To William Gibson, who I have never met but who may find this post while vanity googling for, say, “mnemonic osaka blackice bbs standover tokyo burningchrome nagoya underground fleshpuppet keiretsu pattern blackmarket translation monalisa oyabun”: I’m back.
Last week was a milestone of sorts for this weblog, the product of several weeks of consistent posting and increasing traffic from other sites, so I would like to thank all of you for reading. I wish I could keep up what other bloggers consider to be a normal pace – posting at least once every weekday – but I just don’t have the time, and I will not post for the sake of posting. That would make it seem like work, and believe me – I already have enough of that.
Speaking of which, every day this week I have come to work in the morning and ended up feeling like wilted produce – harvested by migrant farm workers and then left in the back of a truck for hours under the glaring midday sun as the driver impatiently chews a toothpick and waits for clearance at the border. That is to say, it is hot enough for crotchpot cooking, with no relief in sight. The building managers haven’t turned on the air conditioners yet, and I can’t help but wonder if they receive some type of bonus for every day they put off flipping the switch. Or maybe they just don’t get out much from their offices in the basement, where it’s ten degrees cooler. I might collapse with heat stroke if I keep ranting much longer, so I’ll switch gears and tell you another reason why it took so long for me to post again.
Tramps Pt. 2
Just thinking about the day after I took this makes me feel nauseus. A great memory.
Tramps Pt. 1
Many innocent brain cells sacrificed themselves for this picture. At Tramps, in Kyobashi.
Moral Certification
Hat tip to Osaka Bill (“bill” in the comments, not “Bill”,- that’s Nara Bill) for the link.
Proper Forum
The other day I wrote a fairly long reply in the comments after derailing my own train of thought and forgetting whatever it was I originally intended on saying. It was in response to something my mom wrote in the comments about cleanliness being next to godliness. Since a couple friends and I have since hijacked that comment thread for a debauchery support group meeting this weekend, I figured it was only fair to bring that long comment out and let it stand on its own out here in the light:
Cleanliness: Diligence in keeping clean
Godliness: Piety by virtue of being a godly person
I can say with some confidence that these are fairly inaccurate descriptors for me. Need proof?
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
AN EXAMPLE OF WHY I AM NOT CLEAN OR GODLY
– BY C. BUDDHA
I’ve forgotten to dry the same load of laundry for two straight days now; I go home after work and upon tossing my sweaty clothes in the washing machine, I see that there is still a damp load in there from the night before. Not knowing the proper course of action, I simply start the washer again.
I can hear the merry sounds of rinse, spin, and drain cycles in the background as I make dinner or watch the news on tv, but by the time the machine is finished, I have invariably forgotten about it again. Not just for a few minutes, though. Not even for a few hours. No, I generally remember that I have to hang the clothes to dry right before I step out the door the next morning – by which time I am in a rush to get to work and will stop for nothing. So I curse and go to work and think about the ball of damp clothes fermenting in my washer at home periodically throughout the day. And I go home and the cycle starts anew…
This is not a big deal as of yet this time. My girlfriend has been gone for only two days, so we are not into a scary duration or anything – YET. Last time, she was gone for 19 days and I finally remembered to dry the laundry on the 18th day. I know what you’re thinking, I only remembered because I ran out of clothes, right? Wrong. You forget that I am a man. A normal man. And as such, if there are no clean clothes, I will recycle dirty ones for multiple uses without washing and never think twice about it.
The truth of the matter is, I only remembered on the 18th day because she called and specifically asked if the house was clean, the plants watered, the laundry done, etc., etc., etc.
Now, any man in his right mind would answer “yes”
in this situation:
– A cleanly man could truthfully say “yes” (but probably wouldn’t be asked in the first place.
– A godly man would have said “yes”, but later may have whispered “help me lord, I need a miracle.”
– I lied quite bluntly by saying “yes”, and in a total frenzy, attempted three weeks of laundry, dishes, and cleaning in one night.
She wasn’t fooled for a second. I guess it must have been pretty obvious with closetfuls of clothes hanging out to dry. This time, I know better. I am prepared. I will answer, “no.”
THE END
Mimic-san
Taro always goes on and on about this movie we saw about moth-monsters killing people in abandoned subway tunnels; he used to run around saying “Mimic-san, mimic-san”whenever a moth would fly in the house… Hence the title of this post; the movie title was MIMIC here in Japan, but maybe went under a different name in the states (Country-specific movie titling is common in all countries. Well, maybe not in Luxembourg.). The title stemmed from the young autist who used spoons to create moth-like sounds to attract the monsters.
Obscurity of the day: The moths might have gone aggro if someone played track 8 from Soundgarden’s SUPERUNKNOWN album. (Google it you lazy bastard!)
This photo was taken at a highway rest stop at night, when 2 moths of the type shown were attracted to the white glow of an Asahi Beverage Co. (non-alcoholic) vending machine.
Resting Ground
Well, I decided to post this pic in memory of my friend Tatsuya who died last year. The foremost gravestone in this photo is not his, but it is pretty and so I took this pic to commemorate the hill where he is buried. I posted this today not in conjunction with any fixed date or anniversary, rather, I just got to thinking about Tatsuya today as I made a left turn in the car he gave me, listening to an old song we both liked.
Some people say it is not right for me to take pictures like this or to post them, because it is disrespectful. I fail to see the logic in this. I am simply remembering a friend. If pictures of headstones make you uncomfortable, that’s your insecurity. We will all end up dead someday. Get used to it. (OK, maybe this post is a bit influenced by my curret rereading of Eiji Yoshikawa’s MUSASHI)
Riku & Yura
Tatsuya’s nephews. Live across the street from Nam’s old apartment in Tamade.
Pink Buta
Currently residing on my monitor.
Bit Serenade
You all must have seen these “keyword” spam messages by now, right?:
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Some of these spammers are real poets. He gets bonus points for using the words varistor, hyterectomy, and matisse all in the same message.
And now I have this sudden urge to “Get Harder Than Steel” and “Make Her Scream – with 100% EFFECTIVE Generic Vi@gr’a.”
Well, go ahead and sign me up for 50 cases, Mr. Chester Ott.
Do you take checks for international bulk orders?
That is all.