Jan 21 2008
This week, instead of continuing to be the silent, antisocial worker drone I've been of late, I'm going to (force myself to) post random crap that makes me happy. Most of it will have nothing at all to do with Japan, and I could care less. It's my blog, dammit, and I can post whatever I want.
You have been warned.
Jan 18 2008
Every time I pass this sign, I can't help wondering what exactly a "fetish bar" is and what people do there. Can you order a Tom Collins with a stiletto-heeled kick in the nuts chaser? If you ask for a bottle of beer does the waitress ram it up your ass? Alas, I will never find out. My only fetish is for brainy geek chicks who wear wire rim glasses and can code in languages I've barely heard of.
Jan 15 2008
Still no news to report from me. I work, I go home, lather, rinse, repeat. Next month, I turn 40 years old. It's not fair. Not so long ago I was a teenager trying to grow a mustache in an attempt to look older. I can't figure out what I did that was so horrible as to deserve this fate.
I don't feel 40. I don't think I look it either. People my age don't look young anymore. They're covered with wrinkles and cellulite and have specks of gray in their thinning hair. But at least they tend to have their stuff together. My stuff is lying in piles around the house. Am I allowed to have a middle aged crisis now? Because I think I've already starting having one. A very quiet one. Mostly. Until right now.
Changing the subject to the subject of this post, a bunch of bloggers who live in and around Tokyo meet at The Dubliners' Irish Pub in Shibuya on the third Wednesday of every month at 7 pm. That's tomorrow. I will be there, and I will drink (but not smoke) and probably moan a little about turning 40 because it stinks, although it's not as bad as the alternative, which is dying.
And if anyone makes fun of me for getting old, I will beat them senseless with my stainless steel walker.
Jan 07 2008
Thanks to a bout of nolo virus or salmonella or food poisoning I got from a plate of fried chicken about a week ago, I spent most of my winter vacation sleeping (and pooping), which provided the perfect opportunity to quit smoking for the 129th time.
So right after I post this message, I, for the first time in almost a year, will make the two-hour journey home without smoking the three ritual cigarettes I normally do. Nonsmokers won't understand why this is such a big deal, but current and ex-smokers will. The cigarettes you associate with certain places and activities are the the most difficult ones to quit.
If I didn't announce this publicly, I could easily picture myself buying a pack on the way home.
Tags: smoking
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