), attend so many weddings (nine, almost ten), work so many hours (68 in one particularly grueling week), catch up with so many old friends (ah, Facebook), and lose so much hair (2010 resolution: Rogaine?). Oh, and eat horse (somehow forgot that one while blogging from Japan). I guess it was a year of surprises. The only unsurprising statistic is how little I blogged. Goodness, I can still see the post from a year ago on the front page.
In a matter of hours, we draw the curtain on a decade that I've taken great pleasure in calling the Naughties. Coming up are the Teens, I guess? Sounds so adolescent...and awkward. So promising, yet pubescent. It's gonna be great.
Happy New Year.
Now in Tokyo. Still haven't come down with whatever disease is plaguing my sister, but am probably nursing a few million germs by now. Incubation will likely finish right around the time I board my flight home. I can already imagine the other passengers rolling their eyes at me in disgust. I will laugh if I contract swine flu...and then I will cough a little from laughing so hard. It would just be too ironic.
Asahi was pleasant, but Tokyo is much more English-friendly, and the subway system makes me happy. Meanwhile, a childhood friend of my mom hooked us up with a condo, internet access, spare cell phone, copious antibiotics, and her personal translation/navigation services, which makes this portion of our trip a whole lot easier. She simply rocks, as does my mom for having such great friends.
I'll wrap up with some thoughts from the past few days...
Apologies and pardons.
What would seem like profuse and unnecessary self-deprecation back in the States is nothing short of a national pastime here. I could get used to this!
Playing Japanese tourist.
Super fun in Japan, as there is no shame in whipping out the camera anywhere and everywhere.
Export/import industry.
Renders souvenir shopping almost pointless, as there are precious few things one couldn't just buy at Uwajimaya back in Seattle. My friends at home wouldn't know where their gifts came from. Either sad or awesome, can't decide.
"Vacation" with the family.
A bit of an oxymoron, it would seem.
Blue screen of death.
Even scarier in Japanese. Can now relate with the parents and their experiences with technology.
Japanese toilet paper.
More prone to tear longitudinally than across the transverse perforation. Whatever. Will wipe with streamers if necessary. Which brings us to my final thought...
Bidets.
Oh, wow. o_O
For those of you who happen to be cursed gifted with a visually-prone imagination like I, you are welcome.
