I don't even need to draw a face on this one...
Catching Flies with Chopsticks:
Galvin's Japan Journal
*Brrrrrrr*. Lousy Smarch weather.
Before I begin -- I've been getting some questions about Japanese language-study lately, so consider this link required reading. Many of you have probably read it before, but it's still a pretty entertaining read. I myself agree with the author 100%.
Had a nice, quiet weekend, which really is just what I was looking for. Friday I had a somewhat-belated (okay, by 7 months) welcome party with the staff of one of my elementary schools, which started off surreally as I climbed into the car of the sweet, demure 24 year-old female teacher who picked me up only to find her blasting Eminem on her car stereo. She explained that she had no idea what any of his lyrics meant, and I considered translating them for her as they were sung, but decided in this case it may be best to leave her in the dark. I don't really know how to say "bitches 'n ho's" in Japanese anyway.
Speaking of ignorance, the evening was really only marred by the presence of one teacher with whom I just do not get along, who, humorously enough, is named Yoda. This woman simply infuriates me: either a) every other person I speak Japanese with only PRETENDS to understand me, thus rendering Yoda-sensei's habit of staring at me in constant bewilderment like I'm a complete idiot a true testament of her unfailing honesty, or b) she's a huge smoldering bitch-skank and I hate her. I tend to lean towards the latter explanatation, but come to think of it, even if it's the former she's still a huge smoldering bitch-skank and I still hate her. I mean, even if my Japanese is not particularly comprehensible she sure finds some odd, very audible ways to mis-hear me. Here's a typical conversational exchange with Yoda-sensei:
Me: "So, Mr. Watanabe is a nice person, I think."
Yoda-sensei: "What's that you say? (stares at me as if I have clothed myself entirely in garments sewn together from human waste) Mr. Watanabe is a NUCLEAR REACTOR? Oh, ha ha ha ha!"
Me: "Um, no...anyway, he's a nice guy, and I enjoy teaching with him."
Yoda-sensei: (stares at me as if I have suddenly transformed into a 70-foot tall robotic version of Michael Bolton before her very eyes) "What's that you say? PURPLE MONKEY DISHWASHER?? Hey everyone, Chow-sensei speaks utterly nonsensical Japanese! Oh ho ho ho ho!"
Me: "Let's change the subject: for instance, I hate you."
Yoda-sensei: "What's that? I'm a huge smoldering bitch-skank and I deserve to have my next gynecolegical exam performed by a myopic cannibal tribesman with multiple sclerosis wielding a rusty spear fashioned from old sharpened batteries the tip of which has been repeatly coughed on by a diseased yak?"
Me: "Close enough."
Actually, my whole little pseudo-feud with Yoda started when she called me no less than SIX TIMES on CHRISTMAS EVE trying to get me to sign some wholly unnecessary evaluation form. This rude, yet relatively simple process was impeded by her inability to grasp the dual concepts of "vacation" and "abject hatred for a fellow human being". I mean normally I'm a fairly accomodating fellow and will bend over backwards for whatever stupid tasks my superiors want me to do, but this was ridiculous. Eventually she actually showed up at my apartment, interrupting my Christmas dinner for the umpteenth time, and made me sign the form, which consisted of my writing two sentences about the school and signing my name. As it was an evaluation form about the school, I briefly considered writing some choice words about certain members of the staff, but instead just decided to make thinly-veiled Star Wars references about her name whenever I talked to her from then on, like "I will teach this child, Yoda-sensei". She doesn't get it, I'm sure. But passive-aggressiveness, at least, is very difficult to hear incorrectly.
Hey, Yuka, the high school girl I'm tutoring, passed her English test. Hooray, I'm not a complete and utter failure professionally! ...only socially, and spiritually. And well, sexually, financially, and nutritionally. And well, while I'm at it, genetically. Still, it gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling knowing that without me, my student perhaps may have done every so slightly worse on the test she would have passed anyway.
One of the topics we discussed today was the "character" of American and Japanese people. We decided that while older generations of the two races are about as opposite as can be -- for instance, Japanese people are polite but not really 'friendly,' whereas Americans, by contrast, are morbidly obese, and prone to firing guns into the air while emitting whooping sounds -- the younger generations curiously enough seem to be converging on a single point. And I think it's terribly interesting that two cultures so commonly stereotyped as diametrically opposed now find their younger generations becoming very much alike; by "alike," of course, I mean bratty, spoiled, apathetic, self-pitying, self-important, disenfranchised, and, when one gets right down to it, lacking in the common fucking sense department. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about: I ride the train nearly every day and spend much of my time mind-sneering at the little shits, which I figure makes me some measure of expert of child psychology. I remember when I first came to Japan I expected to be confronted with young people who were at best nice bland little drones; imagine my surprise when I actually got here and found instead baggy-pants-wearing, multiply-pierced, bleached-haired monstrosities sulk-strutting around as if they were God's gift to angst. I swear to Christ that several times a day I have to physically restrain myself from slapping the sneer right off their faux-nihilistic little faces. Personally, I would like to sit them down and ask them just what on earth they have to be so brooding and detached about. Perhaps little Yoshihito is upset because his friend Masanori has more numbers in his cell phone memory than he does. Maybe young Mayumi is annoyed that her mother won't lend her the money to buy another dozen pairs of those stupid fucking socks all the trendy schoolgirls wear. Or perhaps they would just whimper out the classic reason, "*self-pitying sigh* No one understands me", which is like the solemn non-battle cry of teenagers across the world. It's just too bad none of the spoiled brats who utter it realize that it could be easily fixed if only they stopped being so fucking boring.
On a side note about the socks -- sometime in January I was walking behind some schoolgirls complaining, as I and everyone else does, about the frigid weather. Their entire conversation consisted of how cold it was, yet neither of them thought to roll down their stupidly hiked-up skirts, nor took a moment to note the inherent irony in walking around bare-legged complaining about the cold when they had enough material in their socks to literally cover their entire bodies several times over. That, right there, is Japanese teens in a nutshell.
Along the same lines, astute reader Rudy Batista sent me an article that perfectly illustrates the literally dangerous levels of naivete exhibited by Japanese teens. When reading the article I was struck with a distinct sensation of not being very fucking surprised. See, this just goes to show you, if people don't take the time to actually teach a kid about something that can very easily end up in their doing something stupid -- like sex -- then they're just gonna go find a way to do something every STUPIDER because no one ever taught them how not to be ignorant. Oh yeah, don't think I only hate the kids. I hate the parents even more. Again, people should need to undergo some kind of licensing exam to have children, where if they fail, their genitals are immediately and strongly bathed in sterilizing X-rays. I have so many awesome ideas I should be president.
Lastly, an intriguing little subset of Japanese disenfranchised youth is the kids very obviously trying to be black, known commonly in America as the "wigger." However, it's many times worse here because in many ways, the only people whiter than white people are Japanese people. Also in typical fashion anything stolen from the West becomes exagerrated at best and horribly mutated at worst; in this case it is most definitely the latter. So whenever I'm on the train I spot at least a few tough hombres trying very hard to look like their conception of black style, despite the fact that many of them would probably openly scream at the sight of an actual black man. The funniest part is that somewhere along the line someone decided the proper urban uniform for the tough hip youth with a chip on his shoulder was to be brightly-colored jumpsuits emblazoned with, and I am not kidding about this, huge pictures of cartoon dogs. The worst part is that these are not even particularly ferocious-looking dogs, but really, huge, often smiling, cartoon mutts. Their huge round eyes and non-threatening toothy grins make them appear as if they couldn't be happier than to be emblazoned on the oversized jumpsuits of these supposed gangstas. Maybe I'm just not hip enough, but when I think "tough" I typically do not think "Disney's Goof Troop". I guess I'm just not up on the scene; for all I know there is some secret underground symbolism in place wherein one can tell how hard a person is by looking at how ecstatic the cartoon dog emblazoned on their jumpsuit is: "Uh-oh," the lower-ranking toughs will say to each other in hushed voices, "You better not step to THAT guy. HIS cartoon dog looks euphoric."
Then, perhaps, the youths will slink off, again failing to note the irony in their swarthing themselves with animated canines bearing far happier facial expressions than they themselves are known to show.
The T-shirt is selling very well, thank you very much. I hope to retire to a condo in some balmy tropical area any day now. Or buy a pack of gum. Either one.
Last month I wrote about the wondrous culinary delight of putting an entire roast turkey in a humongous piece of bread. Well, it seems there exists an even more comically gluttonous creation known as "Turducken". What it is, is a...oh god, it makes me sick just explaining it. Go see for yourself. I mean, indulgence and gluttony, fine by me, but this is so decadent it's an affront to all of natural creation.
Actually, Japan is a good place to be if you're a fan of the one-food-inside-of-another-food category of foodstuffs. I've already spoken of the delights of the Concealed Wiener line of pastries. But the Japanese definitely seem to be under the impression that anything that can fit into a piece of bread may as well be packaged and sold inside a piece of bread. Perhaps the best example of this is "noodle bread," which is a hot dog roll stuffed with Chinese-style fried noodles or yakisoba:
I don't even need to draw a face on this one...
I mean, yeah, it doesn't taste bad or anything but nutrionally speaking it strikes me as woefully irresponsible, like something a kid might make for himself if left to his own devices. Okay, anecdote -- so friend Terry McMahon, whose sexual proclivities many of you must know very well by now, was told once when he was little that he could eat whatever he wanted for dinner so long as he made it himself. So what did this hyperactive, perhaps-slightly-dim little tot come up with? He ended up mashing chocolate chip cookies and Doritos into apple sauce, and LIKED IT. Fast-forward a decade and a half later to when I met him in college, where he consistently made meals out of Nilla Wafers mashed in milk, and was also often known to, and I swear to God I am not making this up, MICROWAVE ORANGE JUICE. And TO THIS DAY he still routinely eats that cookie-Dorito-apple sauce combination and becomes very defensive if you question its salubratory viability. His attitude pertaining to combining foods is EXACTLY the philosophy that the Japanese food industry must follow: "Why not?" The Japanese food industry is run by an army of pre-adolescent Terry McMahons mashing different foods together just because there is no overriding authority telling him not to. I shudder even just thinking about it.
Anyway, I'm not sure why this whole grain-on-grain thing rubs me the wrong way, but it does. Perhaps it is some form of latent culinary equivalent of homophobia ingrained (ho ho) within me -- two things of the same food group do not belong together! You don't stuff bread with noodles! This carbohydrate orgy will not stand! It's like garnishing a steak with pork chops, filling a chocolate candy bar with Jujy Fruits, or mixing all sorts of vegetables and fruits into some sick sort of bizarre..."salad". It simply isn't done, at least not under my roof.
Okay, I admit I ate the above noodle bread for dinner. Gimme a break, I've been writing about it for half an hour, it's all I could think about. I was drunk, and lonely, and was just desperate for any comfort I could find...but it doesn't mean anything. Anyway, it won't happen again. As a staunchly religious individual I am wholly against same-food-group unions. Sigh...perhaps in later years I will find a nice ham sandwich and settle down...and think no more of the forbidden union of grain and grain...
Good Lord. From Turducken to Noodle Bread to anecdotes from the life of Terry McMahon to horribly strained religious homophobia metaphors, almost all revolving around bread. How the hell do you people ever know what I'm talking about without a scorecard?
Something fishy is going on here.
Yesterday when I got to Nakagomi elementary school, I found I had a meeting waiting for me. One of the teachers, whom up till that point I never realized had anything in particular to do with me, informed me that from April on he would be in charge of my affairs. To that end, he presented me with a schedule detailing exactly what kind of things "they" would like me to teach to the students from now on, with subjects broken down according to grade and month. It's apparently a schedule based off that of one of the richer schools in the area (because "rich" must equal "good") and it's pretty regimented, particularly in comparison to the "Let's let Chow-Sensei do whatever he wants to the children for 45 minutes while the actual teacher sits in back imagining he/she were anywhere else" way of doing things I've gotten used to, or at least become indifferent to, on this job. Now that I'm really complaining about this. I mean, maybe it'll be nice to have a set schedule for what the teachers would like me to be doing, rather than having to come up with all this shit by myself. On the other hand, I'm wondering why only NOW they have apparently realized just how useless I am. And here I thought they were not only fully aware, but quite content in my role as Foreign Babysitter. I thought they had long ago noticed that I have not been so much teaching students as I am keeping them busy for 45 minutes at a time, and figured they didn't really care. Gave me the distinct impression that someone somewhere suddenly, almost arbitrarily decided that I should be more useful from now on, and I'm not sure I like that.
Adding to my suspicions was the fact that when I came in for my office day today, the #2 guy in charge here, who rarely speaks to me and usually comes off as rather surly by contrast to the generally warm and friendly workers here, all of a sudden came up to me and told me he had something he'd like me to do. Figuring that the newspaper sprawled widely over my desk and the straw hanging from my lips sucking orange juice out of a convenience store carton made it pretty evident that I was otherwise occupied, I looked up, slightly annoyed, from my crossword puzzle long enough to realize he was serious. I then found myself tasked with menial clerical chores for the next two hours. When I finished making a ridiculous amount of copies of something, he'd then tell me I had to collate them. When I finished collating them, he'd tell me I needed to staple them. When I finished stapling them, I needed to go put them in mailboxes. I didn't really mind doing it -- I mean, I'm more than happy to help out, and this kind of mindless work still beats teaching -- but each time he appeared with the next phase for menial chore for me, I swear his expression was unmistakably that of restrained jubilation. He looked, quite frankly, happy to be giving me this busywork, and it was more than a bit unnerving. What, did every single person I work with get together and decide that after seven months all of a sudden they want me to be semi-useful occasionally? THAT'S not fair. What's going on here?
Anyway, it's because of the menial chores this morning that I was unable to complete the article I am working on, which is my first non-journal contribution in what seems like forever. It deals with why I am an awesome junior high teacher, and shows some examples of the English awesomeness that my 9th graders have churned out. I think you'll like it. But I do for whatever reason feel the need to apologize for an article none of you even knew existed becoming late. It should be ready by tomorrow, anyway, because tomorrow I have -- woo-hoo! -- ANOTHER office day. Ominously looming signs of increasing responsibilities aside, March is an awesome month for this job.
Two office days = Two updates.
Today's topic: I am an idiot. I have an hour and a half speech coming up on Sunday and I have yet to take one step of preparation for it, let alone even devote more than 10 consecutive seconds to figuring out what I specifically will talk about for 90 freakin' minutes. This whole thing started a couple months ago at my English conversation school (Eikaiwa), when the guy who runs the place approached me and mentioned in what he must have thought was a casual manner that he was promoting a series of "International Speeches" and could really use speakers that are, y'know, international. I told him how maybe, if he really needed help, maybe, MAYBE I could talk about something, throwing out "Differences Between American and Japanese Humor" as a topic just offhand. However I then made sure to clearly state that I'd "think about it," which is basically the polite Japanese way of laughing in someone's face in response to a ridiculous suggestion. I thought that'd be the end of it, but when I came back next week he produces a nice printed color schedule that read something like the following (important part in bold):
March 2nd: Kazuhiro Toshifune on "Honor and How to Die With It"
March 9: Eduardo Montalban on "Bienvenidos al Mundo de Drogas"
March 16th: Galvin Chow on "American Humor vs. Japanese Humor"
March 23: Marcel Dejavu on "Blah blah blah I'M FRENCH SACRE BLEU Blah blah blah"
Needless to say I threw a mostly silent, passive-aggressive conniption fit. "I thought I said I'd think about it," I said. He responded, "Ohhh. When you said 'I'll think about it,' I thought you meant you'd think about what topic you would talk about". Of course. I wanted to ask why, if that's what he thought, then he already printed my topic out on the schedule as well, but my open conflict capabilities had already been exhausted by the previous 10 seconds of moderately confrontational conversation.
Let me tell you something about me. As a general rule, I almost never think any farther than two weeks ahead. Therefore, it's always fairly easy to get me to agree to do something so long as it does not fall within the crucial two-week time frame. Hence, when I found a 90-minute speech abruptly dropped into my lap, I just kinda went with it, since at the time it wasn't going to happen for over another TWO MONTHS, which basically means "never" to me. It never really occurs to me that even though something isn't a problem and won't be for at least 14 days, it most likely if not definitely will be one later. I swear, you could probably get me to sign a contract that gave you full ownership of my arms as long as it didn't take effect for at least a couple years.
Now then, let me tell you something about Japanese society: the kinda shit that my Eikaiwa guy pulled actually happens a lot here. Most of the time I am not so much asked to do something as I am told that I am doing something. And even then, I'm often only told when 3/4 of the preparations have been made already. I'm not exactly sure why this is. Maybe because it's difficult to just outright refuse things in this culture, "requests" are phrased in the declarative since the assumed answer is yes anyway. Maybe it's because I'm not Japanese and therefore more likely to say no, they don't want to give me a chance to. Whatever it is though, it happens to me a fair bit and I know at least a few other people who it happens to as well. It's really a subtle form of bullying: unless you want to be put in the awkward position of directly refusing a task someone has already put a lot of work into, you WILL do what you are told.
Well, whether it's my fault or the society's (both, really), fact is I gotta give a dumbass speech on Sunday and I've no f-ing clue what I'm doing for it. I've just learned my audience will be like, half a dozen people at most (meaning most normal people would just cancel it, but noooooo), and it IS in English, but regardless 90 minutes is a lotta time to fill. If it was just an hour I'd honestly consider just getting really hopped up on something and walking in there and winging it, but that extra half-hour makes things considerably more difficult. As it stands I might just walk in there and show a full episode of Seinfeld followed by a full episode of The Simpsons then just filling the rest of the time with aimless blabber; I honestly have no better ideas. If any o' you have any suggestions, I -- oh, never mind, its hopeless, I'm screwed!
In happier news, I have finished writing that article I mentioned yesterday, you may access it from the frontpage or this very next link which I have ever so considerately placed here. Oops, I mean, here. I haven't really been feeling the literary mojo lately (this month's entries are pretty weak if you ask me), but I think this article turned out pretty well. Give 'er a read if you got the time. Which you DO.
Y'know, with that article, and two fairly lengthy journal entries today and yesterday, I have been a writing MACHINE lately. I can't say much for the quality but the QUANTITY, baby! Actually, I don't think I've ever mentioned it before but that is the principle on which this site is based: Whether or not it's actually any good, I am there for the guy who just needs something to read at work.
I'm sure by now you've all heard of the whole "Freedom Fries" debacle. In case you didn't know, it's completely lunatic movement to change the name of French fries to convey our patriotic displeasure with the French for being big peace-loving ninnies. It started off, I believe, with just one guy's restaraunt in North Carolina, but has now reached the House of Representatives cafeteria, which similarly serves "Freedom toast". Presumably a renaming of French dressing will follow, perhaps taken one step further by rechristening it as "Orange Goopy Sauce of Pansy EVIL".
Now I'm certainly no fan of the French. Scratch that -- I love the French, because they are the safest verbal punching bag in the world. Even in these ridiculously politically correct times, no one will stand up for the French simply because well, no one likes them. So while this whole Freedom Fries thing certainly doesn't offend me as some kinda pro-French activist, it does offend me simply because it is mind-bendingly stupid. I mean, whenever I eat French fries at McDonald's, yeah, I'd feel an unpleasant feeling rising in the back of my throat, but here I thought it was just grease. Turns out it's actually bile. BILE, rising from my deep displeasure with the wrong-headed (read: opposed to ours) political stance of the damn French! ...or so they'd have me believe. After all, I'm an American, so in the rare instances where I am not offended by something, sooner or later someone will tell me I SHOULD be.
Tell me, what exactly is this meant to accomplish? It's certainly not going to bring anyone over from the anti-war side. If anything, it will further convince them that the pro-war contingent really does consist of a bunch of ethnocentric assholes waving around their massive collective cock in the face of weaker nations. So one can only assume that such a movement is only intended to further stir up the patriotic fervor of Bush supporters, and even then only the most blindly zealous of them, a "coalition of the willingly ignorant," if you will. In essence it will win no new supporters, probably alienate a few of the more reluctant supporters, and only slightly increase the already-secured backing of only the most rabidly loyal of supporters. And that's not only dangerous, it seems rather nonsensical politically.
Let me tell you something about me. I have loyalty towards myself, my loved ones, God or whatever the hell it is I believe in, and my dog. And Nintendo. In that order. You'll notice that "my country" is nowhere on that list. Were I actually anyone of any import it would be dangerous to say so, but I am just about the least patriotic person you will ever find. It's not that I dislike the US; sure I bitch about it just like anyone else but yeah, I like my country. I'm happy to have grown up in it, and happy for the opportunies it, as a highly developed country, afforded me. Me and the states, we're down with each other. But I don't really like being part of any overarching groups, and that includes my country. Which is to say that, were I for this war, I would hope it would be because I myself had reasoned it out as an individual and decided as such, and NOT because I am an AMERICAN I live in the GREATEST COUNTRY in the WORLD WOOOO USA USA USA.
Back when 9/11 happened, my school held a special assembly, and I was FURIOUS when a teary girl stood up to lead everyone in the pledge of allegiance. I understood where she was coming from, but at the time the Trade Centers had only fell mere hours before. Couldn't we first take the time to mourn it as a HUMAN tragedy, and not an exclusively AMERICAN one? Couldn't we look at it as a tragedy because of the great loss of human life, not necessarily because the great loss of AMERICAN life? Couldn't we take some time to mourn a very human tragedy before immediately turning it all into us vs. them? Like I said, I knew where the girl was coming from. She had the right, and it was perfectly understandable to try and rally a gymnasium full of terrified kids together under a potentially very powerful banner. But I also reserved my right to sit there, by myself, remaining silent all throughout its recitation, quietly mourning the sudden loss of 2,800 people, American or not.
Back when I was in college I was always annoyed by teachers who eschewed lecture in favor of group discussion and lots of class participation. I hated this partially because this meant I couldn't just sit there doodling circus bears while the teacher droned on about something for an hour, but also because, in the back of my mind, I always suspected the teachers were actually just as lazy as I am and figured giving the brainy and/or suck up kids free reign to blabber endlessly on was a good way to eat up time. I mean, it's gotta be heard coming up with original, informative, cogent lectures every week. It must be far easier for the teacher just to hold discussion-based classes, where really all he needs to do besides assign weekly readings is look thoughtful while the students desperately try to earn the ominously high percentage of their grade that has been decreed to be made up of class participation. Personally, I always wondered how I was getting my tuition's worth by listening to some idiot classmate of mine verbally fellate himself for an hour rather than being taught by a real-live professional educator who actually knew what he was talking about. Chalk it up to one more thing I just don't get about academia, but still, I always thought I had these lazy "peer education" teachers' number.
That said, tomorrow when I walk into the classroom to give my 90-minute speech, I will give a general talk about American and Japanese humor for 10-15 minutes, much of which will be stitched together from various papers "borrowed" (read: blatantly plagarized) from the internet. Then, I will screen an entire episode of Seinfeld followed by -- you guessed it, 20-30 minutes of class discussion. Then, sometime as I'm sitting there looking thoughtful pretending to pay attention to students' comments, I will figure out just what the hell I will talk about for the remaining 30 minutes. And let me just say that while I have always been a sort of procrastination daredevil, never before have I put something off to the point where I only come up with the last part of a task sometime during the actual delivery of the first few parts of it. This is like handing a professor the first two-thirds of a big paper, then bothering to hastily staple on the last few pages only when he has actually started reading it. How does one come so far yet sink so low?
If you'll notice, I did not swear at all in this entry. So happy birthday, mother. Now you can't say I never did anything nice for your birthday.
My speech went great, for these reasons three: #1. I got paid. #2. I got paid, when I wasn't really expecting to be. #3. I did not accidentally fall into a vat of lye after getting caught in a rainstorm. In fact, my speech went so well that by the end, the four people who came to see me were saying how much they enjoyed watching a full 22-minute episode of a TV show they had no hope of understanding. Also, they forgave me my slight slip o' the tongue when I accidentally referred to Japanese humor as "conceivably amusing only to 'slanty-eyed jaudice patients'". Other than that, yeah, it went great.
I'm kidding, of course. The speech really did go pretty darn well, to the point where I'm wondering why I ever got so stressed about it. However, credit must be given where credit is due, and while I'd like to take as much credit as possible for my own awesomeness, I do not think the speech would have went half as well had I not worn my mortifyingly hideous Teaching Sweater. This is a practically magical garment that works on the well-known principle that one's academic credibility is inversely proportional to his or her fashion sense, or lack thereof. I bought the thing for $7 a few months ago because I figured every elementary school teacher has to own at least one hideously awful sweater, and while I'd like to say that the Teaching Sweater has gotten me through many a rough time since then, to be honest this was the first time I ever had the gall to actually wear it. But since the speech went pretty well ("Wow, look at the speaker. Someone THAT poorly-dressed MUST be intelligent!"), I'll have to consider wearing it more often. I mean, if I ever find myself stranded at some yuppie ski lodge, I'll be all set.
And now, for your amusement, I present a picture of an overweight man wearing an Optimus Prime costume:
Hey 'Optimus,' try transforming into someone who can do a sit-up occasionally
Y'know, sometimes written words simply cannot compete with pictures, and this is definitely one of those cases. Not that I won't try! Here's a list of other potential captions for the above photo, at least half of which you must be a geek to get:
Hey, that was kinda fun. Tell ya what, if any of you out there have some good captions of your own, send 'em in and I'll post 'em sometime. After all, that'll give me an excuse to post this picture again. If any of you are thinking this is unnecessarily mean, well...are you aware that the only movie ever to make me cry is, in fact, Transformers: The Movie? Laugh if you want, but YOU try being 8 years old and being all excited to see the movie version of a nice happy robot show where multicolored lasers never hit ANYTHING let alone your favorite robot characters. Now, pictures yourself finally seeing said movie and watching said multicolored lasers strike said robot characters REPEATEDLY in the CHEST and HEAD causing them to DIE fairly graphically in smoking sparking HEAPS and OH GOD Prime doesn't only DIE he turns GRAY as he does so to totally drive home the point to all the TRAUMATIZED 8 year-olds in the audience, some of whom by the way have a very similar name to the villain GALVATRON which may or may not have become a source of CONSTANT TORMENT for the next 7 years I can't really say it may or may not have happened according to my PSYCHIATRIST. Anyway, Transformers shall always hold a special place in my geeky little heart. Therefore, you don't disrespect Optimus Prime, dammit, and to do so is a travesty on the level of soaking an American flag in urine and twisting it into a "rat tail" to whip the reincarnation of Jesus. It just isn't done.
By the way, in case you were wondering, someone sent me the above picture from a messageboard called Higher Voltage, which currently has a thread entitled "Worst Cosplay Ever". "Cosplay," if you didn't know, is the practice of dressing up as anime or video game characters, and if you go over to those forums you can find some pretty amusing examples of it. However, be warned...you can also find some pretty disturbing stuff, such as this. (it's not too bad, but those of you reading this at work should probably wait to click that)
Actually, today was a pretty heavy day for reader mail (that's right, THREE!). And, not because I am out of ideas of what to write about, but because these questions are of such amazing relevance and saliency that they should be, nay, MUST be answered in a public forum. Let's look at a couple of 'em:
Aleksanteri Repo from Finland sent me this link, which details a supposed fad fake see-through skirts in Japan right now, asking me to vouch for its authenticity. So, always keen to help a reader in need, I diligently researched the phenomenon at hand, and, after several exhaustive hours of extensive investigation, have determined that it is FALSE since the last picture shows someone wearing it at her job; which y'know, would NEVER EVER happen in the strictly-structured Japanese work environment. In fact, my investigation was so thorough I am left with only one remaining question: I have readers in FINLAND?
The next letter is from someone who is apparently in the army. Actually, a disproportionate amount of reader mail I get is from people in the service. I'm sure it doesn't mean anything. But on the other hand, it means I am being watched by people from THE KILLBOT FACTORY
*Ahem* Anyway, yes, the letter:
"...I was just reading your guest book
and I
just wanted to say that it is about time some brave Canadian (none of
your
fucking business) stood up and had the nerve to tell you that you are a
minority. I hope that all of your readers can breathe a collective sigh
of
relief knowing that this is finally out in the open.
As far as the question of who you are to judge anyone, I think that it
is
fairly obvious to Americans that you are the owner and webmaster here,
so
your opinion pretty well goes.
Personally, I like to hear about the weird and funny things your
students
do, and would like to see more pictorials.
Anyway, thanks for your time, and I love your site, keep it up.
Scott Harris
P.S. Fuck Canada"
Damn straight, Scott! For those of you who have no idea what this letter is about, my latest guestbook signature is apparently from a very upset Canadian who has taken issue with one of my many harmless jabs against his homeland, known to many as the "New Jersey of North America". Of course it's all in good fun, but it seems our anonymous Canuck is just a wee bit sensitive, perhaps because one of the thousands of moose in his country has been butting him in the groin repeatedly with its mighty antlers. Reader Matthew Graves also chimes in on this issue, noting the irony of my standing under a Canadian flag in the picture of me wearing the teaching sweater in my last entry, adding, and I quote, "take that...eh". So there, take that, mysterious enraged Canadian! My PEOPLE are behind me! And not "my people" in the way you so sensitively meant it, but people as in, uh, random people on the internet! One of whom is apparently in the army! So be afraid! They'll go to bat for me if need be! At least the army guy will! And probably that guy from Finland, too! And the fat Optimus Prime guy as well, provided I buy him enough donuts! So watch out, Canadians! I'm on a rampage!
Well, I did it again...I spent an embarassing portion of my free time today looking at cosplay pictures. I'm not sure why it has drawn me in so, but it fascinates me. It's like staring at a really horrible car accident; as much as it nauseates you, as much as you probably have somewhere else you should be, you can't help but gawk for a while. Looking at these people, I wonder, who are they? Why do they dress like that? Is it drugs? Booze? Pure insanity? I mean, one time when I got really destroyed I wrapped myself up into a toilet-paper mummy which also for whatever reason had a pink-towel cape, but I certainly never ran around dressed like, say, this guy. I bet this is how Jane Goodall started studying those apes. She probably got a funny avi file of a chimp drinking its own pee or something, had a laugh about it with a few strangers on her personal website, and before she knew it she was living in the jungle eating grubs and studying their personal grooming habits. Hmm, tell ya what, if 10 years from now you hear about me living in the jungle with a bunch of people dressed as Dragonball Z characters, you have my full and unconditional permission to beat me senseless with a rolled-up J.Crew catalog.
I suppose one part of my whole fascination with the cosplay isn't difficult to figure out...it's sexual. I realize all you Clicky Susans out there are hovering their pointers over the "back" button as we speak, but hear me out. All I'm saying is, I've always had an attraction for nerd girls. Let me rephrase that: physically attractive nerd girls. I mean, come on, physically attractive nerd girls are just like your regular physically attractive girls without any of those pesky things like self-respect or a strong sense of reality to get in the way. Or, for that matter, any semblance of a sense of identity outside of her relationship with you. Add in how hard it is to find an actually reasonably attractive nerd girl, and come on, that's just HOT.
There was this one such girl in college that became an object of perverse desire for me for about a semester. She was just, well, very physically attractive, seemingly more so because this was despite her being into anime. She was also very sweet, personable, intelligent, and on top of that actually had a pretty decent fashion sense, which again, is not a trait one often associates with those prone to watching big-eyed schoolgirls prance around waving wands in such a fashion as to cause robots of unrealistic dimensions to explode. In fact, the only real drawback was that she was absolutely ass-backwards batshit loony. Sample conversation, which I swear to Christ I am only slightly embellishing:
(stops teacher after class)
BatshitLoonyHotGirl: "Professor...do you have something that...tells time...?"
Professor: (blank stare)
BatshitLoonyHotGirl: "...that I could borrow... until...Wednesday?"
Professor: (pause)"...you mean a watch?"
BatshitLoonyHotGirl: "Yeah! Yeah yeah yeah." *Watches anime in celebration*
Me, off to the side: "I must have her."
Okay, so the last couple lines are made up but the rest is totally true. The combination of breasts so firm they could easily drill John-Henry-style into the side of a mountain and a tendency to break into sudden fits of blood-curdling shrieking in the middle of class proved too alluring a combination to bear. She was also a hypochondriac; one class she suddenly claimed to be unable to see, during another she went mysteriously, temporarily deaf. And this added aspect of vulnerability, imagined crazily or not, was just the icing on the cake: she had cast her voodoo-siren spell, her completely ass-crazy lunatic voodoo-siren spell, upon me, and escape was not possible nor desired. However, eventually I decided that any possible realizations of my fantasies, no matter how slight or remote, would immediately result in the complete loss of whatever respect my friends had for me. Besides, I figured it would be difficult to begin seriously dating someone after spending the previous 4 months characterizing her for your friends as little more than breasts and lunacy ("Guys, I'd like you to meet my new girlfriend --" "Hey, aren't you the chick with the huge cans who once claimed to lose her ability to feel?" "Shut Uuuup"). Besides, it turns out she was already dating Stephen Hawking (long story), so it was all probably for the best.
Still, my little non-affair with the crazy girl with the rack didn't quell my attraction towards decently attractive nerd girls one bit. Ask any kinky misogynist you know -- there's nothing hotter than some semi-hot froot loop of a chick who barely has any idea where she is or what she's doing! So I suppose that's why, when I look at a picture of some of these really-not-bad cosplay people, I can't help but think, "You know, seeing as she's willingly walking around a fucking Pet Smart dressed as a goddamn cat monster, maybe she'd also be into my slathering her from head to toe in peanut butter then repeatedly head-butting her in the face. You know, erotically." And if that isn't love, I don't know what is.
Actually, come to think of it, let us never speak of this entry again.
First order of business: let's go ahead and nip this anti-Canada/suck-up-to-Galvin trend developing in my guestbook in the bud. Though I appreciate the support, that'll do, thanks. Besides, it's not as if I actually dislike Canada; in fact, given current events I will soon begin telling people that I myself am Canadian (thanks, Harrison). I actually love Canada, much like the bloated, spoiled aristocrat holds a sort of condescending affection towards his lovably dim-witted houseboy. Ha ha! I am only joshing, Canadians, I love you but so help me I cannot resist busting your chops a little every now and then. I mean, I don't REALLY hate you, like I do, say, Jewish people, the Irish, the French, black people, white people, dentists, left-handed people, women, old people, young people, middle-aged people, Buddhists, golfers, Buddhist golfers, scratch that Buddhist golfers except Chevy Chase, homosexuals, heterosexuals, bisexuals, trisexuals, Chas Budnick, and of course your mothers, who by the way are all so uniformly obese that they may only properly put on their belts by attaching one end to a boomerang. Speaking of which, Australians. Them too. Word. And with that, Canada, let us consider the feudin' and the fightin' to be over.
In case you're wondering what's with the insane amount of updates lately, it's because I'll be taking a little hiatus soon, for about a week while I go on vacation. I don't know why, but whenever I know I won't be updating for a while I feel compelled to make up those dates I'll be missing. I don't know why. I mean, you would never find me projecting this level of responsibility for anything even remotely consequential, like say, my job. Okay, so it doesn't help that I'm sitting in the office today with nothing else to do. But if anyone asks, I write not from boredom, but because I WUV you.
Since the school year's wrapping up in Japan, I've spent the last couple of days attending graduation ceremonies, which as you may have guessed are quite a fair bit different from their American counterpart. For one thing, not ONCE did Rodney Dangerfield show up and spontaneously transform the otherwise somber occasion into a raging impromptu party. I don't know about you, but I distinctly remember this happening at both my high school and college graduations. I'm guessing he had passport problems. Also conspicuously absent were comically older students resembling Adam Sandler. I guess people here don't often re-enroll in grade school in a bid to prove that they are responsible enough to inherit the various lucrative family businesses. How boring.
Actually, in general graduation ceremonies in Japan are a comparatively serious, solemn affair. In America we have people throwing beach balls around or showing up naked under their gowns. By contrast, in Japan the students are screamed at repeatedly and awarded with "ribbons of shame", the total amount of which dictates at exactly what speed they must then pilot a fighter plane into the side of a cliff while loudly extolling the Emperor: "Katsuhiro Toshifune! 132 ribbons of shame! Yiyiyiyiyiyiyiyi BANZAAAAAI!!!!!!" (*explodes*) As a guest in a foreign land with customs and rituals very different from my own, I am faced with a constant stream of little differences such as these nearly every day. But no matter how many I am met with, never do they fail to amaze and humble me as to the vast variety of different peoples and beliefs throughout the world. At one point I moved to share my little cultural reflection with my foreign hosts, but I was immediately told to silence my barbarian tongue lest a ninja brandishing a very small knife should happen to cut it off. Such wonders this world is full of!
All right, so I'm embellishing, a little bit. I'll probably tell you how the ceremony really was sometime, but for now, who has a little reinforcing of harmless stereotypes ever hurt? Besides, y'know, minorities, I mean.
I think I've reached the point where I update this thing more frequently than people actually come to read it.
Couple of fun links for today:
The first one's just dumb fun, but as per the second one, I'd just like to say that I'm very glad homosexuals are not allowed to defend the country but people who believe themselves to be giant robot trucks from the planet Cybertron can. It also cracks me up that a friggin' general from the friggin' Pentagon saw fit to recognize the change. Still, I do have to admit that the thought of Optimus Prime leading the charge into battle is very reassuring in these uncertain times. Perhaps he will roll into battle shouting "VROOOM! VROOOOOM!" emulating the noises of the truck he believes himself to be, scaring off many enemy soldiers until they use their 1970-era rifles to transform him into someone who eats through a tube. And then of course, if "Megatron" happens to be a common name among Iraqi soldiers, and Prime's company also includes a young, brash soldier named Hot Rod, we are FUCKED.
In other news, college buddy Terry McMahon has chided me for not once referring to the subject of the March 19th entry as "the crazy girl with the knockers", as she was commonly referred to at the time. I assure you Terry, that was an honest oversight, one which I aim to rectify now.
Yeah, that's it for today. Lemme along, rotten kids!
Saturday night was possibly the biggest social disaster in the history of the world. For me or for anyone. In the entire history of human interaction, Saturday night was undoubtedly the worst catastrophe by far. In the course of one night I managed to creep the hell out of almost literally an entire dance club, and much worse, some people I respect quite a bit. Saturday night I came face to face with a lot of ugliness. It wasn't all from me, granted. Even the parts that did come from me, weren't entirely from me, if that makes any sense. Regardless, what was revealed to be me, what was revealed to be inside me, somewhere...well, quite frankly, I'm petrified by it.
Last time I went clubbing, I almost got in a fight with a Belgian guy. Not through any fault of my own, but merely because he was drunk and I happened to be there, probably looking like an easy target. Saturday, I almost got in a fight again. Pretty fucking close, in fact. But this time, it wasn't just one guy. It was more like half a dozen, maybe more. And it wasn't just me that mighta got fucked up. My friends had been dragged into it too. They had stuck by me throughout the whole thing, probably against their better judgement. They looked out for me, even when I seriously would've deserved everything I had coming to me. Because that was another difference about the night. Last time I was an innocent victim. This time, I had consciously brought it all upon myself. Yeah, they had been giving shit to me, but it was just harmless mocking from afar. I didn't even mind. I coulda easily just sat down for a while till the whole thing diffused. But instead I moved to escalate it. To further provoke them to the point where it became something serious. If you're asking why, well, there are a lot of reasons.
For one, I've gotten so sick of just taking other people's shit. Even if I was gonna get the hell beaten out of me, I didn't care, I just wanted to stop being passive for once in my life. I'da gotten roughed up for sure, maybe quite a bit, but at least for once in my life I would have been defiant. I guess I was looking to get punched for a few minutes to see if it was any better than getting subtly walked all over for a lifetime. In other words, I was being really, really stupid. That's another reason. I feel like I've been making a lot of stupid decisions lately. I haven't exactly felt like myself for the past few months; I've regressed. Become stupider. For the first time in a long time, I am choked by an almost constant sense of uncertainty. I have no confidence. No emotional independence. No unyielding knowledge that no matter how many stupid things I did, well Christ, at least I still liked who I was. For those that knew me in college, I mean, can you even imagine me with my subtle yet smug sense of superiority? Yeah, neither can I. I don't know where I am when I can't confidently say to myself that I like where I am and I know where I'm going, and that deep down, I know that I'm doing right by my own views and beliefs. I don't know where I am when I can't say, "At least I'm handling my life better than that guy."
Yeah, I guess deep down, I've always been kind of a smarmy dick. But I liked being a smarmy dick. I'm not the most sociable person in the world, but I don't think I treat many people too badly. Generally, even if I don't like someone I'm at least civil. I was a smarmy dick, yes, but at least a fairly harmless one. But now, I'm not sure I know how to be that anymore.
This isn't all personal issues, of course. I can't help but wonder if a lot of people are feeling like this in this day and age, particularly people of my general age. I imagine post-college life is generally a rather unsure time for a person, and maybe it's just my selfish generation talking but I think this is a particularly tough time to try to learn to become an adult. For one, the economy's in the toilet, which is a fair bit of why I'm over here. Secondly, well, there's the whole, you know, war, which is probably one of the most potentially destablizing in a long time. I swear to God, I get jittery practically every time I pick up my paper in the morning and look at the front page. I'm really just terrified that I'll open it to see another part of America has been bombed off the map. Not to look at it from too selfish a viewpoint, but jesus, can you imagine what that'd be like for me? Knowing that my friends, my family, my, well, dog, were in the middle of some catastrophe, with me on the whole other fucking side of the globe, unable to do a single goddamn thing about it? Can you imagine how terrifyingly helpless that would feel?
If you've ever noticed, I seem to talk about or allude to 9-11 a lot when I get all serious and introspective. I guess this is because in the context of my own personal life, I've always kind of viewed it as a particularly abrupt wake-up call into the real world. It came during my senior year of college, when I was just starting to figure out what to do with myself. I was uncertain, sure, but I was also very excited. I was itching to get out of college and see where the world would take me. Then, oversleeping one morning, I was awoken because someone had the TV on very loud in the common room. After 10 minutes I groggily got up to yell at my friends to turn it down to shut up so I could finish sleeping through my Japanese class, but when I got there and saw the two, smoking towers on the TV, I was completely dumbfounded. I had no idea what was going on, even when my friends explained it. I remember making some inappropriate comment about it looking like a "bad Michael Bay movie" and well, went back to sleep. I realize that must sound like a terribly strange and inappropriate action, but really, at the time the whole thing didn't make any sense to me at all, and I in fact wasn't sure if it was even happening. It was a hell of a thing to wake up to, that's for sure. Maybe if I went back to sleep, I'd wake up to something better. You can guess how that turned out. Now every morning when I wake up, I wonder if something else like that has happened while I've been snoring away. I guess to me, 9-11 had always felt like someone pulling me out of my safe little crib, kicking me in the stomach and saying welcome to the real world, kiddo, there's a lot of ugly shit you're gonna have to deal with.
So that's kind of the backdrop I've been working with the past year or so. Then you throw in the fact that I'm trying to build my own specific life from basically scratch, and well, these are trying times for me I guess. Like I said, a lot of people in the world must be feeling like this these days. A lot of young people must feel terribly uncertain with what to do with their lives. And not to paint this as a "oh, pity poor me" type of thing but I mean, being in a totally different, foreign country doesn't exactly make things a whole heck of a lot easier. Back in familiar surroundings I'd at least maybe feel like I had a leg to stand on; here, I gotta back up after being knocked flat on my ass. Again, not to pity myself, even though I am at the moment. Coming here was all my decision, and one I loved, and much of the time still do. I loved the notion of starting all over, by myself, doing things the way I want to do them. I still do. I love the feeling of growing independence, of being forced to mature, of being all on my goddamn own, with no real help to turn to. I loved the notion of looking all around me and knowing that all I am, all I've become, it's all what I made myself. But like I said, these are uncertain times. Independence doesn't make my particular situation any less unsure, and from time to time, I guess I look at everything I've made, everything I've built, and don't like what I see. Sometimes I look at myself, and feel like maybe I'd be better off if I tore it all down and started over again. Unfortunately, it's not quite that easy. Rebuilding is relatively easy when you have to, sure. But it's an entirely different matter when you have to decide it for yourself.
So I suppose that's why I've been embarking on this increasingly scary spiral of self-destruction lately. Partly, to punish myself for being such a gutless pussy. To punish myself for being such a sickening little layabout, more content to sit idly with the devil I know rather than take a chance to change things for the better. Let's face it, if someone kicked my teeth in, I'd at least have a fairly concrete wake-up call that something had to be done differently in my life. But mostly, I ended up in the situation I was Saturday night because in some deranged way, I wanted to feel again. To matter. Like I said, I'm sick of a lifetime of turning the other cheek, of diffusing every confrontation with a forced smile. The situation culminated Saturday night with, again, me standing defiantly and stupidly right in front of my antagonist, with my back turned directly to him as a dare. Except this time, his buddies were placing themselves around the room, effectively cutting off any real way of escape. Security noticed this of course, my having been a particularly, idiotically noticeable presence throughout the night, and six or so of them had been placed on the floor as well. And in the center of all this chaos, the cause of all this discomfort which seemed to flood the whole place, was me. And God, I'm really so horribly ashamed of it now, but I loved it. Hell, I relished it. I loved that I had brought about all this stupidity. I loved that in some deranged way, I had caused something to happen. I guess I somehow felt that by disrupting the whole place and making as many people as possible really, really uncomfortable, I was somehow getting back at everyone who had ever tried to push me down in life. And standing there, perhaps about to be flattened any minute, I wanted to show everyone that I didn't care. That none of it bothered me. That -- battle cry of my generation -- I didn't give a fuck. That it would all come crumbling down and I'd still spit in their faces even if I had none left of my own. So what did I do?
I smiled. A wide, bright, actually very psychotic-looking smile. I didn't realize it at the time, of course, but that one final, ironic touch was really the moronic icing on the whole giant wedding cake of stupidity I'd constructed.
Like I said, I woulda deserved everything I had coming to me. I didn't start it, but I sure as hell made it 1000 times worse than it was initially. I coulda done the smart thing like last time, and walked away. But I didn't want to. This time, I just wanted to give everyone a giant Fuck You, right before they fucked me. However, what I somehow, in my insane stupidity, failed to realize that it wasn't just me in the middle of this. It was my friends, too. I hadn't even met them very long ago, and already they'd shown me a lot of kindness. Much more, in recent times, than I've even felt I'd deserved. In short, I really respect them, which is not an emotion someone as self-centered as me feels very often. And again, on Saturday they had stuck their necks out for me more than even any normal caring human being would be expected to. It reached the point where I feel like they could have just walked away and I doubt anyone would have blamed them. Despite their repeated efforts to coax me back into sanity, I repeatedly pushed them away, determined to make the night memorably painful in some way or the other. I wanted things to change, and I guess I got my wish. In the end, I feel I had pushed my friends away too, simply by being so fucking insane. It wasn't a cry for help. It was a cry of just leave me alone and let me get the shit kicked out of me, so I can just move on with my life. I had sucked them into this stupid, immature self-destructive behavior. And really, above all, that's what I'm most ashamed of as I write this now. It's not pissing off an entire nightclub, it's not very nearly getting the tar beat out of me by surly Japanese guys, it's putting people I respect very much in such a terrible situation. For betraying the kindness and trust they had shown me ever since a previous time when again, I needed a foot up, and they gave it to me. Whether they knew it or not.
So Justine, Matt, Christine, if for whatever reason you're reading this, I really hope you do know how sorry I am to have put you in that situation. No matter the circumstances I can't rightly justify the way I acted Saturday, and I'm sorry you had to be in the middle of that. I'm quite regretful anyone had to see that, actually. Seeing some of the things that came out of me Saturday, it scared the crap out of me, and I can only imagine what it must have seemed like to you guys. So I do hope you know I'm sorry. But I quite honestly have never been this ashamed of anything in pretty much my whole life, and after all that's happened, don't feel like I could look you in the eye again for a long time.
Well, in case you were wondering, eventually I was saved by, and I swear I am not making this up, a giant Judo player. I had actually met him before, but he had began ignoring me just like everyone else when I started acting like a freak. However, just when things were about to get ugly, he came up to me, grabbed my hands, and performed an elaborate dance step. I think it was his way of saying, "Yeah he's a freak, but for God's sake don't beat the little kid up." He made his exit, and with that, it was over. Every one of my antagonists walked away, presumably at the hulking endorsement of Giant Judo Man. I had been denied my physical punishment. Of course, soon after, I realized what a complete, cosmically stupid jackass I had been, and now am starting to learn that mental anguish can be just as much a motivator for change, even as I spill out all this catharsis. Like I said, I'm kind of crass. I don't usually feel shame. Short-term embrassment, sure. Shyness, always. But shame? Almost never. As a rule I have very few regrets in life, as I believe mistakes are there to be learned from. And even though, one would hope, I will indeed learn from this -- which is perhaps why I felt the need to splatter this incredibly embarassing ordeal all over a primarily humor-based forum on the internet -- I think it will be a very, very long time before I stop being horribly ashamed of the whole thing. In the end, I guess I did get my wake-up call, even though it ended up being much more painful and destructive, and in a different way, than I had expected.
Well, I don't usually like airing my personal dirty laundry in this journal, but for whatever reason I felt compelled to share this. I mean, living in a foreign country is an amazing experience to be sure, with many ups and downs, and I find humor to be generally a very healthy way to approach it. But don't go thinking it's without its just plain rough parts, too. They're there, and I don't feel I should mask that. When I write stuff like this I guess it's because I don't so much want advice, or even sympathy, as I just want to air shit out. Plus given what I was saying, I doubt I would've felt right about doing any humorous entries again if I didn't get this out first. Yeah, I hate it when people I look to for humor feel the need to get all heavy-handed and serious now and then too, but hey, look at it this way: most other web journals sound like this all the time. Anyway. Good timing for a vacation. Be back in a week or two, hopefully with your regularly-scheduled programming. Peace.
