differing states of being

The blogosphere (as Marrijit likes to call it) is full of long electronic theses on the subject and nature of hipsters. While Marrijit is not intimately aware of the evolution of hipster-dom (one being a granola jock, the other a foreigner), it is well acquainted with several specimens of the same. From our extensive research we have learned that 'hipsters' are the new hippie (in this revelation we were aided by Dr. Jenn Heinen, whose scholarship has been expounded on in the pathbreaking literary work, 'A Novel Idea'). What exactly does that mean? Good question. As an Indian, I am well aware of the caste system. In India the caste system works like this (in descending order, as denoted by the numbers)--

1. Brahmins (scholars, priests)
2. Kshatriyas (warriors, rulers)
3. Vaishyas (merchants)
4. Shudras (unskilled workers)
5. Untouchables (waddya think?)

In India we have perfected this caste system. Once you're an untouchable you're stuck there. It is not a good system (from what I hear). As a matter of fact, it is a nonsense system, but one everyone takes seriously because its considered pretty bad form to disagree with what your ancestors have told you. It is something like the Founding Fathers insisting that everyone gets to carry guns, and Charlton Heston taking it seriously.

But just like Charlton Heston was proved a fool by Michael Moore, the caste system was shown to be fairly pointless by BR Ambedkar, who solved the whole issues by becoming a Buddhist. Buddhism is a very solid religion, because everyone's just been oppressing them for so long, they haven't come up with any dogma yet. It's like Judaism.

Therefore, we can relate India and the US as such:

caste system= Charlton Heston
BR Ambedkar= Michael Moore
Buddhism= Judaism

Anyway, from recent research we have found out that Charlton Heston is getting a little tired of being responsible for the caste system dilemma, and has asked for a break. He suggested a parallel caste system in America, so that he does not have to be the American representative of the entire caste system, but in America everyone is always asking for equality, so it became a little hard to come up with a similar system. Therefore, we have arranged the different subgroups in America into the following system

1. Hipsters
1. Aging hippies
1. Jocks (Democrat)
1.5 Jocks (Republican)
1. Normal (Invisible)
1. nice people
2. not nice people
0. Barack Obama

-- as we can see from this system, everybody except 'not nice people' are at the top of the chain, and Obama is better than everyone else. However, he is such a nice person that he has consented to being at the bottom of the list, despite the fact that our caste system (as suggested by Charlton Heston) designates him as being the best.

Marri falls between Aging Hippies and Jocks (Democrat)-- this is because she's a jock who plays the guitar. Now she is making a determined move towards hipsterdom. This shows that Marri exemplifies the American dream of class mobility. In India I am somewhere between Brahmin and Kshatriya, and there's nothing I can do about it. But in America I can marry a social chameleon like Marri who freely moves from sub-group to sub-group with nary a care in the world. This is why I love Marri Coen.

and America.

U-S-A, U-S-A, U-S-A. Also, Walmart.

what we talk about when we talk about love

Luckily for me I decided to marry Marri Coen, and she's been real good about keeping me line. When I fall on the front line she is there to pick up the slack, change the diapers, and post on our blog. For that I am truly grateful.
I've spent the last four days in a drunken stupor in front of the TV, and watched 65 teams want to become national champions. Because of my bracket I've been dismissive of teams such as CalState Fullerton and Texas A&M Arlington. American University has not crossed my mind, and I've scoffed at George Mason, who have not been this year's George Mason. I feel kinda' bad about that, mostly because I just realized that most of the guys out there on the floor are younger than me, and it feels weird rooting against little kids. But also, as a sports fan it's kind of my solemn duty to support the underdog unless there's a team I care about. And my bracket makes me forget that. It's a philosophical quandary. It's hard supporting Duke, it means that I've sold my soul for 2 points in a NCAA bracket, but then I realize that beating Eddie is worth much more than my soul, so I feel better about the whole thing.
Eddie is my American tutor. He teaches me how to be an American-- under his influence I have become a smoker, a drinker, a drug addict, and a jobless, prospectless 23 year old grad student. Needless to say, beating Eddie in our March Madness pool is about all life is worth right now.
I am also writing a story about war. It is depressing. I have so far killed seven characters in the first four pages. For those of you who were closely following my thesis, my first draft involved killing all my characters by about page 70. I think this is a worrying tendency on my part, but no matter how many characters I kill, my story will still be better than 'A History of Love', which is a terrible story.
This is despite the fact that Nicole Krauss is very high on the MFA Hall of Fame board. For those of you who don't know, MFA students/programs have a very special breed of the caste system, and authors are organized in a terribly hierarchical manner. I am not sure of the exact rules, but a reliable rule of thumb is that the less books you sell the more famous you are. I will, of course, explore this thesis further in due course.

sex scandal rocks 'the honeymoon years'

We have absolutely no information, but it is clearly a developing storyline. We will return shortly with details.

Early suspects include (but are not limited to):

Yogi Bear
Hillary Clinton
Louis Armstrong
Madame Tussaud
Edgar Allan Poe
Tom Cruise (and entire Church of Scientology)

who are we can be answered by who we are

There comes a time in every man's life when he must come to terms with the bitter truth of human interaction. It is a pill not easily swallowed, it causes tears and recriminations and much sorrow. But it is a rite of passage. The seeds for this moment of self-discovery are lain many years prior to the actual moment of fatal realization-- from our mother's wombs we are trained to accept the basic truth of all humanity:

Women are smarter than men.

For those of you who know me as a reputable woman-hater this moment might come as somewhat shocking. But by reading Marri Coen's consistently superior prose, her eloquent yet elegant insight, her intelligent and sensitive comments, I have no choice but to accept that my mate would not only be a better gatherer, but a better hunter as well.

Let us look at other evidence to support this claim--

a. Girls get better grades. No less an authority than Cafferty (of Cafferty file fame) said as much during his daily 3 minutes of screen time. And for those of us who are ardent fans of the fantastically named Wolf Blitzer, we must accept any words spoken by his minions as gospel truth.

b. Continuing the political theme, more women are Democrats

c. Katherine Hepburn

d. Women grow eyes in the back of their head when they become mothers. This has long proved to be a true rumor, and every human can attest to this baffling phenomenon of human biology

e. I can't think of it, but I'm sure Marri Coen could. QED.

--I am left with no choice but to accept my genetic inferiority against this mountain of evidence.

Alack, alas, almighty. Why?

I have bought a revolver, it fits snugly in my mouth. How fitting-- the phallic ending to the phallic ending. (note my wordplay; she might be smarter, but I am gloriously witty)

whenceforth, wherefore,

There are certain things about my life that Marri Coen does not know. Here are some things she should find out in this beautiful forum

a. I secretly work for the CIA. This necessitates disappearing from time to time with the ostensible purpose of saving the world. Also, internet connectivity in Afghanistan sucks.

b. I am a double agent for the Mossad. This is because Mossad (according to literature I read) is pretty awesome. Plus matso-ball soup.

c. I do not make the bed

d. Or doing the dishes

e. I cannot cook, though only Eddie can make a better mac 'n cheese than me. I've been practising

f. While I have been away plotting world domination, India beat Australia in the second final of a tournament no one cares about in a sport no one cares about. I hate America

g. Just kiddin', Cheney.

h. Fantasy baseball drafts are awesome

one trick pony

A one trick pony is a pony that only knows one trick. This sort of pony is much in demand at children's birthday parties, but is elementally unsuited for a longer show in which it is the star attraction. The question arises, what do we do after the pony finishes its one trick? With its repertoire exhausted do we simply wait around, get the pony drunk, coo over its cuteness? Confusion abounds.

Similarly, I am worried that this blog is a one-trick pony. After all the secret wives are detailed, the children christened and photographed, the commenters answered, then what?

The answer of course is to get drunk.

It is Spring Break at ASU next week. Everyone is going to Cancun. I am staying in Phoenix.

So it goes.

where have you gone, joe di maggio?

many theories abound.

we will be glad of your thoughts as we go about planning our sequel to 'Where In the World is Carmen San Diego?' but with a baseball theme.

a lengthy interlude

we were away on a dirty weekend. Truth. I did not shower.

Also-- what a clever comment by that courageous crusader for justice-- 'anonymous.' Truly, he/she has nailed it. Of course, I am deeply shaken by their dissection of marrijit's flawed relationship. I too wonder, 'what are we compensating for', or 'isn't this terrible'? I am only responding to this out of shock, fear, and probably an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach at the comment-er (commentator?)'s astuteness and mental acuity at seeing through the incredible hollowness of marrijit's relationship. But if I ignored it with a cheery post would they think that I had noticed and was trying not to give it credence? Would they believe that I had stuck my head in the sand to ignore the screaming Bedouins attacking my ostrich farm? Would they also be able to tell that I secretly liked the DaVinci Code while pretending to hate it? Who knows? What is the right answer here? How can Marrijit regain the dignity they have so clearly lost with this blog? Will we ever rebound from a possible divorce? Will we die virgins? If only we knew who 'anonymous' was, if only they had shown us their pallid face so that we may ask them for much needed follow-up advice. But, as Marrijit's favorite quote says, ifs and buts do not a happy goat make. At which I must let the matter rest, unless of course anonymous rears their head again with more cunningly intelligent observations and homilies of a certain nature.

In more important news, India beat Australia in a cricket match and Ari's childhood hero made a century. This makes Ari a happy camper.

How to stop your wife from telling unfavorable stories about you

To prevent Marri Coen from saying uncomplimentary things about my drinking habits in the future (especially to the whole world):

I would just like to point out that I love Marri Coen. More than life itself. No snarkiness, faux coolness or anything uncomplimentary. She is the perfect girl. So much for that.

Perfect girl= Marri Coen.

Story over.

No more drinking stories. For the honeymoon phase of the 'Honeymoon Years' blog

a brief history of love-- Part I

A Brief History of Love is a novel by Nicole Krauss, who is married to Jonathan Safran Foer who is also a novelist. Both of them sell a lot of copies, and are very 'hip' in the fiction world. Being on the outskirts of the world of fiction, I am well aware of their much touted hipness. Neither of them however seem like they are good ol' fashioned novelists like Ernest Hemmingway, or Fitzgerald or Faulker. They do not seem to have drinking problems, or depression, or mommy issues, or sex with bulls. They're very New York. They live on the Upper West Side and watch the Daily Show before going to bed. They probably wear socks during sex. In other words, I am not talking about Nicole Krauss in this post.

This is an introduction to the history of Marri Coen and Ari's love. I will break it down in a logical manner for you.

Freshman Year: We lived on the same hall in Clark. Marri lived down the hall from me. She used to be a jock. I used to be the foreign kid. As everyone knows (from a cursory viewing of American tv) female jocks are not friends with male foreign kids. However, Marri's sunny personality, and my innate smoothness with the ladies was made apparent by a succession of conversations that went like this;

Ari: Hey Marri
Marri: Hey Ari
Ari: How was the game?
Marri: It was ok. We lost 1-0
Ari: Again?
Marri: Sorry
Ari: Ari, Marri, Sorry
Marri: It rhymes.
Both: hahahaha...

-- some of you may not know this, but I am taking a class on writing dialogue this semester. I am doing very well in it.

--Our conversation, thusly presented above, was repeated throughout the year; it always involved Marri in a yellow towel about to take a shower. Marri is very good at taking showers. It is a speciality of hers. This process of repeating a conversation is known as 'repetition'. It is a technique much favored by novelists and film makers--look at Yossarin Yossarin, or Tora! Tora! Tora! It is a great artistic technique and is good with the critics.

It is my belief that this repetition is where the roots of our love were planted. As with architecture, any building must have a solid base to endure-- the repetition of this conversation provided the bricks on which the great Coen-Sen love affair was then erected. Get it, erected? God, not only am I romantic but also erotic. I'm number One. I'm number One.

You're a lucky lady Marri Coen. Just saying.

Secret Wives

Despite my great love for Marri Coen, I have something of a wandering eye. It is not a great fault, but it is difficult to force a man to choose just one woman for the rest of his life. Women, of course, must be happy with one man. That is absolutely okay. No problemo dudes and dudettes.

In this post, I would like to introduce you to some of my secret wives. I love them just as much as I love Marri Coen, though of course not in the same super-committed way.

This is my secret wife Gaya. Gaya is 5'2", though she insists that she is much taller. Do not believe her, Gaya has a truthiness problem. Gaya likes cigarettes (sometimes), Bollywood, women's issues in Algeria, and tabouli. Sometimes, Gaya pretends to be a health-kick. When she does this, we should all smile indulgently, and pat her on the head. She really likes this.

Sometimes, I write Gaya poetry. This makes her my muse. It is not very good poetry, but I blame my muse for that.

This picture was taken by Marri Coen by the way, thereby proving that she approves of my illicit affair.


On the right here is Danielle. Sometimes I call Danielle, 'Crystal', but this makes her sound like a stripper, so I don't much like to do it. Danielle likes doing the dishes. She also plays soccer when she is not working out. Soccer is a British game in which you run around for a long time, then lose 1-0.
Danielle also likes to eat sprouts and other roots that taste terrible. This is one of the flaws in her character.
Danielle is a little bit like my mother. She yells at me about my attitude, dressing habits, health, sex life, smoking etc. Sometimes I call her 'Mom'. This makes our relationship a little bit Oedipal. Oedipal is a Greek work that means 'creepily weird'. Sometimes, Danielle is 'creepily weird'.

This is Sidney. We do not know where she is, or even if she exists. Sidney is what is known as a 'myth'. A myth is an imaginary story/creature that no one knows much about.

No one knows very much about Sidney. Besides being a myth, Sidney is also a conundrum.

Someday, the nuns will know what to do with a problem named Sidney. The answer is marrying Christopher Plummer.





This is my real mom, Melissa Louie. I used to love her very much, but she cut all her hair off.

Melissa is also known as Missy. So when she gets called to the bench by the judge, he says, 'Approach the bench Miss Missy.' Then the judge guffaws. Of course, this is a hypothetical situation. Mom doesn't get arrested that often.

Mom is an alcoholic.








This is Heidi Klum.


I wish I was married to her.


She has a restraining order against me. I blame her husband
for it. His name is Seal. That's a stupid name.

fascinatingly, the maternal urge wells up in me

For those of you who are worried: I will not let Marri Coen name our kids. We have not discussed this, but our children will be named, 'Apostrophe', 'Whoosh', and 'Sweet Lion Lemonade'. It is a decision I made a long time ago.

I will love 'Apostrophe' the most. She will have a natural feeling for words and language, and will compose beautiful poetry. Just like her dad, she will go to an overpriced liberal arts school and then graduate to an MFA program in poetry. Of course, she will want to live in a little studio in Brooklyn. And she'll be a poet, so she won't have any money. So she'll ask her parents, Marri Coen and me, to give her money to support herself. She'll wear black. In retrospect, I think I hate her themost.

'Whoosh' will be a failed sports-star. He will be a second-string shooting guard with no passing skills. In college, he will play intramural B-league. He will not really get a job, but will pretend to spend his life getting ready for law school. He will waste my money.

'Sweet Lion Lemonade' will be the baby of the family. She'll have blonde curls, just like her mother. Or whatever color hair her mother has, I'll be dammed if I know. Sweet Lion Lemonade Coen-Sen will be the prettiest girl in all of kindergarten, and I will lock her up in her room on her twelfth birthday and sit outside it with a shotgun till she's ninety-five. No one's touching my daughter. Except for Apostrophe, Apostrophe will be one of those artsy girls who has sex with everyone. That should upset me, but she's just taken one too many 'loans' for me to care.

On looking over the matter, I think I hate all our kids. I'm going to push to have absolutely no kids. I hate kids. Kids smell bad, cost money, and have sex with ruffians.

Blogging is awesome !! Our relationship has never been this communicative or good.

introduction to marri coen

This is a picture of Marri Coen. Marri Coen and I got married a year ago, and wanted to share with our friends our thoughts on the married life. Welcome to our blog! Feel free to post your comments at any time.

This is how I proposed to Marri:

Me (on one knee): 'Marri Coen, will you do me the honor of marrying me?'

This is how Marri remembers it:

Me (drunk): 'Let's go upstairs and get married'

-- Marriage is about compromise. We each have our beliefs and thoughts, often they are different and variant. For example, I am a Democrat and Marri Coen is a Republican. In many couples this could cause tremendous stress to the relationship, but we have learned that being married does not mean we have to share the same beliefs. Just being together is enough for us.

Toodles!