My Sister Jen

Allow me to speak on a personal level for a bit here.

(I'm not really asking for permission; it's just a courtesy to say something like that).

Jen is probably reading this and thinking: "Oh no. I've done something to upset my brother and now he's going to write about me on his blog!" Something akin to being put "On Notice" on The Colbert Report, except the host is not as witty and the viewership most definitely does not rank in the millions.

My oldest sister Jen had her birthday yesterday. How old? None of your business.

I thought that I should at least take the opportunity to talk about her a bit, considering that she helped -- and not taking anything away from Shigeko -- raise me in small ways. She was half of the two-man translation team that I needed until I was about 4 years old, because I spoke gibberish and my parents didn't. After I had quit piano at 3 years old or so, and wanted to try and pick it back up a few years later, Jen was the one willing to give me lessons. She was the leader of our 3-man backseat choir that entertained me and my sisters on long road trips -- this will possibly be traced back to as the source if either of my parents fall victim to early dementia.

She let me hang out with her and her high school friends when I was growing up. Let me cheer her at her high school soccer games and track meets. Wrote me every month on my mission and was always encouraging and supportive. Let me crash at her place for four months during the summer of '05 (questions about my obsessively health-oriented eating habits can attribute it to the summer I stayed with Jen).

She is an amazing cook, great athlete, avid reader, polished piano player (chalk one up on the alliteration board)...Most important to me, thoughtful sister and patient and loving mother.

Happy Birthday, Jen!

(Yes, I did write this on 1 May...I was going to write and post it on 30 April, but I was eating Burmese food, and can always modify the date to make it look like it was written on 30 April. Technology-- Wow)

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Conspiracy Theories

I'm toast.

I'm not one for conspiracy theories, but-- (I just realized I've written in multiple posts in the past: "I'm not one for conspiracy theories, but..." so that could be proof that I actually am; like how I'm convinced that the ladies who clean the bathroom at work wait patiently for me personally to get up and walk to the bathroom, then right before I get there, set out the "Cleaning: No Entry" sign just so they can watch me walk awkwardly down the stairs to the next bathroom).

Not the point.

I am convinced that airlines have this diabolical plan to render the entire population completely ineffectual, lazy, and useless. It's called business class, and they're just waiting to pounce on your decision to turn yourself into a dependent, completely non-self-reliant individual. I am barely-functional proof of it.

Let me back up. Work flew me to Japan on business class. After being pampered like that, most anybody would say something along the lines of: "I can never fly anything but business class ever again. Anything else would be torture."

I'm expanding that naive perspective to encapsulate all aspects of my life: "I can't do anything on my own again. Ever." Let me give some examples:

1. When I sit down -- anywhere -- I expect someone to be asking me what kind of drink I want as soon as I've settled in. My roommates have been less than accommodating.

2. When I want to go to bed, I swear at whatever piece of furniture I'm sitting in for not mechanically lying flat and doubling as my bed, all in the push of a button. Dragging myself to bed requires too much effort now.

3. Where are my slippers when I come home, roommates?

4. Airline food is notoriously gross and disgusting; usually unrecognizable for what it's supposed to be. But when I'm served food that I don't recognize because it's too fancy, it's a different story. I was worried I would eat the food incorrectly and embarrass myself around all these in-reality rich people. What I now refer to as "commoner food" (burgers, sandwiches, potatoes, etc) is all revolting.

5. 11 newly released movies are not at the touch of my fingers anymore. What is that?!? If I want to watch Beowulf , decide it's semi-boring, and then want to watch Michael Clayton, then go back to Beowulf because I don't feel like reading a book, that is my prerogative. The effort of packaging up my Netflix'ed DVD's and sticking them in the postal drop box is now an exhausting process.

6. Why won't my roommates take my damn jacket, hang it up when I come home, and bring it back to me when I'm ready to leave?

How am I supposed to be self-sufficient again? Stupid airlines.

I will say another thing. Flying business class developed a superiority complex -- all the comedians talk about it, because it is true: You watch those poor saps trudging back to coach, and you feel sorry for them. Class separation in its pressurized, self-enclosed, and finest form.

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