Category: Chillin’

I was awoken by the mailman, who came with an Amazon package. I’m now listening to Aphex Twin and eating oranges and I feel very

, if you know what I mean. It must be from that wine I had before bed. Red wine dreams are always good. Aphex Twin is always good. Today is going to be an awesome day, I can just feel it.

So what about this chunami?
It gets funnier every time she says it, and I swear Thaksin is trying just to ignore it. He keeps saying “wave” and “disaster” in order not to embarass her with the correct pronunciation of “tsunami.” Quick, someone stuff some pebbles in her mouth…

Done with work. Called T and confirmed he got the tickets. Adam and Nam are eating pizza. Getting ready to go to Osaka-jo hall, and it’s definitely time to get ill:
Riding down the block with my box in my hand
Today I feel like chillin’ just as chill as I can
Coolin’ on the corner with a forty of O.E.
‘Cause me and M.C.A. we’re down with Mike D
When I run a jam I don’t give a damn
When I’m throwing bass I say, “Thank you ma’am.”
Fuel injected, rhyme connected running things
I’m the King Adrock and I’m the king of all kings
I’m looking for a spot things are gettin’ hot
I’m M.C.A., I’m here to stay and you sir, are not
Oh no, it could not be it’s such a sight to see
It’s such a trip you’re on my tip so listen to Mike D.
My work is my play cause I’m playing when I work
My name’s Mike D., as you can see and I can dot the jerk
M.C.A., Adrock, Mike D. – it’s chill
What’s the time? it’s time to get ill

The JP equivalent of a midnight Grand Slam.
This gross monstrosity was served up at a local izakaya last weekend, and I was drunk enough to eat it. I don’t remember what it tasted like, but I am getting fairly sick looking at it now. Those baby wieners were about as thin as a pencil and a couple inches long.
BTW, there are a few Denny’s in Japan, but they don’t serve Grand Slams. Or chicken-fried steak. Or even decent hash browns, if I recall correctly. I only went once, and I’m never going again. Udon noodles just don’t belong on a Denny’s menu.

I promised myself not to blog at all this year until something really good happened. And now that the first fart bubbles in the sento (public bath) have surfaced in this new year, I am writing again!… Well, there’s another reason, as well – my pal T called last night and seems to have scored FREE TICKETS TO THE BEASTIE CONCERT AT OSAKA CASTLE NEXT WEEK! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT! CHECK-CHA-CHECK-CHECK-CHECK-CHA-CHECKITOUT!
As you can see, I’m slightly excited – what an awesome start for the new year!

…from the land of inflatable neck-stretching kits!
This is CB signing off for 2004 – PEACE!

Sometimes, late at night, I swear the internet is speaking to itself.

I have two brick planters out in front of my house (approx. 1 ft. x 5 feet total planting space) where the future of Yoshida Papayas, Ltd., lies. Last summer, on a whim, Nam threw some papaya pits on the soil we’ve seen trying to enrich for the past few years (it was rock-hard dirt when we moved in), and much to my surprise, sprouts appeared after a couple weeks. By fall, they had grown into 3 foot saplings and sprouted very healthy and broad tropical leaves. I became quite fond of them because they looked so out of place in my old neighborhood; vibrant green in a sea of brown and aging wooden houses. I began referring to them as my “papaya forest,” and cleared away all the other plants we had out there.
When the first frost came with winter, they perished in a very ugly fashion – eveything turned black and mushy, and I didn’t even have to clear their corpses as they melted into the earth. I was sad. However, I have had similar experiences with jasmine and other warm-loving, beautiful, wimpy plants in the past, so I knew it was just a matter of trying again this year.
Since we already have learned to transfer the jasmine into pots and bring them in for the winter, I figure it should work just as well for the papaya trees, although they are a bit deeper rooted.
I asked my brother to transfer the papayas today, but I’m secretly hoping he forgets. I miss the feeling of dirt under my fingernails and the moist earth drying on my palms.

Come to think of it, the vampires had nice tits, too. Also, the vampire lord looked just like my friend Osaka Bill, with strandy Robert Smith hair and all. I highly recommend this movie to anyone who likes hearing other people snore during $20 million scenes.

Is it just me, or is God doing his best to wipe us pesky humans off the planet this year? This week’s typhoon (the swirly white butthole above) is called #22 in Japan and my guess is that they ran out of semi-real name sounding names and are just making random shit up now because its official name is “MA-ON.” Come on weathergeeks, that’s not even trying. “MA-ON” sounds like what an oppressed Vietnamese sweat shop worker moans the morning after a full bottle of Mekong whiskey or something.
Speaking of which, I recently received a bottle of Johhny Walker Red as a gift. Some gift, huh? Maybe I’ll dye the label blue and pass it off to some unsuspecting teetotaler as a housewarming gift or something… I won’t even use bad scotch for cooking meat, that’s how highly I rate Johnny, Chivas, Pipers, and the rest of that crap. And for all you Asian Scotch hounds, I must ask one question: If it tastes so fucking wonderful, why do you dilute it with water?
Real men drink Spirytus.