In The Bathroom Of Isla Vista

It doesn’t happen often but once in a great long while, I swear that I’m still living in good ol’ Isla Vista. Not necessarily one place in particular (D.P., Picasso, or Sabado Tarde) but rather, a composite of all of the places together. Other experiences have taken me back as well. Like when a really drunk acquaintance did a cannonball onto the hood of a car, scaring a woman nearly to death in front of a busy street(the Shimatori) that had, until that point, been buzzing the lively conversations of the nightlife. Or almost getting into a fight with an old man that looked like Bilbo Baggins with each arm around a prostitute (he-the old white guy- said they-the two high school-aged 100% Japanese girls- were his daughters… we begged to differ and vocalized this), after he made derogatory remarks about Yanks while pushing his way through a group of 5 inebriated Americans.
But I seem to have a strange connection with shady bathrooms (not restrooms, keep in mind, but rooms which happen to have baths in them). When I moved in to my current residence, there was much wrong with the plumbing and the tile was stained with strange growth (kinda like the Picasso apartment with the Shiitake mushroom growing out of the shower) and rich with the smells of death and decay. Also, the tile was cracked in many places (the result of an earthquake a few years prior). Well, I cleaned the place up, bleaching the evil away, but my bathroom has given me no end of troubles. The bath is large enough to fit two full-sized Sumo wrestlers, the hot water runs out on really cold nights (boiling water to take a “shower” really, really sucks!), and I need to use a heater to keep from catching pneumonia after I get out.
Last month I heard a great crash, and walked in only to see this:

I had to laugh. I knew that it probably happened because some trapped water that rested between the concrete and the tile froze and expanded, destroying the bond of the adhesive in the process. But that was no help at all, merely a boring footnote. It was one of THOSE moments. Its not that this was a big deal, as it was really easy to clean up, but it just brought back memories of bad luck (that in retrospect, was often the result of bad judgement). After shooting this picture, what else could I do but pop open a Sam Adams (a very rare beer in Kumamoto, or for that matter, everywhere in Kyushu except for the Costco in Fukuoka) lay down on the sofa, and watch reruns of the Simpsons which I had already seen at least 10 times before…