- Meth Addicts Demand Government Address Nation's Growing Spider Menace (you've got to see the picture for this one)
- White House Quietly Retracts Entire State Of The Union Address
- Haitian Parents Couldn't Be Prouder Of Witch-Doctor Son
- FEMA Calls Rebuilding Complete As New Orleans Restored To Former Squalor
(from The Onion: America's Finest News Source)
A recent search engine hit that led to the blog was "What would the Canadians like for breakfast?" It came from China, and I imagine it was typed by a kind of desperate businessman who had Canadian colleagues coming and had no idea what to feed them. So! Next time that happens .... What would you suggest? Here's mine:
For the non-health conscious:
- fried potatoes
- two fried eggs
- multi-grain toast with butter and jam
- for meat-eaters: bacon or sausage links
- coffee or tea
For the healthier types:
- yogurt
- granola with skim milk
- a fruit cup (apples, oranges, pineapples)
- multi-grain toast with no butter
- orange juice or herbal tea
For the whimsical types:
- bagels with cream cheese and capers and/or lox
- sliced mango
- any kind of local delicacy
- mimosas (a mixture of orange juice and champagne)
Any other ideas? Vehement objections? Comment below.
This is the necklace I'm not allowed to wear to work anymore:
My boss told me, correctly, that it was unprofessional, the sort of garish thing his grandmother might wear to an evening poker party. Despite the fact that this statement was made in a slightly negative way (disclaimer: my boss rules and hates having to tell people not to do stuff), I think this is quite possibly the coolest thing anybody has said about an accessory I've worn!
- What would the Canadians like for breakfast
- famous people named joy
- boob shots
- what was your favourite cereal
- shot vending machines alcohol
- joy's buffet
- Joy Buffet
- Tea Addiction kids in the hall
- star bucks cofee variants
- santa what would you have for breakfast
- futon beating
- smoking marijuana and drinking orange juice
- buy chu hi
- id rather drink then smoke
- shots for breakfast
- alcohol shot necklace
- whites seafood bar rye
- bondage photographer victoria bc
- clint clay vernon bc
- "chu hi" grapefruit buy
(gotta dig all the spelling errors!)
Dinner last night, which I cooked for myself and Matt: boiled potatoes sprinkled with sliced green onion; sauteed tofu with garlic, fish sauce (M's idea), and green beans; the world's most simplistic salad: lettuce and avocado with 'Chinese dressing'. Nice. I don't cook a lot lately, a combination of incomprehensible (to me) packaging, a shared kitchen, and convenience-store fare which is both cheap and good: ie, gourmet sandwhiches for a hundred yen, packages of nigiri for 500. But yeah. I should make more of an effort.
What is the symbolism of dead houseplants? This is not a new question.
Overall my Japan experience has ruled, but today the racism bit just seemed too much to handle. In the larger sense, experiencing racism firsthand is a valuable experience. I recall one of two Women's Studies classes I took at uni (don't even get me started on WS -- in my experience, a waste of time): we had to fill out a "Privilege Chart" in which we put little check marks in the boxes that indicated we were privileged. To my horror, the only boxes I couldn't check were "female" and "working-class." It was a stupid activity, but it opened my eyes to the fact that as an educated white person living in Canada, I didn't have much to complain about, technically speaking. So living in another country, which is famous for militant nationalism and distrust of foreigners, has been interesting in the fact that I experience racism every day, and it is directed at me. I can't even begin to pretend that what I experience at work, at the grocery store, and on the train is in any way comparable to a Canadian person of non-European descent who goes through the same thing and worse with the added insult of being a citizen of the country who is discriminating against them, but it's eye-opening nonetheless and frustrating also: most of the racism I've experienced has come from highly educated people who, in my view, ought to know better. So how do we combat it?
Today I asked a few students to tell me three people, dead or alive, they would invite to their Last Meal on Earth. One guy said, quite rationally I thought, that if it was his last night on Earth he would want to be surrounded by a bevy of gorgeous women, and picked three actors -- and none of this Jessica Biel/Jessica Alba/Jessica Simpson nonsense; they were real actors from the past, and much more beautiful, besides.
Another student said, "No politicians. I want my Last Night on Earth to be all about me, and the politicians would make it all about them and their causes."
Then I was asked what type of person I would ban from my Last Night. Trying to joke around, I said, 'Oh, you know, no beautiful women. I want it to be all about me, as well."
And one of the guys said, "Ah, you are very honest."
!!!!
How does one take this?
Just got back from karaoke at the King of System -- sang an incoherent and unprecedented mixture of Gnarls Barkley, Mandy Moore, the Streets, that girl who sings "I Will Survive," the Killers, and more ..... Chu-hi galore!
Wound up going to the beach at Enoshima the other day, after all. Sat on the beach and stared at the waves. Scouted out the shops afterwards. Other than Akihabara's Electric District, which is filled with desperate techno-nerds who couldn't care less about customer service, meaning the sales clerks oblige, the shops in Enoshima have the rudest employees imaginable. I say this from a Canadian point of view, meaning that I'm used to clerks dodging junkies or being embroiled in sexual harassment cases, or so high they can't focus their eyes, or looking down on you because you dare to order an on-sale martini while wearing a second-hand hoodie. My point was ..... My point is, I am spoiled by Japan's customer service. Even walking into the 7-11, every single employee (there are usually no less than five) will greet me enthusiastically and with great volume, and thank me repeatedly for my patronage, even if I don't buy anything but am only using the ATM. So, when I experience anything less than this, it seems rude. I go into a coffeehouse in Enoshima:
HER: Hai? (means, Yes. Usually you are greeted, anywhere, with a sort of "Hello thank you so much for coming to my store how can I serve you?" type of sentence)
ME: (temporarily shocked at the lack of flowery greeting)
HER: (kind of really impatiently) HAI?
ME: Ice kohi onigaishimasu. (I'll have an ice coffee please.)
HER: (glaring) HAI.
I sit down, and after a long time the coffee comes. It's tiny and about five hours old. Cost? 450 YEN!! Over twice as much as any other shop. Anyway, that's Enoshima.
I am in one of those slothful day-off modes where you don't want, or need, to do anything, but if you don't, you will be at work the next day kicking yourself for wasting your weekend. Hmmm. Up until 5 minutes ago I had planned to go to the Enoshima Beach to look at the ocean, because I am in a terrible mood and the ocean cheers me up, but it is a 45-minute train ride. I don't mind walking 45 minutes to the beach, but riding a train .... So I don't know. I have a package to mail to my folks. Maybe I'll walk to the post office!!! Have already done laundry: my underwear hangs in a sexy, yet dutiful, line across the room. I'm going to make breakfast soon, fuck it: an orange-banana smoothie, miso soup, and two fried eggs.
Yesterday Matt, C, C's friend, and I went to the Park Hyatt hotel for martinis! We arrived by taxi so as to feel glamorous (and also because we got lost), then ascended via elevator to the 52nd floor to disembark at the New York Bar.Yes -- the same bar Scarlett Johansen and Bill Murray cavorted through in Lost in Translation. Cover charge was a steep $20 (per person per hour!) after 8pm, so we had time for only one drink before we admitted we were poor and left. The martinis averaged $18 each, so it was a good thing ...... This bar offers one of the most beautiful views in the world. Catch some of it below:
(By the way -- I'm going to be posting a lot of pictures in the future, so I think I'll only put my favourite one from each set on the blog -- to see the rest, check out my Flickr page. You can also access this page through the link at right, in the Thunderbolts That Strike in the Night section.)
I think the nicest thing about this experience is that, although our group was obviously of a lower income bracket than the hotel is used to, and quite clearly coming in for just one drink so we could say we drank in the Lost in Translation bar, they didn't let it show in the least, and they sat us in one of the best tables, right beside the window. They may have made comments after we left, but it was so awesome that we came in wanting to feel rich and famous for just half an hour, and they played along perfectly. Sugoy!
Oh, and by the way, I swear I saw Steve Martin there. None of the others believe me.
Gah! I just wrote a long update (with the above title) and deleted it all cuz I was writing about a Scandalous Thing that happened to me at Work and it was all so Veiled that it rendered an update Pointless. God save us from Random Punctuation. Anyway, somebody Lied about me to my Boss ... No, no, I can't even give you the Bare Bones because there's so much background, both cultural and work-related, that would need to enter into it. One day this story will Come Out -- actually no, it won't, cuz in actuality it's a Small Deal and I'll forget about it in a month. The Moral of the Story is .... Fuck it, dude. Nothing matters quite so much as you think it does, for Reasons that I will make more clear in the coming Weeks. Stay tuned.
Picked up another treasure from the Junk Heap, a large framed print of Theophile Steinlen's Tournee du Chat Noir, only to see in the harsh lighting of my room that it has been rain-damaged. Will have to take it back tomorrow.
Haven't been able to use my camera cuz the battery ran out and it appears I have the wrong kind of charger. Cue a New Zealand accent: Blutty hell ... Matt mentioned looking for a new one tomorrow. So, things may change.
Dear Lord, the negativity! How's this: two days ago I actually found a structure for the Indigo Children novella, which has excited me to no end! Things are crashing about a little more coherently now; there is hope that once I'm done with the writing I'll be left with a Whole. Deconstruct that as you will, poet-faces.
Lunch at Jonathan's today with James. Picture a stereotypical Denny's complete with garish decor and mediocre food, but add a smoking section, an all-you-can-drink option, and a thousand shrieking children, and multiply it by ELEVEN. It's trashier than trash and I love it! I had seafood pasta with french fries, and chain-smoked whilst gossiping with James and drinking orange juice mixed with Canada Dry. The location of this restaurant is the basement of a train station: a subterranean Japanese Hades. Usually there are long lines to get in but today we were lucky.
So, I made a comment on weaselpee's blog about how Spiderbait's "You're Fucken Awesome" video (complete with bloodthirsty partygoers dressed as animals) reminded me of the time my youngest brother J crashed an old Green St. party, and weaselpee requested shocking details. Here they are, though I do have to preface them by saying that they merely reminded me of the incident, in fact, only kind of-ly, I said. There are no brawling animals in the story that follows. But it is a good ol-fashioned hardcore story nonetheless.
I was 18 and living in the party-house known as Green St. I'd been working in the OK for the summer, and my parents elected to drive me home and have a mini-vacation in Victoria in the middle. They decided to take my brother J, then 16, along for the ride.
We pulled up to Green St. at about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, to see smoke billowing around the house and a young man in a distasteful hockey jersey (Clay) passed out on the front porch with a guitar in his lap and several empty bottles of beer at his side. My parents raised their collective Eyebrow, and then a half-dozen people poured out of the house, the infamous Mike Little in the lead.
"Hi, Joy!" he shouted. "We've set the neighbour's lawn on fire with firecrackers! The cops are on their way! Beer run?"
I declined, but Jeordyn looked intrigued .....
We went out for dinner or something, and weren't back till maybe 7:30. It was the plan for my parents to stay with me that first night, in the upper level of the house I shared with a demure music performance major named Lisa. We watched some TV, but the din from below was becoming difficult to ignore.
"Are they drinking?" my mother blurted.
I admitted they were, and also that as I would be joining them shortly, she and Dad could have my bed for the night! Hurrah! But dubious eyes soon turned to my brother.
"What about him?" they said.
"Well, he's 16," I said. "He can come to the party."
They looked all angsty-like.
"I'll look after him," I said. "I promise that nothing bad will happen."
Dubiously, and to this day I have no idea why, they agreed.
We descended to the party, which was filled mainly with musicians smoking weed and drinking rye. It was loud enough that everything could be heard in my room upstairs, where my parents were trying to sleep. I ignored this for the moment.
Jeordyn, being 16, needed someone to boot for him, and as I was only 18 and not yet legal, he approached Mike Little, who had just chugged an entire bottle of Boone's sangria, one foot perched on the edge of the coffin that was our coffee table.
"I'd like some rye," Jeordyn said. "If I give you 25 bucks will you buy me a .26?"
Now, who knows what kind of mood Little was in that night. But he looked Jeordyn in the eye and said, "I don't boot for minors [a complete falsehood], but if you drink HALF of this 40-ouncer of rye, it's free."
Jeordyn proceeded to do so in like an hour and half. Little isn't often impressed, but he was then. Me, I was blitzed on rye and marijuana (I was still smoking daily then) and having pointless conversations with unsuitable people on the back porch. Ere long, it appeared that J was missing.
"Where the fuck to?" I demanded. I had a vague memory of promising my parents that everything would be okay.
'That way," people pointed, down Green St. toward the gas station. Little and I set off, deftly avoiding the junk dealers at the bus stop. We asked after J at the gas station.
"Young guy?" they said, chagrined. "Camo pants? Yeah, he was here. Knocked over all of the chocolate bar displays. Cops got him."
We ran back home, and noted, drunkenly, that most of the parked cars we passed were smeared with white paint.
Jeordyn was in the living room, a fresh drink in his hand and spinning stories about his arrest and subsequent escape from Victoria's finest. He mentioned "stealing paint and liberating cars." I had a couple of more joints and then Little, Matt, other roommates, and I went out to assess the damage.
At least three cars parked near our house were completely white, the paint still damp on their expensive exteriors. Little said he would "take care of shit."
I went in, smoked another joint, and ate an entire panful of tater gems. Worried, briefly, about the racket: the light in the upstairs window indicated my parents were still awake.
Mike Little went next door and stole a fire hose and fireman's hat.
Then he personally hosed down both the neighbours' cars and our front porch, as he felt "personally responsible" for the damage.
The next day my parents came down to see J on his hands and knees sopping up the last of the paint from the front steps.
And I realized that I had to start uni in three days.
Here's the first pics from the new camera .... They turned out okay, but unfortunately I don't have an image editing program at the moment; I had hoped to crop them and focus more on the faces. Next time.
(ripped from Cherry Blossom Adventures)
Four jobs I’ve had
* Rubbish Remover
* English instructor
* Bookstore Staff (X4)
* Door-to-door saleswoman
Four movies I can watch over and over
* Empire Records
* The Royal Tanenbaums
* Dumb and Dumber (sadly)
* Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan
Four places I’ve lived
* Vernon, BC, Canada
* Enderby, BC, Canada
* Victoria, BC, Canada
* Tokyo, Japan
Four TV shows I love
* Da Ali G Show
* Futurama
* Lost
* Kids in the Hall
Four places I’ve vacationed
* LA, California
* Calgary, Alberta
* various Gulf Islands, BC
* Tokyo, Japan (technically. I had time off work while living here)
Four of my favorite dishes
* California roll with vegi tempura, sunomono salad, and tuna nigiri
* fried eggs with vegis and potato
* homemade potato salad
* baked salmon with asparagus and rice
Four sites I visit daily
* the mighty Negativespace Empire
* the Globe and Mail
* Rotten Tomatoes
* Wikipedia
Four places I would rather be right now
* Salt Spring Island
* a hot bathtub -- I have no bathtub, it's tragic
* Okinawa
* Harajuku. I'm going later today.
Four bloggers I am tagging
* Elisa
* Ben
* James
* Clint -- end the blog silence!
Yes! Bought a digital camera: 60 bucks, one year old, Olympus, 4.0 mega pixels, with an English menu!! And a 512 megabyte memory card for an additional 40 bucks. I'm super-pleased. By total accident, the camera is the exact same shade of blue as my mobile phone ..... One of my 16 New Year's Dubious Plans is to teach myself photography, so expect some meager offerings on Shots in the future. And I would appreciate any advice from my photography genius friends (specifically: Michael, Caroline, Miranda, Reilly): what is the one most important thing to know about Taking Pictures?
I bought this camera in Akihabara, Tokyo's electronics district. What a horrifying place. A vomit-splash of electronic shops, maid cafes, and pachinko parlors. 99 per cent of the people I saw were men: not the stylish, metrosexual men one expects in any station along the Yamonote Line, but weird techno-nerds darting among the alleys, rifling through boxes of USB ports and cheap-ass MP3 players and computer parts as though they were going to die a virgin ..... I saw maybe 20 women in the entire four hours we were there. I owe Michael a favour and he requested something "strange" from a Tokyo vending machine, and they were rampant: I tried to buy him a bondage-doll in thigh-high fishnets shackled to a cross, but alas I had no 500yen coins -- this is actually a long, complex, and bitter story, but it will have to wait -- suffice to say I got him something even better. Watch the post, Michael ......
Signing up for PayPal is a nightmare! I'm bad with financial stuff anyway (I had to call my bank to get them to tell me the difference between my account number and the branch number), and all was sort of moving along until one of the forms wouldn't accept my name cuz it was in ENGLISH LETTERS and not fucking katakana! I don't know what my name is in katakana. I could sift through one of my unopened bank statements, but even if I found it, I don't know how to type it. Gah, it will take hours! I could enlist Aya's help, or even approach my Fearsome Landlady, but both these options require great effort and time and I'd rather it was just done now.
Off to Akihabara to scrounge about for a cheap digital camera.
By wikipedia:
"Chuhai (チューハイ or 酎ハイ, Chuhai?) is an alcoholic drink originating from Japan. The name is derived from "shōchū highball" and is usually flavored with fruit or soda. It is a seasonal drink and can be served either hot or cold. The traditional chuhai is lemon flavored with a shochu base, though some modern commercial variants have a vodka base. The flavors available have recently also multiplied, including lime, grapefruit, apple, orange, pineapple, etc. Sold in bars and restaurants, the alcohol content can be quite low, allowing those with a low tolerance for alcohol to imbibe safely. Canned chuhai, however, can have alcohol levels as high as 7% (14 proof), and is often sold in convenience stores and vending machines. Chuhai is served in tall glasses or mugs as drinks for individuals, making it less social than other traditional Japanese bar drinks like sake, beer, or whisky, which can be shared by pouring portions from a large bottle."
By Joy:
It's like a cooler but more hardcore. Also, I spell it "chu-hi" as per the bargain-basement brand I buy.
Okay, very cool idea: swapping stuff, internationally! The idea is, you trade info with someone from another country, and send each other care packages. Gimme Your Stuff. This rules. So, my info:
I'm an expat Canadian living in Tokyo, Japan, with an addiction to both mail and Stuff. I'd love to swap with people from Europe or South America! What I can offer:
- strange stuff from the 99yen shop (ie, toilet stickers, SARS masks [fun for dress-up!], Mystery Food, funky socks, useless but funny gardgets, etc.)
- funky jewelry
- odd *or* conventional postcards
- Japanese candy and snacks
- stickers and stationary -- pick a theme
- music, including mix cd's
- okay, although I am in no sense a kawai girl, I can venture into these shops and get you all the cute stuff you want
- drunk and/or profound original haiku
What I'd like to receive:
- anything unusual in terms of art, writing, or music
- hippie jewelry, especially necklaces
- any kind of vintage accessories
- odd postcards from your country
- recipes from your country (vegetarian or seafood)
- coffee or herbal tea
- imaginative non-mainstream anything!
Funds are a bit limited, so I wouldn't mind keeping the swaps around 2000yen each ($20CAD). I hate sweets and chocolate -- sorry, I know that's limiting! That's about it. Let the swaps begin! Please comment or email (jwaller at negativespace dot net) to set one up.
God! How I hate unintentional hangovers. The way I see it, if you actually decide to get drunk, if you make clear plans about it -- ie, I'm going to this party/bar/ocean tonight and I will drink until it's physically impossible to do so any longer -- then yeah, a hangover is fine. A hangover is expected. As Mike Little once wisely said, "There's no point in getting drunk if you don't have a headache the next day." However. When one decides to have only a drink or two after work, then heads out for sushi with Matt and Becky, then finds oneself in a karaoke box with a handbag full of chu-hi, and one thing leads to another and you extend the rental time on the room and you have Matt run out to buy another handbag full of chu-hi, then wake up ten minutes before one has to leave for work unable to move, well, that's a different story. That is an un-earned hangover, a poorly written first-year-of-university- dashed-off-longhand-between-classes type of hangover. Completely irrational. As Trev used to say, "There oughtta be a law ....."
Long day at work, station chu-hi with James, and now back at the House, trying to compose a 6-word memoir for the latest initiative at Work. Best shot so far? Gin and chips as Salinger mutters. Tossing around a couple of other ideas as well. I challenge you to come up with your own in the ever-mighty Comments section!
I have a wicked-cool green beaded necklace that is fuzzy. I got it at Thank You Mart, a funky shop in Harajuku that sells vintage clothing and accessories, all for the low-low price of 300 yen! Everything in this place is just over three bucks Canadian; I can't believe it. Also got a brown t-shirt with a dirt bike on the front and the inscription STARS. I'm pretending it's a band t-shirt for the Stars.
Drinkin: coffee
Listening to: the CBC
I picked up an old shelving unit from the junk heap down the street! In an odd break with character, Matt was not furious; he took the news with a kind of cautious optimism. I've set the shelf up underneath the window, and there are four houseplants on top of it. Provided I don't jump up and down in the vicinity, and there are no medium or heavy earthquakes, it won't tip over. (It did once. I was jumping up and down in the vicinity.)
The junk heaps in Noborito are awesome! When I first saw them a couple of months ago, Matt got all stern and unreasonable and made me promise not to bring things home every day. ("Oh, look, a rusted kitchen appliance!" he mimicked.) These heaps are basically just curbside garbage, and you'll see a lot of garbage bags and empties, etc., but because space is so limited in Japan, a lot of cool stuff winds up there too. Back home, for example, if you buy a new bookshelf and your old one is still pretty nice, you'll just put the old one in the basement or garage. Basements and garages are rare here, however, and Japanese are notorious for buying brand new models of everything, so .... My dad would love it here! My mom, in contrast, would react exactly how Matt did. It's odd how they have that it common.
Google: boob shots
Google: things to do in atsugi japan
Google: walk the drunk down the street
Google: how did Hot Hot Heat get its name
Google: shots for breakfast
Google: ... for breakfast
Google: "sum of my experiences"
Google: corderoy jackets
Google: futon beating
Google: instant natto
Google: the breakfast for japanese people
Google: velvet corderoy shirt
Google: japanese coworker secret santa
Google: capping front teeth cost canada
Google: all i want for christmas is my two front teeth
Google: aluminium grievances feats
Google: idle time to have breakfast
Google: gaijin house machida
Google: Joy's buffet
Google: japanese breakfast
My favourite, by far, is "walk the drunk down the street." It sounds like the name of a party game in some neo-gothic, morally bankrupt Ben Rawluk story.
(Having rejected the concept of New Year's Resolutions, I've opted for 16 New Year's Dubious Plans, instead. One of these is to do something "new" every weekend, so today Matt and I went to an indy art gallery in Harajuku called Design Festa Gallery. [if you go to their blog you can see pics of M and I looking at collages] These pics were taken of art painted onto the walls and stairwells, except for the one of me, which is Self-Portrait in Magic Mirror.)
48 Things You Could Care Less About
1. FIRST NAME?
Joy
2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Yes, a Women's Aglow speaker who was locally famous in the 80s.
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY?
For some reason it's been a while. Probably a few weeks ago during my whole cracked tooth/ lack of funds catastrophe.
4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
Yes, it's beautiful: a mix of cursive and printing.
5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCHMEAT?
Cheese.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Maybe. I would be wary at first. I would present myself with a detailed questionnaire and request that I not be needlessly hurt in the process of our friendship.
7. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL?
Yes. Since age nine.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
Yes. Safe n sound.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Never! I am concerned my neck would snap.
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Hmm. I'm not really a cereal person ..... I used to like Rice Crispies and Honey Nut Cheerios.
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Yes, unless I've been drinking heavily and forget to.
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Occasionally.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR?
Some kind of vanilla and coffee blend.
14. SHOE SIZE?
Seven? Eight? Some ridiculously large size, considering I am only 5.2.
5. RED OR PINK?
Red for t-shirts, pink for flowers.
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
Mood swingery. Beneficial for writing but not interpersonal relationships.
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
Ben.
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?
Well, I certainly expect Elisa to fill it out ...
19. WHAT COLOR PANTS, SHIRT AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Dark blue jeans with rolled cuffs. An orange shirt. No shoes, but my socks rule: they are beige with thin blue and red checks: they look exactly like a kind of wash cloth my grandma used to have.
20. LAST THING YOU ATE?
A bag of peanuts and rice cracker slivers.
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
Le Tigre.
22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Olive green. Although I don't think olive green crayons exist?
23. FAVORITE SMELL?
That salty ocean smell Fernwood pavement gets after it has rained.
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
Matt. He's at Ikata Park and we have plans to meet at a cafe in half an hour.
25. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO?
Their eyes, then their smiles, then clothes.
26. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON you stole THIS from?
I've never met her but her blog is interesting: check out Mayumi.
27. FAVORITE DRINK?
Coffee, gin, and Canadian microbrewery beer (which I miss greatly).
28. FAVORITE SPORT?
Figure skating.
29. EYE COLOR?
Blue.
30. HAT SIZE?
Not a clue. I have a big head, though.
31. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
No.
32. FAVORITE FOOD?
West Coast inspired vegi/seafood cuisine.
33. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
I prefer bittersweet endings.
35. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Autumn.
36. HUGS OR KISSES?
Both.
37. FAVORITE DESSERT?
Vanilla ice cream with fresh-picked blackberries at Fiona's house.
38&39 deleted.
40. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING?
I'm in the midst of "Who Killed Robert Prentice?" by Dennis Wheatley. It was written in the 1930s and re-issued in the 70s; it is an interactive book with clues taped into the pages (a ripped up photograph! one half of a train ticket! an unused Belgian stamp!), and at the end of the book you must decide who you will arrest for the murder and then break a seal to see if you are correct. Ryan gave it to me. Coupled with the chip dip present, I'm not sure how I can repay him -- nothing less than a small country (Greece?) will do ...
41. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE Pad?
I have no mouse pad. Alas. There's lots of stuff on my desk though: a coffee cup, my watch, a shot glass, etc.
42. WHAT DID YOU WATCH LAST NIGHT ON TV?
Nothing. I watch maybe half an hour of TV a week, and that is usually old Kids in the Hall sketches from you-tube.
43. FAVORITE SOUNDS?
Waves.
44. ROLLING STONE OR BEATLES?
Beatles, but not really -- just the songs John Lennon wrote.
45. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME?
Japan.
46. WHAT'S YOUR SPECIAL TALENT?
I can read tarot cards with some degree of accuracy.
47. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Vernon, a small town in the Interior of BC, Canada.
48. WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
I stole it from Mayumi.
(These photos were taken by a co-worker, Tori, when a group of us went to see the Imperial Family wave on 2 January.)
Drinkin: red wine (cheap)
Listening to: Tom Waits
I've decided to update daily irregardless of whether I have anything to say. Lucky you! James commented a while ago that I can afford to write about incredibly dull topics because I make them sound "like the fuckin' Renaissance." Then he took another thoughtful sip of beer and conceded that this was not the case any longer; he was thinking more of the Indigo Children era.
And so again they make a brief appearance .....
"Maybe she is starting to recognize herself again? There: a brown curl. A solid fingertip."
I'm getting so frustrated with melanin lately and all its goddamn ambiguity.
Found a pachinko coin on the sidewalk outside of Family Mart. Had thought it was a hundred-yen coin. What's the significance of this? What possible symbolism could I conjure out of cheap tin and dashed hopes and the blaring lights of a thousand motorized scooters? On Sunday mornings, by the way, people line up for a block just waiting for the pachinko parlor to open. It's like old newsreels of European refugees lining up for bread. All very solemn and orderly, yet tinged with desperation and a sense that you would kill, possibly, if you had to.
| You Are Tequilla |
 You'll take any shot that's offered up to you... Even if it tastes like sock sweat! And you're never afraid of eating the worm. |
(Which is odd cuz I NEVER eat the worm; I am scared of the worm ...)
1) Tell us about where you live:
It's complicated. I live in Japan, at a kind of intersection between Tokyo and Kanagawa. My home is a gaijin-house, and I share a 6-tatami mat room with my lover, and washrooms, shower rooms, kitchen and lounge with about 25 others. There are palm trees in the backyard and three karaoke bars within walking distance.
2) If you could change one thing about your home, what would it be?
The kitchen would be larger and more modern.
3) Do you do laundry on a regular schedule?
No. It usually gets done about once a week, weather depending: I have to hang it outside to dry, even in the winter. It dries faster in the winter though: less humidity.
4) Describe the place that you sleep:
It's a futon. Hmm. And plaid.
5) This morning: was it easy or difficult to start the day?
Difficult. It's the last day of my Christmas vacation and I'm used to sleeping late. Got up at about 11:30. Had three cups of coffee. Etc. Watched some House people play video games. Mailed some stuff. Went to Noir Chat Cafe to write.
During conversations with Japanese students and non-Canadian friends, I am often asked: what is Canadian food? The two obvious answers are poutine and maple syrup, and beyond that I usually can't say. I take a stab at describing West Coast fusion cuisine, which generally confuses people, and then close with a description of Canada's multicultural identity and how Chinese, Japanese, Indian, Mexican, Aboriginal, etc. food can all be termed Canadian. Gets me thinking though -- any ideas out there for a specifically Canadian dish?
And also: my new favourite thing to eat for breakfast is boiled potatoes covered with cheese and egg, topped with a mixture of sauteed onions, garlic, peppers, tomato, and green beans. Any idea what nationality this dish would be considered? It's sort of like the British bubble and squeak, but not quite. I'm thinking a bizarre mixture of Irish and Mexican. I'd welcome any other theories ...
Oh, and I guess smoked salmon is also Canadian. And vegetarian pizza. How I miss Village's spinach-feta-artichoke hearts-olive!
Perhaps chip dip is also Canadian. No, it must be American. Anyway, Ryan, who has become even more a hero than ever in my eyes, brought me back not one but two containers of chip dip from a recent trip to Canada! I am excited times eleven. I was gloating over all of this in the Kitchen, and nobody seemed to care. Then I realized they were all British, and didn't know what chip dip WAS.
"Have some, have some!" I cried. They looked at it suspiciously.
"What do you reckon?" said one.
"It seems to be for covering crisps with," said another.
They tried it and loved it. So I suppose I can call it Canadian, at least in the House.
New Years Eve: A tower of beer in Machida. A long, long train ride. Getting lost at Shibuya Crossing multiple times. A night club -- too much drunken, unskilled dancing. Expensive spilled drinks. Toppling down the stairs at least twice. Lost cigarettes.
New Years Day: Meiji-jingu Shrine with J and R from the House. Heated bottles of sake, carnival games (ie: "We're drunk and should play with guns!" - Matt). About an hour and half in line (between 2 and 3 million people were at the shrine that day), then throwing coins and making a prayer for the New Year. (I requested health, peace, bravery, and one other abstract that I now forget).
Day after New Years: Went to the Imperial Palace with a bunch of folks from work -- there were 8 of us: just imagine how many times we lost each other in the throngs. Now I know why everyone in Tokyo has a mobile phone. We got to see the Royal Family wave briefly from a dais far in the distance -- the masses were screaming and waving Japanese flags -- including our group, oblivious -- a British girl shouted excitedly, "I was never like this with the Queen!" Then it was over, we all got lost again, and went to Shakey's for a pizza buffet.
(This man cooked like 50 eggs in one go.)
(Food on a stick is highly popular in Japan. Most of it is meat, but Matt managed to find some corn! Perfect with heated sake. I like this picture because M looks very heroic yet also somewhat gentle, which is odd.)
(For 800 yen you can buy one of these little wooden postcards and write your New Years Wish on it. Much cooler than Resolutions, I think.)
(A lantern. I know neither its history nor its symbolism but they are everywhere and rule.)
(After praying at the shrine you can shake a wooden box and whichever stick comes out of a hole in the top has a number, and this number tells you what your luck for the next year will be. The luck is printed on a white slip of paper -- if it's good luck you bring it home; if it's bad luck, you leave it here at the shrine.)