AHA! A possible explanation for my recent Indian chief dream (see my mom’s comment at the bottom). I completely forgot about that! Actually, catching that sheepshead won us the “fishing tournament.” I remember being extremely proud about the fact that we used small rock crabs that I smashed with my dad’s “abalone prybar” (a flat piece of iron with rubber grip I think may still be rusting in our garage or the backyard shed) to catch that fish. The funny thing is, before we landed that one, something big hit our bait and nearly jerked me off the rocks we were fishing from as I held onto the surfcasting rod for dear life! I will always wonder about that first big “one that got away.”
Yeah, the YMCA Indian Guides trip to Catalina… Awesome. As I sit here and reminisce, more memories from that trip are coming back to me… I remember the brown and yellow dome tent we slept in, the first tent we ever owned with sectioned (but not joined with elastic cord as has become the norm) fiberglass tent poles; you had to be careful because they would leave invisible fiberglass splinters in your hands if you weren’t careful that would itch and be sore for days… One of the other fathers brought Kansas City strips to barbeque on the propane grill for all the other dads. My dad told me it was ironic that some of the other dads thought it fit to bring whiskey to drink around the campfire at an Indian outing, a reference I wouldn’t understand for a few more years… That propane tank bust a seal the next morning when someone hooked it up, and it made a loud screeching noise for a good minute or so. I remember taking cover behind a steel trash can, sure it would explode.
Of course, in this politically fucking retarded age of college sports teams having to be renamed, etc., I am quite sure the Indian Guides are no more. Probably renamed to “Gaia’s Earth-Friendly Vegetarian Recyclable Co-op of Homogenous World Heritage,” or some such bullshit. Lemme google this shit to make sure – yep. The YMCA Indian Guides are no more. What a damn shame.
And in a way, what irony! The Indian Guides made Indians cool to all the kids who participated in the programs! These days, the word “Indian reservation” evokes only one thing: Casinos. This makes me very sad. In fact, I’m so far behind the times, I don’t really know if the term “Indian reservation” is racist or not! I certainly hope not.
Itsy Bitsy
The first time I tried to catch him, he jumped out of the tupperware and onto my hand. Talk about goosebumps… I nearly shit my pants. Nam yelled at me not to kill it – kill it? HOW? Besides, woman, you’re standing on a chair after I flicked it on the floor!
After I finally captured the Mighty Awaji Bird Eating Spider, we took a walk down the street and released him in the bushes next to Jusco.
If you look closer (open a larger photo by clicking on it), you can see he’s missing a leg. He might be the same one Adam photographed on the front porch last month.
I’ve uploaded more pictures of this beast here.
This Just In
Attention all Americans in Japan, whipped cream in cans is NOW AVAILABLE AT A JUSCO SHOPPING CENTER NEAR YOU!!!
Fear not the Euro-sounding Chantibic brand name, this stuff looks, smells, and lubricates just like Redi Whip! (or so I’m told)
Get your hands on a can NOW, while supplies last – I fear the Japanese palate will reject the simple flavor of pure canned whipped cream and the manufacturers will soon be forced to churn out localized blends:
– Nama Ume flavor! (Great on hamo sushi!)
– Wonderful Wasabi! (Perfect with chu-toro!)
– Dashi (Just spray on a hot bowl of rice for an instant meal!)
– and of course, the old Japanese standby, American Corn! (For hot dogs and hamburgs!)
Yoshida Porter I am not
What the hell? (see comments at bottom of that page) May as well have some fun with it, I guess.
Speech-to-text it is not
Speaking of cars, the new voice-controlled car navigation systems are a total fucking trip. A couple weeks ago, I caught a ride with a guy from work to an after-work enkai (drink up) in his new navi-equipped ride. I truly felt like a stranger, because he carried on a conversation with the in-dash navigation system, which he has dubbed Keiko, the whole way.
DRIVER (using destination input command): Keiko! Destination, Taiho (restaurant name), Route 28.
KEIKO (in sexy woman’s voice): Confirmed. Time to destination is approximately five minutes.
DRIVER: Keiko! Thank you.
KEIKO: You’re welcome.
Now this was pretty fucking geeky and I teased the fuck out of my coworker, asking him where he stuck his dick to receive a “lube job”, etc., but the best was yet to come:
KEIKO (as we approached town): Take the next right. By the way, do you like ice cream?
ME: WTF!!?!
DRIVER: Keiko! No.
KEIKO: Oh, okay then.
ME: What the fuck was that about?
DRIVER: She wanted to make us stop by the Baskin Robbins at Jusco.
ME: Doesn’t she know it closes at 10? Dumb bitch.
DRIVER: Shut up! You will respect Keiko, or you will walk!
/////////
I fucking love technology, but it’s a curse I tell you. It’s eventually going to come to a point where humans no longer need each other, but by that time I hope to be long gone. My laptop is indispensable, but I draw the line at robot fellacio (in Japanese: robofela).
Toyota Presents: Driving for Dummies
Annoying beeps and auto-braking are quite possibly the most unwanted features I can think of, for a car. And yet: Toyota Computer Makes You Watch the Road
What we really, really need is a Remote Bitchslap Feature. That guy weaving across three lanes? RBF. The secretary type who can’t stop glancing at her PDF/keitai every two seconds? RBF. That ugly guy with index finger probing for salty green nostrilnuggets? RBmothafuckinF.
Warning: I will most likely be automatically RBFing every white Toyota that passes, just on principle.
(link via)
The Pedantic Culinary
It’s not easy being a leading authority in the English-language realm of Japanese Fish Sausage, and yet, I feel I have accomplished something very important.
For my next project I had hoped to cover the plastic food replicas often seen in the front window of Japanese restaurants (and on sale in Doguyasuji), but someone has already done an excellent job of that: Delicious Vinyl: Japan’s Plastic Food Replicas
Another dream…
I dreamt of speaking with an Indian chief over a campfire. Unfortunately, it was not an Indian fire, but a “white man’s fire,” and it drew our enemies in closer and closer with its absurd largeness. They were taking potshots at us. Hurriedly, the chief passed onto me a buffalo horn and said simply, “you will know what to do with it.”
Then he started singing:
Hayayayayigh
See my arrows fly
Hayayayayigh
Over and over and over. An arrow pierced his heart, and he passed into the next world, content. I was left holding the buffalo horn.
//
The thing is, I know this song from my childhood, but I can’t remember what it’s from. Why so many vivid dreams lately? (That’s not a complaint, I just want to know why.)
BMW with carbon fiber hood
Why does this guy want to make his BMW look like a civic???
Why???