This repository, my head

I just remembered one of the funniest things I ever heard.
About seven years ago I got trapped in a conversation with a roomful of girls, and the topic of the conversation of course turned to the topic it always turns to in a roomful of only girls, that is, feminine hygeine products. Anyway, the funny part: This one Chinese girl admitted that the first time she used tampons, she had no idea how to use them and she ended up shoving in 7 or 8, and then proceeded to go about her normal business for the day.
(I’m hoping there’s a Confucian equivalent to Kegels.)
That story still makes me smile.

307 is my magic number

I’m not a Numerologist or anything, hell, I hardly even believe in math. Yet, I become strangely obsessed with numbers and compulsively count things out in my head on occassion. You know, the number of steps I take from point A to point B, or the number of cars I pass on the highway. Stuff like that. Or even simpler things, like tapping my fingers on a desk and counting the beat – performing a repetetive action for the sake of counting. I think I do this when I’m bored, but I’ve been doing it for so long now, it’s become a kind of meditation as well.
Another thing I’ve noticed over the years is that certain numbers keep popping up here and there. I don’t mean meaningful numbers like 5 or 24 or 100. I mean numbers that appear much more frequently than they should. Do you know what I mean?
One number that keeps appearing in my life is 307. It was not always so, or more accurately, I do not think it was always so. You see, 307 was my room number in my college dorm. A couple of years into my residency there, I started noticing that the room number 307 was used on TV and movies quite often. Then I realized that I knew someone else who lived in an apartment #307. Over the years, I’ve entered several room 307s – visiting people or offices with that number. I’ve been assigned room 307 at hotels all over the world. And let us not forget that the Toto U307C is the seemingly most popular urinal in men’s restrooms all over Japan.
U307C.jpg
So what is it with this number? Am I the only one to have noticed the frequency of it?
Lets look at Google:
Search for 306 returns 85,700,000 results
Search for 307 returns 127,000,000 results
Search for 308 returns 76,700,000 results
Holy shit! I’m not sure that proves a thing, but it does seem uncannily popular, doesn’t it?
What is the meaning?
What is the significance?
(Also, in this case, are meaning and significance necessarily synonymous?)
Will 307 aliens from the planet 307 someday abduct me and threaten to blow up planet Earth unless I guess the number they are thinking of?
Will I one day play the lottery and win $307 million using the repeating string of 307307307307?
Will I ever live in another room 307 and find out I can see dead people?
………..
It’s a fucking conspiracy, I tell you.

Burn Hollywood, Burn.

It just occurred to me that I can’t remember the last time I’ve been inside a movie theatre. It’s been at least a year, maybe two. Yet I’ve seen every movie that I’ve wanted to, and some of those I saw before they were released in theatres. Of course, I encourage other people to do the same as well – I really wouldn’t care if modern movies, as we know them, simply ceased to exist. They are entertaining, but about as meaningful as picking your nose.
So somehow, this is all very satisfying.
In the words of Chuck D: Hey yo, fuck Hollywood, man.

Tsugaru

Attention LA area residents: You need to get tickets to see Yoshida Brothers in concert at the Japan America Theater next month. Because it’s like, impossible to get to tickets to see them in Japan. The Yoshida Brothers kick ass.
Of course, they’re just a couple of nimble-fingered biotches compared to me and Adam, but still… They sure can pluck!

Clap your hands say WTF

Yesterday we saw the most interesting car on this island.
I applaud the concept:
– A brand spankin’ new Lexus SC 430 in jet black
– Top lowered to enjoy the fine weather at sunset
The execution caused me to laugh so hard, I almost puked:
– Driver: mid-to-late 50’s, toupe peeled back halfway off his head
– Music: Very loud, very gay J-Pop
– Custom rims: Spinners!
Observation for the day: Rich people in expensive cars really hate being laughed at by mere pedestrians.

Me not Chinese

r-u-chinaman.jpg
“If you cannot decipher anything, then try pulling the corner of your eyes as if you were Chinese. It works!”
I totally had to pull the corner of my eyes as if I were Chinese. Is this conclusive evidence that the Japanese race evolved independently from the rest of the world (as people who drive black buses around urban centers blaring loud propaganda messages through speaker towers would want you to believe), or am I just a bad Asian?
(via Osaka bill)