36 Hrs into the Juice Fast and…

…I folded like a napkin.  I broke like a dry twig.  I crumpled like a dirty pair of undies, tossed onto the floor.

I completely and utterly failed and I’m pretty ok with that.  It wasn’t so much the constant discomfort combined with the thought that there would be 8 1/2 more days of nothing but lemon juice, combined with the knowledge that there was a kitchen full of food just a few feet away.

All of that played a large part of my downfall, but the straw that broke my back was how short my temper was getting with my kids.  I would notice it and remind myself that I was just hungry and if I could keep my shit together it would pass in just a couple days, but I would still find myself over-reacting over things that normally wouldn’t bother me at all.

So, there it is…my failure is not at all a result of my weak and insignificant will.  Instead, it’s the fault of my two, young and innocent children.  Yes, let’s blame it on them.  My ego feels better already.

Wife and Spawn are heading back to Taiwan in late April and maybe I’ll give it another try then, when I’m can lock myself away and not have to subject anyone to my unpleasantness.

Published in: on February 18, 2012 at 6:31 am  Comments (1)  

Progenirator X (Y)

I’ve been on a brief hiatus from the blog. “Brief” being 4 months or more. I’d like to be able to tell you that I have been polishing up the great american novel, working on a screenplay or curing cancer but since there are only 3 people who read this blog, and they all know me pretty well, you probably already know that these are all lies. Lies, I tell ya.

One thing I have been doing is making babies. It seems my sperm just can’t be stopped (especially when I don’t bother taking any precautions to stop them). Since Spawn #2 popped out, Wife and I have been loosely debating whether we were going to go for #3, and now it seems the discussion is over and for the past four months I’ve been spending most of my spare moments thinking things like “Wholly shit, our house is going to be loud!”, “I guess it’s time to schedule that vasectomy.” and “I hope they’re all good in school, because there’s no way I’ll ever afford college.”

You probably know that China has a one-child policy. This doesn’t effect me at all, since both my wife and I are dirty foreigners. We can pump out as many rugrats we can fit into our double-wide, and the Central Committee wouldn’t even think of forcing my sweet bride into a glorious state-supported back room abortion. However, one thing that being in China does effect is that the doctors can’t tell us the sex of the baby.

It’s very important to a lot of Chinese to have sons and pass on the family name.  Since China has a one-child policy, a lot of families, who find out that they have a fetus of the vaginal persuasion, were, until recently, faced with the possibility of their long family line fizzling out. So, to keep the unthinkable from happening, many women would get that potentially disastrous vaga-fetus scraped right out of them in the hopes that the future might bring a more penally robust fetus into their wombs.

The result of this sound practice that China will have around 40 million more marriage-aged men than women in the next 10 years. If you’re a woman (who happened to avoid being aborted), this is a pretty sweet situation.  You’ll have plenty of choices in your search for someone to make your own fetuses with.  But the fact that there will be more than 40 million lonely, horny dudes roaming around the countryside within the next few years makes me want to get my 2 daughters out of here before they hit puberty.

I digress.  The point I was trying to make is that because so many people here seem abortion crazy if their genetic coin flip ends up tails (pun not intended, but still appreciated), China put in a policy forbidding doctors from telling parents the sex of the baby.  This makes sense to me.  It’s a horrific practice that is causing a fairly large social problem.  Keeping doctors from telling parents the sex seems a small price to pay if it solves the problem.  But as a foreigner, of course I’d like to be exempt for any local laws that I find inconvenient.  After all, I have  two wonderful daughters who I loves very much, and are long past aborting age.  Neither my wife or I are Chinese citizens.  I thought, surely, they’d tell us.  As someone who can’t see a gift with my name on it without peeking under the wrapping, I had no intention of waiting until next Summer to find out what was under the tree, so I encouraged Wife to beg, cajole and bribe the doctor, but nope.  No special treatment for us.

Just as I was about to accept that there was no way to weasel my way into my Wife’s womb to take a sonogram-enhanced peek at my kid’s privates, I remembered that we were all spending Xmas in S. Korea with some very close friends of ours.  An appointment was set up, and  one plane ride, one car ride, 35 bucks and 30 minutes in the waiting room later, I was told we are having a boy.  The doctor even drew a circle around it, drew and arrow to said circle and wrote “penis” on the sonogram print out, so either it’s a boy or she’s got a superfluous appendage.

I’m so curious about how this is going to change the atmosphere  in our house.  Right now, with two girls, it’s all squeals, giggles and drawing on each other’s faces with crayons and saying it’s “make up”.  I wonder how much chaos a boy is going to bring into the mix.

If he’s anything like I was as a boy, probably a lot.

In writing news:

There’s nothing solid to tell, but I did get a very exciting email from an agent’s assistant at one of the largest talent agencies in Los Angeles.   A buddy of mine made the intro and I sent in a spec script a few months ago.  In early Dec. she sent an extremely flattering email back.  I won’t give details because I’m sure it will jinx it, but I’ve read the thing a couple hundred times since receiving it and it still brings a smile to my face every time.

What does it actually mean?  Maybe nothing…maybe everything.  Her boss (big shot Hollywood agent) has been told about me and my spec script and it’s on his reading list.  I’ve also been asked for, and given, other examples of my work.  So, everyone keep your fingers crossed for little Hinesy.

In other news:

I’m taking the Foreign Service test again on Feb 11th.  Wish me luck.  But wish me more luck on the script.  Diplomats are cool and all, but they can’t work in their underwear like a writer can.

Published in: on January 6, 2012 at 5:38 am  Comments (2)  

Bathrooms, Computers and Spankin’ that A**

One really awesome thing about living in China is, occasionally, you’ll get a nice big healthy case of the runs.  Actually, I shouldn’t limit this to China.  I’m not admitting I’ve actually gone doodie in mine own pants, because that would be far too embarrassing, but I will say virtually everyone I know who has traveled extensively- and everyone I’ve actually asked – has sharted in their underoos at least once.  It goes with the territory.

Today is one of those special days.  No sharting (don’t go getting all excited) but I have had a couple dozen trips to the back to spend some time with myself.  Of course, this has not gone unnoticed by my coworkers, and that brings us to another perk of living in China.  People talk openly about bodily functions.  Of course, in my mind, this makes total sense.  Everybody poops (if you haven’t read the book, you should).  Everyone vomits.  Everyone farts, burps, digs boogers out of their nose and at least half the population lets the occasional queef.  We all do it – so my mind tells me – what’s the big deal with talking about it?

Well, apparently it’ s more than my Victorian upbringing can handle because when I was coming back from my 47th trip to the bathroom this morning, and my Chinese coworker says, both loudly and with sincere concern, “Oh, Hinesy, I think you really have the serious diarrhea.” I really couldn’t do anything but laugh as I kept walking to my office.

He had no way of knowing that when I’m embarrassed, uncomfortable or scared, I tend to burst into laughter (I have no idea why) and he probably thought that he’d made some sort of strange foreigner connection with me because then, every other time strolled by him – trying very hard to seem casual, like it wasn’t unbelievably urgent for me to get to a commode as soon as humanly possible – he would say,  “Ohh.  To the bathroom again!?” and then smile and laugh in a “our friendship just reached a whole new level.” kind of way.  I would then just shake my head, laugh some more, and waddle down the hall with my butt pinched-tight.

It’s been an awesome day.

Writing update!

None, Zilch, Zip, Nada.

My sweet and shiny Macbook is at the Macbook doctor’s.  Generally it’s fine, but my AppleCare runs out in February and I want to get as much stuff fixes on it as possible while it’s free.  This time it’s a new trackpad and a new screen.  Is there anything REALLY wrong with either?  Hmmm… saying “no” might make me a fraud, but I admit it was nothing that would keep me from using it.  However, I’ve paid enough for that AppleCare and I want my moolah’s worth.

It’s been there for four days now and I’ve no idea when it will be back in my loving arms.  I’ve been using other workstations, while at work, and sneaking bits of time on my wife’s computer, but nothing with enough time to do any writing or editing.  Besides, all my stuff is on my computer…an writing on someone else’s computer feels dirty, and not in a good way.  Even doing this blog on another computer feels a little like cheating.

The last part of this blog was going to be a heartfelt defense of spanking your children, but quipping about today being one, long, never ending bowel movement has taken far too long.   You’ll have to read about me beating my children next time.

No, I don’t really beat my children, sicko.

Published in: on September 8, 2011 at 8:53 am  Comments (2)  

Rubbing off on my chillins

I know I just posted, but two things happened in the last 10 minutes that made me want to post again.

A. Anyone who knows me also knows I have a foul mouth. In an attempt to not cuss around my kids, I’ve tried to insert other sayings in the place of less socially acceptable terms. It’s not that I think these words are “bad” – I’ve always thought it’s a bit strange that we create a word and then tell ourselves not to use it, in any context – but I don’t want my daughter to get in trouble in kindergarten for saying “fuck”.

So, instead of “what the fuck?” I, upon the advice of my friend Moorhead, have started saying “What the what?”  Also, instead of exclaiming “Mother fucker!” I have tried “Mother Mother!”  I don’t always remember to clean it up, but I’m getting better.

I was just sitting with my four-year old in the living room, watching Harry Potter 7, and she goes “What the what is wrong with him, Daddy?” She couldn’t understand why I laughed for as long as I did, but I am sure she will one day.

B: I just got an email from Mr. Harwellicus pointing out that Hinesy is in the urban dictionary.

1. hinesy
the usage of sexual metaphorical content in the context of a classroom or classroom like environment with blatant disregard to socially accepted status quo

I can’t even say how much I like that.  I think blatant disregard to the socially accepted status quo is an important part of contented living:)

Also, in quick writing news:

I reworked my spec script and have sent it off.  I’ve done no editing on the young adult novel and have been outlining a lot on the mystery novel.  I think the rule of 4 pages of research and outline to every 1 page of written work is going to hold true with this thing.  (I might have just made that rule up, but I seem to remember it from somewhere).  I’m HEAVY into the outline and not even scratching the surface yet.  It’s going to be a beast to work on, but I’m having a lot of fun with it so far.

Published in: on August 14, 2011 at 7:12 am  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , ,