MUI

or, men's underwear index, on the premise that sales of such a private necessity reflects a measure of economic health. it makes sense. when you are poor, your boxers go a longer way.

this is clearly the summary index of our age:

1. in legitimizing public discourse over an intimate subject (we need to discuss the y-fronts, sir),

2. in marrying the clandestine with the fiscal (do you prefer the rhinestone studs, or the egyptian cotton, or just pvc?), and

3. in actually tracking such a subject (how many pairs per quarter, would you say?).

we could also have a WUI, to even things out, although that would need to be corrected for weight, ownership of mirrors, and romantic entanglements. we may have to convert it to the log index to allow meaningful comparison to the MUI.

postscript. HOM suggests an indelicate refinement to the MUI concept. don't just track sales, he says. track the number of days before laundering.

the magic of louis cha

being fed a steady diet of wuxia serials has had several effects:

• the J's have acquired a knowledge of chinese culture and history which is as detailed as it is distorted.
• they have remained functional in their mother tongue, thanks to the prolonged immersion.
• we eat our dinner out of bowls as easily as off plates.
• mr cha has become a social meeting point for the entire family.

my all time favorites: the condor trilogy.

literary leanings

J2 takes exception to my comments about driving habits. which brings me to a sticky question: do i blog for my primary entertainment, or should i be more suitably decorous?

should i give up writing our family newsletters and just direct our far-flung friends to my blog? i see HOM almost wince in response. newsletter, he says. he's never sure what new indiscretion i will commit on this blog, perhaps.

so i write on several levels now:
1. hihowareyou i'mgoodhowareyou level on fb
2. politically correct, genteel, we're-still-alive newsletters
3. i-blog-what-i-wanna-blog on this blog, with
4. occasional tenderer musings on the other blog

i wish i had the energy to write an academic paper.

what not to wear

i drag myself and J1 to his early morning xc training at a lakeside in siberia, and am treated to a view of a phalanx of eager young bodies. which gives rise to reflections about running attire:

• some run clothed
• some run half naked
• some should run clothed

two deaths

edward kennedy has died. his body is now proceeding from hyannis port to boston, and he will be buried in the national cemetery in two days.

michael jackson expired a couple of months back amid a flurry of suspicion, accusations and recriminations. i no longer recall his funeral details, except that they were contentious and bombastic, and the eulogies defied belief.

this is a nation of contradictions, that can conduct itself with such quiet dignity for one and prostitute itself so utterly for another, for this, the most final of all our human rites. surely the outpouring of mourning must come from some of the same people?

for the lion of the senate, i agree with hanna rosin, who writes: There are very few examples of true redemption in public life, and Kennedy may be one of them. We don't know if he woke up and thought about Mary Jo Kopechne every morning ... But he certainly behaved like a man foregoing glory for daily penance.

he was, perhaps, a redeemed man; the past forty years would have been very difficult if not. the other, sadly, appears to have been a tortured soul at the apogee of his agony.

driving les.son.

i remember me at the wheel and HOM beside me. i remember the fumes of spontaneous conjugal combustion as J1 and J2 made encouraging comments from the back seat. it was, after all, their soccer game we were driving to.

all i say today is,

• husband, never teach her how to drive.
• wife, never allow him to teach you how to drive.

diversity 3

one, a speed-demon wannabe who goes whooooooooo down a slope, as i quietly and diaphoretically palpitate.

the other could do with a ticket for going too slow, and has led me down a ditch, which is a first, even for me.

both have, predictably, and in the fulness of time, driven HOM round the bend.

insulation

i know a man who loves his son very much. is he comfortable? is he hungry? is he safe? perhaps he would wrap him in tissue paper if he could. he would, if he could, protect him from all pain and unpleasantness. shades of the modern chinese little emperors, i think, and also of the korean horror flick.

are people like this when they marry, or do do they become this? do their spouses complement them, who have evolved over a marriage? or do they awaken one day, distastefully, years on, to a stranger on their bed?

canis vermicularis

driving back home, J1 and i encounter a big woman walking a little bit of excited white fluff. a puppy! a puppy poodle! (or should it be a poodle puppy!?)

J1 thinks it would be nice to have a mini puppy. we could take it for walks tethered to an enormous collar. it would be like walking a giant worm.

input overload

mackie - shure - monster - peavey - yamaha - XLR - TRS
power amp - 16(!) channels - active speaker - snake - monitor - mic
guitar center - radio shack - s video - ebay - amazon

darling, i want to whisper to HOM, it's sexier to speak in english.