Poetic training wheels

Just farted this shiny little limerick* out
during a meeting a few minutes ago:


If Stu's muse chews blue shoes, may Stu choose the shoes he eschews?
Then what shall we do when Stu chooses to screw Lu's two Jews?
We peruse.
Or rather, how many screws could the Charlstons chew if the Charleston Chews got screwed?
Rolling red wagons.
Downhill.
Shit, I forgot my earmuffs.

Yeah, you're welcome.


*Not an actual limerick.

Office pilates

I am always pleased to find other people in my office who somehow manage to do even less work than I. Take this guy for example. A classic suit & tie samurai, weary from the daily rigors of sitting immobile at a desk reading the newspaper and scratching his ass. Sure, he may be sleeping now, but he's got the leathered skin and battle damage eyepatch to prove he deserves every hard-fought second of that catnap.

Probably poked it out dozing off over his pencil tin.





Running in 90 degree heat after dark is the shit. By which, I mean it royally sucks.

All the good girls are home with broken hearts

It's quarter after one in the morning. I'm in Osaka. A block away from the hostess bars and okonomiyaki stands, is a media cafe called "Popeye." It reeks of bad hygiene: hair tonic, week-old cigarettes, cheese curls, and computer dust.

I just got done at a takoyaki bar, where I had beers, shared stories, and critiqued Cindi Lauper lyrics with a number of fairly drunk Kansai gentlemen. "Time After Time" is not her best work. A tipsy Kansai agrees. I am still a lightweight. They invite me to their home to continue the party. Now, Kansai people are best-known for their good humor, dumb-assed dialect, and their impeccable hospitality, but still I decide that random strangers' homes is where all parties go to die. And sometimes get raped. I tell them I already have reservations at a posh hotel whose fancy name I have totally forgotten. They fall for it.

Anyway, back to it being quarter after one. I've removed my shoes, brushed my teeth, and had my Au Latte. I'm in #36--one of dozens of tiny 4 x 6 cubicles in a twenty-four hour internet cafe. Equipped with an old Victor television, a slow-as-shit computer, and a reclining leather pimp chair, they're perfect for killing a few hours, spending the night on a tight budget, or partaking in a spot of risky afternoon delight, if you're as adventurous as all the tabloids lead you to believe. It feels like a gnome hotel, without locks on the doors. Or a nice cubicle hell. Or maybe just cubicle purgatory, but without the TPS reports. Frampton is here, and he concurs.

Cubicle #35 is snoring. #37 won't shut the hell up about the game he is playing. And the keys on my godddamn kkeyboard are sssticking.

My thoughts return home, for the umpteenth time this week. And then to the broken plaster in the ceiling. This makeshift hotel reality, where wristwatch digits move in slow-motion, bleary eyelids grow heavy, and cheap cup noodles and chicken nuggets come from the same vending machine.

Tomorrow, we'll prowl Nipponbashi for video games. Not Nihonbashi though, because this is Kansai. And not "nihonjin," but "nipponjin," because this is Kansai.
*Waves middle finger east, towards Tokyo*

If people are supposedly having sex in these cubicles, does that mean I'm hypothetically excused from an unintentional bronx cheer or two? I mean, if I fall asleep, who's to say it won't happen? Just wondering. Whoa, the seat reclines. Sweet.

It is 2:00am, and I miss home. I'm going to bed.

Oh...That was easy.


* UPDATE 5/8 *
This particular post started out as more informative, but changed direction when I decided it was time to pass the hell out. Luckily, CNN has said everything I was planning to say. It's a much more interesting read than I'd ever be able to muster.

"Hyper Cool" is teh New 'Ill'

Because "extreme" is for pussies.

For Lack of a Better Reason...

...actually, there really is none. I don't need a blog to prove to you that I do a lot of professional sitting around on my ass at the office--granted, it's on the other side of the world, but that never mattered much to anyone. And I most certainly don't need a video to prove to you that my weeknights are boring as hell. You wankers probably already knew that.
Anyway, I think this started out as a video experiment of sorts, then it changed to a bit for another upcoming video blog, then I trashed it, then untrashed it, then played with the effects again, then trashed it again, then untrashed it again, then finally just said "screw it," and now it's available for your viewing enjoyment. Or pain. I remember it being a whole hellofa lot funnier when I first started working on it. Meh. Might have been the Asahi.


\m/

Happy new year, you bastard

Make any resolutions worth a damn? Any intentions of keeping them? Yeah, didn't think so. I resolved to stop saying 'yes'. And 'no'. Actually, I just resolved to stop talking altogether. Some kind of incoherent nonsense like that. Probably like your retarded resolution, no?
Another uneventful Christmas and come and gone. Another tacky Time Square ball dropping on another misplaced year. If each dropped ball brings me closer to something better, I damn sure can't wait to find out what it is. Otherwise, it's just four more weeks to Japan. I'll never have enough suitcase room for all the worthless shit I've accumulated over the last two years in Findlay, but I'm too sentimental, and these memories too fragile to simply pack away into a box, and leave to be forgotten. Or moved.

Thank you Pearl Jam for "Come Back." It didn't bring him back last year...or this year. Probably never will. But for that 5 minutes and 26 seconds, I feel like he just might.

I spent all of today wandering around the new pole barn work site waiting for dad to finish nailing down the roofing sheets, so we could haul him up new ones, or pick up the slippery tools that he dropped every five goddamn minutes. In the moments between picking up screws with a magnet, pvc jousting with Andrew, and carving my bare hands on razor-sharp sheet metal, we shot a particularily idiotic video. No reason, really.

Like the new style? I'm still warming up to it. You, on the other hand, are welcome.