return of the Cup Noodle Man
this will only make sense if you grew up on occasional bursts of Japanese television, are a ramen otaku, or otherwise just not entirely hinged.
the Cup Noodle man is walking in an infinite circle, eating his Cup Noodle as if his life depends on it. the Cup Noodle man is permanently tilted inward at a slight angle, enabling him to remain hunched over his Cup Noodle without breaking his stride, maintaining his tight circle of Cup Noodle perambulation that keeps him on camera at all times for the duration of his five seconds of Cup Noodle fame.
The constant inflow of Cup Noodle feeds sufficient energy to prevent his Cup Noodle orbit from decaying until the supply of Cup Noodle runs out or we return from station identification, whichever comes first. yet the Cup Noodle man cannot simply stop, or inertia would cause the Cup Noodle in his hands would spin out of control and into a chain of chaos that would move the earth's orbit too close to the sun to sustain life and also render the moon tasting a bit like MSG.
so, the Cup Noodle man must go on. but the Cup Noodle man is a mere mortal. what happens when the Cup Noodle man dies?
the earth's rotation must cause the orbit of the Cup Noodle man to someday intersect with other Cup Noodle beings. if the Cup Noodle man's orbit should come into proximity with a Cup Noodle woman of sufficient counterspin, they can produce Cup Noodle offspring, provided they can do it with chopsticks and Cup Noodle occupying their hands. similarly, their containers of Cup Noodle may yield smaller containers of Cup Noodle, thus feeding future generations.
do not run over the Cup Noodle man if he wanders into the road, or you will break the chain of Cup Noodle that holds together the Cup Noodle universe.
Labels: japanese tv, ramen, shorts
excerpt from Man Enough
This is a short piece from a work-in-progress about my stay-at-home parenting career, tentatively titled Man Enough. I wrote it sometime in 2002-03 but only dug it up the other night.
"Boy, you've got your hands full!"
Almost without exception, any time I'm out with the 'twins, say, shopping or waiting in line, generally with the two in a shopping cart or the double stroller (so long as Tank will consent to remain strapped and seated, which is about 20-25 minutes tops), or with Tank on foot and Popeye in the backpack carrier (so long as Popeye consents to the laws of gravity, which is generally 5-7 minutes max), strangers will take note and quote, more or less to the letter, this same phrase. Sometimes it's preceded by "Wow" or "Man" instead of "Boy"; sometimes there's "really" added, but those five little words are the same each and every time. You've Got Your Hands Full, exclamation point.
My usual reaction is to simply acknowledge them with a smile and a simultaneous combination of nod and shake of the head that should defy the laws of physics but - possibly due to the time-and-space warping presence of Popeye - always manages to go off without a hitch, much less badly twisted vertebrae (the 'twins have that last part down pat). That's the socially acceptable response to my socially pushing-the-bounds behavior of a father caring for and carrying his own kids.
Later I rationalize that I've scratched the surface of that folkway for at least one YGYHF!er and hope I've given them something to think about, offered a glimpse into a redefinition of modern manhood.
In my heart, at least the good part of it, I hear them thinking:
"Sure, this macho guy is hauling his young'uns around in the middle of the day when he 'should' be at the office or shop or making his next sales call, but here he is, saddled up like a pack mule and breaking for the restrooms and muttering a prayer for the presence of a diaper changing station or at least a relatively clean and flat surface. Damn, I'm glad I'm not him...."
Or maybe,
"Damn, there goes a mighty mighty good man, I wonder if he...."
At this point my mind snaps out of that lonely housewife fantasy scenario in the light of the reality of a diaper at the end of its useful life and a thrashing toddler for whom "safety" straps are just a minor challenge. It's good, too, because now I can move on from the other part of what I was thinking when informed that my hands were in fact at capacity, namely the smartass answer along the lines of NO SHIT SHERLOCK. You mean my hands are FULL? I HAD NO IDEA. I thought I was waving them like clouds and these little creatures were fluttering alongside me, effortlessly keeping in my wake as if tethered yet free to move about. But DAMN, my hands are, yes, thoroughly laden. Thank you for clarifying that.
The 'twins save me from doing that, because at some level I think they realize that they're preventing me from getting into an ugly scene that will result in my being asked to leave the store and thus the frosted toaster pastries we came for will not be obtained and a shitfit will be required of one or both of them, or that the YGYHF!er in question is likely a bureaucrat whose goodwill we may find ourselves in need of this afternoon at the DMV.
Sometimes I'm feeling a bit rowdy and I come back with "No, I've got my hands free," going palms up as I push the cart or stroller, and we both execute an acceptable nervous laugh that lasts long enough to pass one another by and hopefully never have to make eye contact again.
Now we can get on with our mission, namely hunting and foraging for the wild Pop Tart.
Labels: shorts
new short piece (12 May 07)
Finally, at the end of it all, I stood alone by the ocean, atop the mountain, in the heart of the desert, at the edge of something far and bigger. I watched the sun rise, fill the sky and water, shine deep blue and violet and bright hot amber, warming my cheeks, cooling my neck. I drank it in as the sun sank into the ocean, the sea rose up to meet the dissipating fireball, illuminated and melting, still distinct yet somehow not-two. They washed up on me, over me, in and through me, untill surrender was only a passing cloud, floating away forgotten.
Color, nameless. Shape, undefined, Sweet and salty and dry earth, all of it. I was here and gone, taken and never left, swirling. flickering waves danced with me, spun us into slow orbit, ascending spinning, skating on stars.
I witnessed: all of it. I saw, and was seen, I watched worlds that never were and had born and died, loved and lied and never mattered, shimmered without moving, drunk all of them in simultaneously, lived them and passed in the beat of a heart.
The sky and waters were never separate, they only dreamed it that way. Dreamed us, and woke, burned and washed flesh away, blood gone, bone gone, eyes brains and lungs - all gone, just here.
Finally. Here was no-here, no-there, this-where. He I was beyond I, all, all already, and endless end. Home, full, one. Nothing was true, all of it, a breath.
We-it were infinite, timeless, complete and empty, eternal without being. Fully awake, dreaming the world, the sun, the infinite waters, interstellar space and matter.
Finally.
An aeon, an instant, and -
I began to miss it.
A thousand faeries lit up the thought, swarmed into the mind sky and shouted in their tiny loud voices: "Let's go again!"
And we did.
Finally.
Labels: shorts
