To all of you who can’t catch a hint (such as repeated refusals as well as a 9-year renewal via Network Solutions AKA Bloodsuckers Inc.):
cosmicbuddha.com is not for sale. I don’t give a fuck if you think it should belong to the Buddha’s Association of Templar Sanctorium, the Online Buddhist Trinket Vendor Compendium, or His Holiness the Dalai Lama, it is mineminemine and I can very fucking well use it for whatever the fuck I want and you get zero – I repeat ZERO – input in this respect. You want to me to “keep it real” and have some followers send me golden prayer beads by registered mail until I asquiesce? Fine. Send me the whole string so I can melt them down and make myself a proper sceptre with which to smite you irritating fuckers.
And no, you cannot advertise for free here. You can’t advertise here, period. Not on a banner ad, and not in the comments. I don’t have any ads at all, and for good reason: I’m “keeping it real,” a lot more real than you give me credit for… Let me ask you a question: Who do you think the Buddha would hate more, ME for having this domain name and “using swear words” on my own fucking site here, or YOU for pushing fake gold and jade Buddhist trinkets to people who are insecure in their own spiritualism?
Of course that’s a ridiculous question; just look to whom I ask it.
After much soul searching, this domain is now for sale. Asking price is 1,000,000 undead souls (preferably the old and weak) and a string of 24k gold anal prayer beads. Now suck that, bioooooooooooootches.
My new favorite milblogger. And SDB, who is giving it up indefinitely. Some days you are asking for it just by turning on the computer.
My one paranoia, which is really strange since I basically grew up in the sea/swimming pools/mud flats/other various bodies of water, is sharks. Luckily, there weren’t any hairy, hopping sharks back then to haunt my dreams:
http://smh.com.au/text/articles/2004/08/29/1093717842562.html (I refuse to use the utterly retarded title they thought up for the article; that’s not even trying)
It occurred to me today that I haven’t been to a public library (not counting my bathroom – don’t laugh, even in an extended disaster situation there will always be enough “paper” in there) for a pretty goddamn long time – ever since moving out to this island, so about five years. After university, there just wasn’t much reason to go, especially since I had my trusty old Powerbook 190 and an Asahi-net dial-up account. Oh, and also because I hate reading books in Japanese since I’m pretty good at it but not good enough to not want a dictionary beside me, and paper dictionaries are heavy.
I love public libraries, partly because I’ve always been a bookworm, but also because I love seeing what other people are reading. In Japan, just like anywhere else, you can tell an awful lot about people by the books they’re reading. For instance, people who come in just to read newspapers are cheapskates (or poor), and generally have too much fucking time on their hands. They often reek of cheap coffee and are comparing ticket stubs to sports results. People who read western fantasy in Japanese are generally to be avoided (not a problem because they are almost always socially inept). People reading novels by Ramo Nakajima (even before he got busted on possession charges) have either smoked weed at some point in their lives, or have grandparents who lived in Manchuria. And people reading Osamu Dazai may be more prone to suicide by drowning than others. Go figure.
I also love public libraries for the same reasons I love public file servers. All those permissions and protocols and hierarchies, I suppose. For such a slob, I sure do love a clean house sometimes.
Are you shitting me? Is this really Quentin Tarantino’s blog?
I want proof… Maybe it will be forthcoming when the future releases he mentions start coming out, but I’m kinda skeptical. Maybe I’ll wait for the websleuths to check it out. In the meantime, I’ll be trolling for Samuel L. Jackson in the comments (re-enable them, Q-dog!).
New Scientist has put up an amazing interview with a man who survived the Chernobyl disaster, despite being at ground zero:
His description of the reactor room is forever imprinted in my mind.
Back at work this week. What can I say. It’s wonderful – my coworkers are courteous and professional, and management is sincere and warmhearted. I’d much rather be here catching up on ten days worth of e-mail and mostly forgotten business problems than, say, in the halls of Montezuma or the shores of Tripoli. I mean, I don’t even think FedEx does pick-ups in some of those places – and I ask you this – what would your office life be without FedEx, you ungracious cur? I’ll tell you: It would suck very hard, and very hard it would be sucking.
OFFICE WORKER TIP O’ THE DAY
(limited to areas that have FedEx pick-ups) – by C. Buddha
The adhesive side of the transparent FedEx waybill pouches makes an excellent field expedient Lint Removal Tool. Simply peel off the paper backing and use it like you would normally use a piece of tape for the same purpose. That is, make repetetive pounding motions on the lint-ridden clothes in question and repeat wildly and incesssantly like a monkey on crack. With tape, this maneuver can take quite a while since it loses its stickiness after a short time and you need to keep tearing off new strips, but the huge (9′ x 12′) adhesive surface of the waybill pouches is awesome! Use this tip to awe your coworkers at company parties! Use all the time it saves you to pursue new hobbies! Best of all, do it all on your vendor’s dime! FedEx is raping you all the time with those prices, so GO GET SOME PAYBACK.
Update: It has been pointed out to me that this is all really unnecessary if you use a lint brush. Hmm… Okay supposing that lint brushes work as well as a sticky waybill pouch (how the hell should I know; I forgot such a thing existed), here’s the deal: If you have a lint brush at your desk at work, I can only retort that that’s pretty anal and you might make a good successor to Martha Stewart (except that I have the feeling Martha would probably like my little hack). If you actually carry a lint brush around everywhere you go, you need professional help (and it really WILL be your fault when your kid gets caught torturing small animals), but in lieu of paid therapy you might just try letting it all out once in a while – you know, like a monkey. On crack.
A new yakitori stand on the street in front of JR Nara station. The guy running it is a real character, and the chow is tasty. Usually open until 5AM on the weekends.
It removes inhibitions. I met this girl ten seconds ago. Bill (on the left) may have met her before, but how the hell do I know. She came in after my cousin Tait (who I have misspelled as “Tate” until now, sorry cuz) called her. Jeez, I have no idea what has happened since that Spirytus shot. I’ll shut up now, sorry.