Poop

Babies poop.

Especially babies that look like this:



We are not worried. Our baby will grow up to look like Brad Pitt. Which is what you get when you average out Marri's incendiary hotness and my average lumpishness.

P-O-R-N-O-G-R-A-P-H-Y

Ha!

I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes

Love is all around me. And everyday the feeling grows.

Not just a WetWetWet classic. It is, like all great art, the truth. It transcends mere pop music and becomes a part of your soul. It is Marrijit's 'song' (note: Marrijit has many songs. One or two of them might be by famous poet and thinker, Fergie). Like all couples, Marrijit has many traditions. Marri has already told you about our Friday the 13th tradition. We also have a Feb. 14th tradition in which we do laundry, eat Cheezits, comment on new gummi-bear flavors, marvel at string-cheese, and make a list of 14 things we love about each other (Marrijit loves making lists. It is our specialty).

Here are 14 reasons why Ari loves Marri.

1. She looks like this:



2. She does not know how to spell debonair
3. She knows that sometimes I like blondes and sometimes I like brunettes. That is why her hair color is always changing
4. She was instrumental in making 'The Play'
5. She still thinks its funny that Ari and Marri rhyme
6. She accepted my proposal the first time I asked her
7. She put this picture on the world wide interweb:



8. She gives me very good advice on cooking. And also constant encouragement
9. Sometimes she lets me use her to make girls jealous. (Corollary: I no longer need to make girls jealous because of the picture she put on the world wide interweb. Nowadays girls do not talk to me. Neverthemind, I have Marri)
10.She married me so I could get a green-card. Then we fell in love
11.She is the world's most famous softball poet. As writers our art holds us together
12.She once watched porn
13.She is not taller than me
14.She can kick my ass in a fight

Valentine's day bonus: She is perfect

To Work, Or Not Be Employed?

Today, Arijit attempted to create a "curriculum vitae" to position himself for job offers when he finishes his MFA program. Unfortunately, Arijit is not qualified for anything. His many credits include, "Can eat 15 Fireballs in one sitting", "Recipient of 'Farting up a storm' award", "Came 7th in 'Fat Boy Category' 100m dash in 8th grade Sports Day practise". Despite these imaginary accomplishments, Arijit's curriculum vitae is entirely lacking in length. The truth is that Arijit has done nothing in his life to merit a job. Most 14 year olds can get more jobs than him. But after many hours of soul-searching, 3 cries later, and some sweaty arm-pits firmly behind him, Arijit hit upon the perfect CV entries.

PROFESSIONAL EXPERIENCE:
- Masterminded corporate merger of love conglomerate "Marrijit Inc."
- Planned and Implemented "GroupThink (Inc.)" with mom Missy Louie. Human Resources co-head; staffed 44 as-yet unhired staff.

Arijit is ready to provide for his family.

Oh, yea! Baby!

The World's Most Boring/Interesting Couple

Drinking too much alcohol or seeing a pretty girl sometimes causes a constriction of the throat. When Arijit sees a pretty girl his voice rises two octaves and he squeaks something silly. Well trained in the ways of Americana, he says, "How's it going? Good," before walking away. Having nothing to talk about besides his finding her pretty, he repeats his squeaky hello everytime he sees her. While it is all very well for Arijit, everyone else tends to get bored after a while.

Marri however changed it all for Arijit. She was all that. After a year of "How's it goings," Arijit was able to talk to her. Similarly, after a year of The Honeymoon Years, Arijit is thinking that perhaps Marrijit start talking about other things. Despite the new baby we would like to keep our lives open to new experiences. Unfortunately we cannot join a book club because Ari is illiterate, and we cannot join a wine club because Marri is an alcoholic. Unlike the handsome couple of Eddie-Melissa we cannot do a triathalon because Marri will beat Ari and make him feel like less of a man, and that will be no good for the future upbringing of babyMarrijit. We are therefore drawing up a list of possible activities that will allow us to continue growing as human beings while not taking away from our new identity as parents.

a)Training for the Iditarod-- will be put on hold when Marri is pulled from nowhere to run for Veep.

b)Explore the possibilities of polygamy-- will require detailed watching of hit TV show "Big Love" starring the famous Chloe Sevigny ("Blue Bunny")

c)Return to school for PhD. program in Geographical Sciences and Urban Planning (*actually a new 'school' at ASU, the merging dictated by budget cuts)

d)Explore finances required to move to France so we can "live"-- having watched terrible DiCaprio-Winslet Oscar vehicle "Revolutionary Road"

e)Memorize Dante's Divine Comedy-- immortalize quest by remarking, "it was there".

f)Assassinate Kevin Smith to stop him directing films such as "Zack and Miri Make a Porno"-- caused Ari's crush on Elizabeth Banks to grow distinctly flaccid.

g)Think of hilarious jokes to make about the O'Bamas-- awwwwwwwwww!

h)Take up crocheting.

i)Work on being less crotchety.

j)Learn how to spell simple words

--Armed with these options it is only a matter of time before Marrijit once again becomes the cynosure of all eyes, the sparkling couple at every cocktail party, the chief party planning committee members, the love of everyone's lives, everyone's favorite wife-swapping fantasy.

k)Stop making sexually inappropriate remarks.

Bluebloods & Elbow Patches

Today was Papa Ari's first day of class after yet another long break from school. While the baby wanted to come to class with Papa Ari, I was very strict and refused to let it leave the crib. It attempted to stomp its feet, but its knees (despite the Pilates) have not strengthened enough to allow it to stand. After a brief pitstop at the doctor's ("a small penis is nothing to worry about at this stage. He will undoubtedly be as famed a lover as his father"), Papa Ari arrived at class to discover that his favorite blazer no longer had an elbow patch, and also that moisturizer needed to be applied to elbows in winter (who knew?).

Papa Ari was also informed that he would never get a job given his present credentials. Unfortunately he Marri-ed for love instead of for money. Boo! Now I have to support this kid and his fashionably expensive Pilates classes.

Manzier

I use that. All the time. Every single day. Except when I'm feeding the baby. Then I take it off.

Death to Smoochy

Today, disaster struck.

In Hindu mythology there is a story about a wise man who found a little fish floundering in a puddle. He took it home and put it in a bowl. The next morning it had grown too big. He found a pond. Next morning it was too big. Then he took it to a lake. Same thing. Then the sea. Then the ocean. Eventually the fish saves the wise man (and 2 of every animal) from the flood. Besides the fact that white people stole this story and got rid of the fish, it is a lesson of some sort for us to learn from. All I know is that the little fish became god. The same thing has happened to Marrijit's (as yet unnamed) baby. The baby is huge, and Indian people think it is god.

I am sure several of you have some questions about this baby. Why is the baby darker than it used to be a few days ago? It is because I live in Arizona and I tan easily. Readers may ask, why is Arijit of Marrijit fame posting 3 times in succession, instead of an equal division of labor between him and his fair bride (in more ways than one)? It is because Marri has thrown out her back from carrying the fattie around.

What are we to do? I have suggested that we drive the baby to Nebraska and dump it there, because no state is going to believe this creature isn't at least 12. Marri didn't care as long as we didn't take it to Arkansas. Besides fat people and Bill Clinton, Arkansas is also famous for not letting gay people adopt. After a quick perusal of our 'Gay People Cliche's' dictionary, Marrijit has come to the conclusion that only a gay couple can redeem this fashionless foible of a human being.

We can also kill it. Just saying.

Vis a Vis a

In the life of each couple several thundershowers must necessarily occur. Even supposedly/seemingly perfect couples like Marrijit sometimes have trouble. "What," you say. "Nonsense. Everyone knows Marrijit is the bestest couple in the whole world." This is true, and I am not denying it, but the perfection was built slowly. Only recently has it gotten to the point where we are comfortable discussing it with our friends on the world wide interweb. We have revelled in our readers' love and affection, and the pointless musings on our relationship by Anonymous. But there is trouble in paradise now. Marrijit is on the verge of being in dire straits (much like the famous and confoundingly unpopular-in-America band) , the foundations are quivering. The new baby has changed everything. We have filled its little body with all the love we were capable of mustering up, and now Marrijit lies empty and drained.

We are getting old. Middle-age and its incipient responsibilities have overwhelmed us. After work we are sometimes so tired we can barely speak. Sometimes I think the baby is a pickle and try to put him in a sandwich. Sometimes Marri has an affair.

But we must be strong. We must persevere. And I will stop trying to kill the baby. Those are my new year's resolutions.

Triumphant Returns

You might wonder why we have not posted on this blog for nine months. Ask yourself a simple question-- what takes nine months? Yes, dear followers of the honeymooon years, your suspicions are correct. Here is our baby. He is a little undersized. And has a small penis. That happens sometimes. I'm sure size does not actually matter.

To give you an update: Marrijit is doing well. Marri is teaching little children, and Arijit is teaching big children, and we are changing the world while we're at it, just like our favorite politician Barack Obama said. There was a brief argument during which Arijit wanted to install Blagojevich as 'honeymoon years'' favorite politician, but healthy compromise once again won the day, and Marri got her way, so Barack is still our favorite politician.

Here is a bit of advice to all you single men on the manner of navigating a marriage: Marri always wins!

It's good to be back.

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.