Avoiding Homework

It's the end of the month, so that can mean only one thing - cram as many photos as possible onto Flickr before they take away my free bandwidth. It doesn't roll over so I should probably do that today. It's amazing actually what I will do to avoid homework.

Of course, it's also the end of the year so Happy New Year and all that. Personally, I'd like to close the book on 2008 and just forget it. There were some highlights: Foxy - she's come a long way, and a second trip to Japan to give Mr. K his annual progress report. It was the first one for us, so I think he was lenient. Next year, maybe not so much. Lowlights: Pretty much everything else in between. Just slogging away, trying to get a little further ahead.

Bob came by yesterday with the gifts we didn't get a Christmas. We kinda knew what we were getting, and I'm pleased with the gift. We got some vases, with a bit of an Indian design to them. They are too narrow to have around the house with a toddler. Bob knows we have a kid, right? Just checking. We've had to put them away until she gets bigger. Foxy got lots of toys, and until I could find the off switch we all sang the ABC song about 50 times.

Got some more chocolate from Randy and Kat, and some coffee beans. That gave me a reason to go out and buy a coffee grinder. On the same trip, I popped by my favourite liquor store - union staff but without union hours - and picked up that bottle of Louis Roederer. The clerk was surprised when I asked him about the blackout the other day. He didn't recognize me because I wasn't wearing my fancy interviewing clothes. I was wearing jeans and a tee shirt. Anyway, he's a nice guy and any time I want something I just have to call ahead and he'll put it aside for me. What a guy! He also told me that Roederer is the same company that makes Cristal. Apparently, I'm the last person to learn this. We got some Brut Premier, but that Cristal trivia made me wonder if I would ever by from Roederer again. We'll see how this bottle tastes and then decide.

For some reason, Ali got it in her head that that bottle of Clicquot we drank on Christmas Eve while we ate KFC cost $200.00. Who would pay $200.00 for a bottle of champagne just to waste it on KFC? A Japanese guy would do it, according to Ali. Okay, I might have said the bottle cost $200.00 because you can buy a $200.00 bottle of Veuve Clicquot if you really must, but I'm pretty sure I told her the truth as soon as we sat down to dinner. I have no idea why she still had that number in her head five days later.

I went down to the local last night to relax after a rather difficult assignment, expecting it to be very quiet. I would be able to share recipes with the waitress, and other neat stuff. The place was stacked to the rafters, and that particular waitress was too busy mixing drinks to look people in the face. I ended up taking my two pints to the overflow area. The bar has a restaurant section that operates under a different name, and they close early so when the bar gets crazy the patrons seeking solitude can sneak into the restaurant. I ended up sitting too near a group. My lethal ears - you know, the ones that nearly got me shanked a few years ago - overheard some really juicy tidbits. There was some guy blabbing to his associates and anybody else who would listen about something, and he was quite obviously lying to impress them. Listening to this guy made me a little angry. It wasn't just a few drinks with friends, he was bucking for a job, and lying about his past experiences isn't very nice. I wanted to ask him some questions to embarrass him in front of his potential clients, but I thought better of it. I ordered a third pint, and tried to drown out his lies. I suppose I could have just moved to another part of the bar.

The walk home was fun. A lot of drug dealers asked me if I wanted rock, whatever that is. Even the drug dealer who couldn't speak English. "Hey, amigo. ¿Estás buscando rrrrrrrock?" I thought it was funny how he rolled his r. But then I started to think about the very first book I read without pictures. Night of the Werewolf, by Frank W. Dixon. A Hardy Boys mystery. I don't know why boys read those books. They are poorly written.

I came home and watched part of Blame it on Río. I used to get Joseph Bologna and Alex Rocco mixed up a lot when I was a kid. Then I saw The Godfather and I never confused the two again.

Christmas Waffles

How was your Christmas? Let me tell you about mine. I have this rule, and it goes something like this: To be fair to all members of my rather dispersed family, I should accept the first invitation to Christmas that is offered. That way, I don't become one of those invitation shoppers who holds out until a better one comes along. That's not nice, and it's not really fair either. Of course it also skews the odds in favour of the (seemingly) more organized members of the family. Bob is always the first to invite. He begins his Christmas plans on April 16th, the day after Tax Day. Though every Christmas with Bob, save one is like an extremely painful back massage, I always accept the invite because if I didn't, no one would. Is that a pity RSVP? Not really, there's also a measure of family duty involved. It's like, only one of two times a year that I visit, so I kind of feel that it's unavoidable.

That one Christmas, that really rocked was the year that Bob decided to stop observing Hanukkah, and get with the cool people. He managed to find a restaurant that was open on Christmas. It was the nicest restaurant I'd ever been to up to that time. It was really classy - The waiter brought the turkey to the table first, and then sliced it. All the kids were there, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. And the turkey was the best one ever not cooked by anyone in my family.

It's different now, all the kids are grown up and jaded by adult responsibility. But we're not the only ones. I'm just saying because it's different now. I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but Bob has a way of changing everything at the last minute after everyone else has committed to the original plan. It's his way of maintaining control. He'll do it even when it's someone else's party. I've learned to accept it, and this year was going quite nicely until about a week before Christmas, Bob called and said that things MIGHT be cancelled. The kid brother had mono or something, but we didn't want to tell Bob something he didn't want to know. "It's just whooping cough, nothing a little bit of chicken soup won't fix". But Bob was right to alert me because Foxy hasn't had all of her Pertussis shots yet. She's got one to go. Technically, I think she'd be okay but it's not worth the risk, especially since the kid brother didn't actually have whooping cough, rather something worse.

But then Bob called to say that dinner was back on. This, after I had already wormed my way into Christmas dinner with Sissy and Enzo, and a big delicious plate of Osso Bucco. So now Bob is Waffling, and I'm Waffling by association. I really hate Waffling. Alright, it's settled. I'll just cancel plans with Sissy and hope against everything that Pepper, my front-wheel drive Volkswagen can make it to Bob's without snow tyres.

So after a harrowing week of not having a job, then maybe having a job, then probably not having a job, and then all of a sudden having an awesome job, and the blackout at the liquor store, and the chirpy reporter who ended up printing his story without my comments (whew!), Bob called on December 24th to leave it up to me to decide whether I should attempt the journey the following day. Oh snap! Did he just...? Yes, he did. Bob played the Passive Waffle. And it had extra syrup on it. Whatever, we were committed to going to Bob's place, and we were going to do it. I'm not a Waffler, dammit! I let the indignation dissolve with a bottle of champagne and a big bucket of KFC. Now Christmas Eve can have all the usual fun and excitement, but you can be drunk and oily at the same time too! It's a Japanese thing.

And then on Christmas morning, the coup de grâce. The kid brother called up at half seven and said that there was a blackout at Bob's place, and that dinner was cancelled... I guess. I guess?? Now the kid's a Waffler, too but I didn't take it out on him because he's only Waffling by association, and he's only the messenger. I had to put a stop to it though, so I ignored the "I guess" shit and said that it's cancelled. I waited until a civilized hour to call Sissy and beg for a spot at her Christmas. Luckily, there was still room however we were going to have to transfer vehicles at some point. Don't sweat the small stuff. Just as we were about to leave, the phone rang and Bob apologized for everything and said that dinner was back on. The blackout wasn't his fault, so I told him not to apologize but we had in fact made other plans. We had actually invited ourselves twice to someone else's dinner, and it would be really bad form to cancel now. I kinda felt bad for Bob. I know he only wanted to see his favourite granddaughter. I said we'd try to catch him in 2009 and off we went for some Osso Bucco.

Christmas turned out to be very nice and quaint. Bobby managed to start an argument, even though he was awake for a maximum of three hours during our visit. Christmas night, Foxy came bounding into the living room with my gift. A nice 50 unit size box of Nestlé minis with a coupon for Crayola crayons, and a really nice tie from DKNY that I managed to fray in 5 seconds. The poor chocolate minis didn't survive three days. Ali has requested a deferred gift plan for 2008, so I don't have to worry about that until January.

Boxing Day, we all went to Randy and Kat's place where everyone is a karaoke star. As a little treat for our wives, Randy and I did a duet of Ebony and Ivory. As usual, Ali didn't appreciate it but Kat and Foxy thought it was the funniest thing ever. Randy did his usual Journey tributes, and I did some Scorpions. Ali did some Japanese thingy and some Beatles and Kat did some Pat Benatar and The Jackson Five.

The rest of the Christmas break so far has been focused on homework for me, and Billy's Bootcamp for Ali. I'm trying to figure out something to do for New Year's. Thanks to Yongfook and his suggestion of Louis Roederer, my plan is already half finished.

Best Christmas Present Ever

So yeah, maybe that sounds a little melodramatic, and I know I said that I would not discuss work on this blog but I am gainfully employed once again. I have the world's best recruiter. You know how I work with several different ones, right? Well, the recruiter who landed me this job knocked my socks off. When I first met her, she was in a bit of a panic and was vetting my credentials for another job. I didn't feel comfortable working with her at the time, but a contact is a contact so I kept her card and made sure that I kept her updated. I didn't get the job she had met me for and I kinda figured that would be the last I heard from her. A few weeks go by and I take a look at her website. Hey, what do you know? There's a couple of positions listed right there that would be perfect for me. I called her and let her know that I was interested. I don't know what happened on those jobs, but a week after that she called me and said that I had a job interview the next day with a high profile firm. And she wanted me to get the job. I mean, she called me and prepped me, and prepped me some more. She wanted to make sure I was ready for this company. Oh, and I have the best references too.

The first interview was a piece of cake. The second interview was tricky because its always difficult to schedule around the holidays. By the time the second interview happened, my recruiter was sunning on a deck chair at some timeshare on Maui. But that doesn't mean I wasn't going into this interview cold. She called me the night before from Los Angeles to prep me some more. I've heard of some recruiters who never stop working, but this was ridiculous. It was Christmas and she was travelling. She could have taken a break. I'm reasonable, I would understand. After the second interview, the client made an offer, and that's that. No more talk about work.

Last week, we went to the best first-birthday party I can remember. Enzo J's first was pretty good, but this party had Santa Claus. And Foxy won first prize in a baby foot race. Of course it helped that she was the oldest of all the babies there, and that she could actually run. There were activities for the parents too, which I thought was pretty nice of the host to plan. By the time we arrived at the party, Ali and I were pretty mad at each other. Me because Ali can't ask for proper directions (i.e. proper street names and building numbers) if her life depended on it; and Ali because I kept reminding her of how many times I'd asked her to please get directions before. We lightened up pretty quick though. The birthday girl was subjected to the Trial of Mochi. At least that's what I'm calling it. Apparently, it is a tradition in Hokkaido to see how far kids can schlep four pounds of mochi on their backs on their first birthday. This birthday girl couldn't stand up with it, let alone walk. How embarassing!

Foxy now calls me Daddy, which is better than Mommy and just tonight she started saying her name. She's learning fast, but just when you think she can't get any faster, she does. She now copies me and Ali almost immediately. So now I have to watch what I say.

Pornos on the 6th Floor, Yayu, and a Shiner for Christmas

It's been some time, but I have been fighting a cold for like a month now. What? At least I thought I was. I now believe that I was fighting a cold for a week, and then fell victim to incredibly dry air. That's right. I'm now so old that my physical condition is controlled by my head holes. I mean, I've heard tourists say that we have dry air here, but I've never felt it myself. Not until this year. Nothing like waking up every morning with a sore throat and having it for half the day.

There's also nothing like going out on job interviews with a head cold. People were pretty understanding though. One of my recruiters, the one I was relying on to find me work since August while I did a half-ass search myself has nothing. Literally, they have nothing on their website. No problem, because I have another recruiter that has higher calibre clients. Well, a little problem. That recruiter thought I'd found work on my own so she wasn't looking for me. I don't even need to call her myself to tell her. She's that good. She knows already. I was ready to put my fist down the phone, but since that call she has been pretty aware of what I'm up to. She came across a job for me, but declined it because it was a little shady and not really a position for growth. So that was nice of her.

I networked a little more and have had some progress on a couple of leads. A new recruiter who came to me - Wow that's a first - has put my name in to a law firm. If I get that one, then there will be no further talk of work on this blog. Unless they screw me. The thing is, I met someone a few years ago who works at this firm and I think I might be replacing them. I don't think they could be promoted to be my boss at this point. Awkward. Let's hope they don't remember that we used to be classmates.

I spent most of the time after the initial cold studying for my exam. I think I did pretty well. I could have studied more, but I'm not looking for a gold medal. I just started a new course, and already I'm running into problems. It's a course I've taken before, so I'm not too worried, but Ali sure can be difficult. She wants to go to a Christmas party on the same night I have class. It's not at a gay bar this time. My class is three hours long and it's pretty important because the goyim will be taking a two week break for Christmas and New Year. Okay, so we push the course back two weeks. If only it were that simple, young Hallman. Nobody calls me that anymore. Pity. Back when Bobby and I were in the same classes at school, our teacher used to call us Hallman, and young Hallman but only when we were in trouble, or when our teacher was incredibly annoyed. My name got called more, but that's because Bobby was never there. So Ali wants to go to this party, but nobody's good enough to babysit Foxy. So Ali says that if she can't take Foxy to the party at a hotel bar, then she just won't go. I hate this. There's no reason why Ali shouldn't go to the party on her own. We have a lot of friends who are willing to baby sit, but Ali can't let go. I think I'll be babysitting and missing class.

Randy and Kat came over for Thanksgiving. I served, but I didn't make a turkey. I made ribs again. I'm getting pretty sick of ribs, but I recently overheard a recipe at the local that I might want to try. Yes, I've gone back to my old local. I stopped going to that other place because the waitress tried to take away my tequila. It's okay, she was new. I went down there expressly to sample their tequila which they were very proud of, and while I was there I had a doppelbock, by Celebrator. Not since those heady days in Oklahoma have I tasted such a beer. Oklahoma - the only place I know where Orange Peel can be mistaken for Native American. Yeah, she's brown but so if more than half the world. But she doesn't have a funny accent, so I guess it was an honest mistake - I guess. Down there, it was a six pack of some Texan brewery bock, possibly Shiner by Spoetzl. See, Oklahoma isn't stinking hot in the late spring, early summer. It's Holy Fuck, kill me now hot. And it's humid. That's the worst part. Except for the part where all my relatives from Arizona were there saying stuff like, "This ain't nothing. When we left Phoenix, it was 114 in the shade." So I decided that even though I'm travelling with my tea totalling elders and their apnea machines, I was a grown ass man and I wanted a nice cold beer. Sound good doesn't it? Except bock isn't a nice cold beer. Bock is a nice cold meal. After three - they were weak - I was full. It is the first and only beer to which I said I could not eat another bite. I felt like I was back in that Amish cafeteria in Chouteau, only not as full. The only reason I tried it is because Bobby said Bock is good. Little did I know, but Bobby had never had bock. He was just saying it was good because one of his friends told him it was good.

So fast forward to 2008, and there I am with a doppelbock because hey, if the bock was bad, then a doppelbock should be twice as bad, right? It wasn't. It was actually nice. Then again, I wasn't sick with heat stroke so maybe under the right circumstances I might have liked the Bock. And as I was cleansing my palate for the tequila, the waitress came over and tried to clear the table. What what what? I'm just sipping water, not leaving! That tequila was nice too, but the place has a two drink maximum unless I buy food, so they're kind of saying "Your money isn't good enough, go get your drink on some place else". The next time I went out, I had the cold, and wanted to see if what they say about Guinness is true. So there I was back at my old local with a pint of Kilkenny in one hand and a pint of Guinness in the other. Kilkenny is my new favourite, and as soon as I had cleansed my palate for the Guinness I realized why that one never was my favourite. It definitely has a taste. I had either heard somewhere or had tricked myself into thinking that Guinness could cure a cold, or at least help. I mentioned this to the bartender, and he shook his head and said that whiskey was the answer. The waitress started me off with a peaty, sweet whiskey but I was not satisfied. I asked to see a list so that I knew how to spell what she had given me. Hmmm, I noticed that they had Johnny Walker Green Label. Funny, the week prior another bartender told me that they only had Red and Black. Technically true, but they had a whole bunch more whiskeys that they served in their other bar and not in the beer bar where he was working. This time I asked if I could have Green. The waitress went around to the whiskey bar and brought some back just for me. Why Green? Because that's our drink - my father in law and me. Except he uses it to make gurepufurutu sauwa or grapefruit sours and I never notice the taste because we usually have it after beer. Well, I have to say that Johnny Walker Green is a very nice whiskey. I wouldn't have said that three weeks ago. But the best part was when I went back to the bar a week later and this chick at the bar asked me how my cold was. It was the waitress, having a drink after her shift. We talked about the dry air and she agreed. Her friend, the bartender from whiskey night shared his recipe for ribs, and the waitress gave me a great recipe for corn bread. She told me to come back for the full recipe, but I haven't had time to make the trip. So I polished off my two pints and waited for the music to end. Bronski Beat was playing. Right when it was getting good, the bar manager cut the music and put on some heavy metal. I was the last one in the bar, and made a little fuss because we're all friends. The manager apologized and admitted that he's too young to remember Bronski Beat. Fuck I'm old.

No more bar talk. I came home the other day and the lift opened on the sixth floor because somebody was getting out there. There were a bunch of camera cases stacked on carts in the hallway. Nobody was moving in or out, there were no moving vans near the main entrance. The first thing that came to mind was that there was a film crew making a porno on 6. It's happened before. I also thought about recent problems we've been having with some tenants, but that was a different group. The camera cases were gone the next day. Oh yeah, I've also been preoccupied with the condo association. Not since the 1997 annual general meeting at Nanna's condo in Boca Raton have I experienced such excitement. Some of the owners want new lobby and hallway decor, and they want the rest of us to pay for it. The first vote was defeated. The condo vice president called another meeting a month later, and again the vote was defeated. Well, say what you will about this guy but he sure is plucky. A month after that, he called a new meeting and finally the vote was passed. There's been a lot of negativity created because of this, but I guess the positive is that we're getting a new lobby.

Okay, so the movie part of this post is about The Bank Job starring Jason Statham, the always incredible David Suchet. I don't really remember much about this film, except a lot of naked ladies, and a bank being robbed. I did remember how hot chicks were in the 1970s. That was something I'd forgotten as I grew older. It was a good film, it's just been such a long time since I saw it that I'm low on details. I think the one detractor of the film is that they try to tie a sex scandal allegedly involving Princess Margaret into the plot. Who knows? Maybe it really was the reason that the bank was robbed, but it added an extra storyline that I don't think was entirely necessary. I rented this one because I wanted to see something with Statham in it. That guy never does a bad movie. That said, I've never seen any of The Transporter series. But I just might go see the third one, because it has Statham but it also has Robert Knepper. Who? You might know him better as Teabag or Theodore Bagwell from Prison Break. Sure, he plays a really bad guy, but the important thing is that he plays it well. Ali is totally confused with what's happening on Prison Break this season. She still hasn't booked her ticket to Tokyo. She's waiting for prices to drop a little more. Oh yeah, Mick Jagger is in The Bank Job. See if you can spot him. I admit, I had to rewind (do we say that anymore) and take a good look, but it's him for sure.

I'm not sure how this happened, but Foxy somehow gets Yayu out of her first name. One morning she was sitting in front of the hall closet looking at the mirror and screaming "Yayu, Yayu, Yayu!" repeatedly. I figured she was screaming "Lion, Lion, Lion!" her way which comes out of her mouth as "Yayo..." But this was slightly different. Ali confirmed it, Foxy believes her name is pronounced Yayu. She also believes that Grandma and Grandpa from Tokyo live in my filing cabinet, and that my name is Mommy. She's getting there though, growing up real fast. She got that shiner above her eye after a fight with a laundry basket. You can't take your eye off this kid for one second. Even though she knows she's not supposed to, she likes to climb in the empty basket and try to walk. Off course, the basket tips and her face meets the corner of my maple dresser. Silly girl.

Whiskey is the New Vodka

Thought I'd pop out and see Rocknrolla tonight. Have I seen this movie before? Indeed, I have, only it was called Layer Cake, and instead of being directed by Matthew Vaughn, it was directed by his close friend Guy Ritchie. Ritchie even had the cheek to film part of his movie at Stoke Park House, one of the same places that Layer Cake was filmed at. These two movies have a lot of other similarities too, like dishonest accountants and stuff. Don't get me wrong, this was a good movie. This is a story than can be told over and over again and it never gets old.

Of course the cast helped. Starring Gerard Butler as One Two, Thandie Newton as Stella, Jimi Mistry as the Councillor, and Tom Hardy as Handsome Bob. Hardy, by the way, also starred in Layer Cake. Newton plays the role of a 30 year old accountant. Really? Not even the best makeup artist in the world could make her look 30. Jeremy Piven and Ludacris feature in the film as two talent managers. There's just so many awesome actors in this movie, I wouldn't know where to end - Idris Elba as Mumbles, Toby Kebbell as Johnny Quid the Rocknrolla, Karel Roden as Uri, Mark Strong as Archie, and Tom Wilkinson as Lenny. Toby Kebbell looks exactly like Bobby did ten yers ago, except Bobby's beard is a little thicker. I had to give my head a shake a few times. Thanks to Toby, or at least the fight co-ordinator, I will never look at a pencil in the same way again. Karel Roden, you may remember was first introduced to this blog when I reviewed Running Scared. He played the John Wayne loving Russian immigrant. Mark Strong pulls off a good, clean tough. He was also in Revolver, another one of Guy Ritchie's films. Haven't seen that one. Tom Wilkinson makes any movie good. I think he may have done a better job than Sir Michael Gambon did in Layer Cake. Would somebody please give Idris Elba a starring role in a movie already? A good one, too. I would pay to see it, and bet that a lot of other people would too. There was another guy who didn't get credit, and I don't really believe his character because I'm pretty sure Kevlar vests aren't designed to take rapid fire from a machine gun, but anyway he was good, too. I heard it through the grapevine that his name is Alex Kovas. It's strange that he wouldn't get credit because he did have a speaking part. Although his lines weren't in English. That shouldn't make a difference.

So I made it to the theatre while they were still running the previews. I see that one of my old clients has a new movie due out next year. I probably won't see it, and I'm guessing not a lot of people will. Too bad, but knowing him he's probably got a few more films in the can already. I also see that Michael Bay has been very busy since Transformers. He's got The Unborn scheduled soon, and a Friday the 13th thingy coming out on Friday, February 13, 2009. Maybe it won't suck, but a lot of the audience were already not impressed. Why doesn't Jason just die already?

So what can I say about Rocknrolla? Good music, including a little General Public and The Clash. Gerard Butler sports a little Scottish accent. I'm not sure if that was a put on or if its his real accent. I didn't see 300. The story, like any other Guy Ritchie movie that I know of, has a plot and then it has a sub-plot. The two plots come together to some degree. In this one, I'm not sure the two plots met flush. They met, but not at the climax of the film. Get me?

Okay, so these two guys, Mumbles and One Two buy a piece of land for like 10 million pounds, but since they have criminal records they can't get a bank loan for it. Instead, they get it from Lenny, a loan shark among other things. The guys can't get zoning permission for the lot, so they're left with a pile of bricks. Lenny isn't very happy about this and takes over the lot and adds another 2 million in juice to the deal. It was actually Lenny who screwed Mumbles and One Two on the deal in the first place. He bribed the Councillor to deny the permit, and then took over the land.

I'm not sure if it's related, but Lenny gets involved with a wealthy Russian, loosely modelled after Roman Abramovich, owner of Chelsea Football Club. Or perhaps another billionaire football club owner who hung around F1 for awhile, Alex Schnaider. Either way, this Russian wants a permit to build a new football stadium and he needs Lenny's skills. He makes a deal for 7 million Euros, and offers to lend a beautiful painting to Lenny. He only lends it because the painting, which we never see by the way, is also lucky.

Not long after, the painting is stolen and the race is on to find out who stole it. Lenny threatens a few guys with nasty crayfish, and they tell him that Johnny Quid is the one who offered the painting to them for sale. What? Johnny Quid is dead, according to an article in the Daily Mail or some other newspaper. It doesn't suit Lenny that these two punks are having him on. Anyway, the hunt is now on for Johnny Quid.

Off we go to see an unconvincingly young, but still hot Thandie Newton as Stella arrange to rip off the couriers who are handling the 7 mil. She's the Russian's accountant, and she needs a little excitement in her life because her husband is gay. She calls her boyfriend and tells him about the rip and wants twenty percent. Her boyfriend is One Two and he needs the money to pay back Lenny. See? Classic Ritchie. Mumbles and One Two grab the dosh and off they go. Now the Russian is getting upset. He doesn't have his lucky painting anymore and he thinks that is the reason he lost his money.

At this time, there is an opportunity to find out who has been feeding information to the police about all these guys who meet at a particular club. Stella's gay husband is a lawyer, and he's having a gay party and Stella wants One Two to send his gay friends, if he has any, over. A party is a party and One Two shows up with a few of his buddies and sees one of his gay friends there. I won't say which, you'll have to see it to find out. At the party, One Two convinces his gay friend to chat up the lawyer husband and make a deal for witness papers that will show who the confidential informant is. Eventually, they get it but its a pseudonym so they're still fucked.

Johnny Quid isn't dead, he just wants to get high in peace. Lenny tracks down the two talent managers and puts a bit of a squeeze on them. He threatens to close their club unless they help him find Johnny. They think he's dead, but Lenny convinces them to try harder. Archie, Lenny's second in command is out following leads on the painting as well. One Two pays off the 2 million that he owes to Lenny and gets another call from Stella about a second delivery. The Russian still owes Lenny 7 million, and this time he's not sending a couple of accountants to handle the money. He's got some really hard Chechnyans to handle it. This time, Mumbles and One Two get the third man of their gang, Handsome Bob in on the job. They get the money, but not before they are clearly identified by the Chechnyans, and get the shit kicked out of them.

One Two pays Stella her twenty percent, but now the Russian is really mad. He takes Lenny out to Stoke Park and knee caps him with a sand wedge. I knew it was coming, but I was surprised it was the knee cap. I thought it would be the head. Lenny never did get planning permission for the site, the Councillor couldn't get it approved possibly because his cut of the 7 mil didn't show. Meanwhile, remember that painting? Johnny Quid's got it. See? He's actually Lenny's stepson and has an extra set of keys to the house. He really hates Lenny, so he nicked the painting when no one was looking. His friend discovers that people are looking for the painting and tries to cash in. Johnny doesn't approve and gives a soliloquy relating cigarettes to life. Then his friend invites two drug addict thieves around to the squat where he lives and once again, Johnny is not impressed. While he takes his friend into another room to tell him that he doesn't want people to know where he is, the two thieves take off with the painting. They take it back to a club where Cookie, played by Matt King, buys it no questions asked. I'm not sure why, but Cookie gives the painting to One Two as a gift to his girlfriend Stella.

Archie finds out that One Two and Mumbles are the ones behind the courier robberies, and he goes around to One Two's place to bring him to an appointment with Lenny. He interrupts the two Chechnyans who are about to slice up One Two. Four shots. A few moments later, Mumbles and Handsome Bob show up with the court papers and get taken around to see Lenny as well. The two talent managers find Johnny Quid and bring him to the warehouse where Lenny keeps his menacing crayfish. All accounted for, everybody who's not dead is at the warehouse. Johnny Quid lets rip about how his stepfather is the police informant. He sent all of his people down to teach them a lesson I guess. Because of him, One Two and Mumbles couldn't get the bank loan to buy the building. Hmmm, this guy does his preparation. He even sent his most loyal employee down for four years. Lenny, in a wheelchair, shoots Quid in the stomach, and tells his junior thug to take him and the two music dudes out of the place. Back to them in a minute.

The Russian visits Stella, and wants her to run away with him. His assistant is suspicious of Stella because she is the only other person who knew the details of both couriers. The Russian doesn't want to hear it. Of course, Stella spurns him and as he turns to leave, he sees the painting. He calls his assistant who is waiting outside and that's the last we see of them. Back in the lift, the junior man and another are escorting Johnny and the two music guys out to a car. Johnny explains to the music guys what is about to happen, and warns them about what to do. They shoot both of the bad dudes, and Johnny dispatches two more waiting outside the lift. That's the last we see of a badly injured Johnny and the other two. Or is it?

Back in the warehouse, Handsome Bob gives up the court papers to Archie who reads them and immediately recognizes the pseudonym as a name he saw in Lenny's files years earlier. Judging by Lenny's reaction at the time, Archie figures that Lenny is the snitch. One Two, Mumbles and Handsome Bob are now out of the warehouse and Archie wraps Lenny's wheelchair to a winch and lowers him into a great big yucky jambalaya of crayfish and other Thames goodness.

So now Archie is on top of the Layer Cake, oh sorry, wrong movie. Anyway, he's at the top of the heap and he awaits the arrival of a newly-sober Johnny Quid. They embrace, and Johnny steals Archie's gun. For a quick moment, I was expecting an ending like Layer Cake, but it was not to be. Johnny playfully handles the gun as Archie presents him with a welcome home gift. Johnny announces that he wants to follow in his stepfather's, and Archie's footsteps. So the moral of the story here kids, is that no matter how much a son hates his father and tries to do everything differently from his father, the son is destined to become the father. Not really, but that's just a little something I took away from it. There is no real moral, so don't go looking for one. Just sit back in your high-backed reclining seats with extra legroom in the large screen cinema and enjoy the movie.

The end credits suggest that Johhny and/or Archie and the boys will be back in Rocknrolla 2. I'm pretty sure that's not meant to be serious.

Hamilton Does It, and a Movie of Course

Okay... So just in case you missed it, and slept in like I did - here are the results. Closer than I would have imagined. And on the final lap, would you believe?

F1 News > Hamilton is World Champion!

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On a tenuously related note, I happened to watch a movie filmed in Macau last night. See, Macau hosts, or hosted I'm not sure which, a junior formula race which holds a lot of prestige and had been the race to watch for the future of F1. I think Michael Schumacher was the last racer of note to win it. But anyway the movie is not about racing and follows a pretty formulaic set up for Cantonese films, as follows:

1) Find a Cantopop singer who hasn't made too many films before, if any.

2) Write a script which gives the singer ample opportunity to showcase their singing talents. To make the movie really score with audiences, make the plot about a singer in some way. Note that this plot is not necessary.

3) Title the movie after the singer. This will put bums in seats. Even after the singer's star has faded, the movie will serve to generate new fans as younger audiences age.

And so it was. Yi sa bui lai or Isabella if you try to sound it out using Spanish phonemes, stars Isabella Leong the requisite Cantopop singer and Chapman To the actual talent. I just want to say that I hope this film is in no way autobiographical for Leong. Otherwise, ouch. This wasn't her first film, and she seems to have an acting ability, but I say that To is the actual talent because that's his career.

I'm not going to do a chronology of this film. Instead, just broad strokes to illustrate the plot. Apparently, Macau was rife with gangsters and smugglers before the handover in 1999, but that might just be Central Committee propaganda for all I know. To plays an ex-cop who becomes a smuggler to make a decent living and still live the high life. Leong plays a teenager who has just lost her mother, never knowing her father, and who is prone to embellishing stories. She ends up with To, and somehow realizes that he is her long lost father, or so she is lead to believe. To, for his part, believes it at first too but when he discovers that he is not, he goes along with it anyway to protect the real father who is also his boss. The film focuses on the growth of the relationship between To and Leong, and the dialogue is not really important. I actually liked the pauses because it allowed the soundtrack to take over. A close imitation, you might even say rip-off of Vladimir Cosma's Sentimental Walk is repeatedly heard throughout. Or at least the opening riff.

To realizes that he is going to prison, and must somehow explain to Leong that they are not going to run away together which is what she believes. He nonchalantly explains to her, over a bowl of noodles that he is not her father and that he's got to go down on the charges. Leong is crushed, but she gets over it pretty quickly I guess because she decides to wait for To to be released from prison. The film doesn't go that far, but at the end of it Leong is no longer a girl trying to find her identity. She has become comfortable with who she is. Anyway, I liked the music and the scenery around Macau.

It's Been a While

I really haven't felt the need to blog lately. It's been almost two months since my last post. In my head, I thought it was more like one month. Things have been developing at quite a pace lately. Schoolwork was piling up for a little while, and there have been bureaucracy issues that Ali can't take care of herself, so that's what I've been up to lately. I did see a nice Cantonese film a few weeks ago called Ngor dik dzui oi or L for Love, L for Lies. Okay, that took me half an hour to track down the correct title. Nobody said imdb.com has every movie logged. I think it can safely be said that I'm not a fan of romance movies - that is, unless they are Cantonese or Korean. I can't get enough of certain soap operas, the only way to stop that is to cut cold turkey. Give it a week, and try to start watching again. The soap won't make sense. I won't give too many details or comments about Ngor Dik Dzui Oi because it's been a while since I saw it, and I don't recall what I thought of it, except that I liked it. Then I saw some Hayao Miyazaki film that I thought I'd seen before, but couldn't quite remember seeing certain parts. That's what happens when you watch a movie possibly drunk, and then try to watch it again. And last week, the Cantonese channel, which changed formats recently played a movie about a mahjong player who is haunted by a curse. I'd seen it before I had cable and couldn't really follow it because of bad reception, but this time it was good, if you like freaky movies. It's part of a three-story film called Scare 2 Die. It took me forever to find that out, so much so that this is a two-day post now. Damn! I also got free passes to another movie which I will get to later in the post.

Speaking of watching movies while possibly drunk, my local has been ripped down. It's been quite a while since I've been down there, but I went down last week and the whole block was vacant, save one place on the corner. See, I don't go out drinking very much anymore because of a certain former classmate who seems to be everywhere I go. I don't want to run into him when I'm drunk because the last guy who did that ended up dead. Anyway, about this little place on the corner. Wonderfully quirky. I'd like to think it's just like the restaurant I would open, only I'm not that clever. For the record, my old local has moved up the street, but has gone decidedly upscale. After a slight mix up in the toilets, I decided to go back to the quirky place. I have all kinds of memos on my handphone, and most of them I can still understand, but they're not all relevant. I will attempt to recreate that evening hence.

Keep in mind that I had just come down the street, and to my surprise it looked like it had been bombed out. It was a Twilight Zone moment, but I went with it. Apparently, this new place that I had never noticed before has actually been on that very spot for the last three years. I had just had a stupid, stupid argument with Ali, and I was there to get my drink on. First up - Mill Street Coffee Porter out of Canada. It was my first porter, so I have nothing to judge it against, except maybe a New York Times audio slide show which left me with fanciful notions of chocolate in my beer. No such luck. It had coffee which I didn't like. I probably would have been better off having a bottle of old Lyle's Christmas bitter in Tattenhall Green, Wolverhampton. What a Christmas that was, too! If this porter is what I have to benchmark from, then it will also be the last porter I have.

Second - Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar from Oregon. The only reason I ordered this was because the beer card said that it was 24 oz., and because it had the word `nectar` in the title. It was not 24 oz., it was 21 oz. This was not the only mistake on the menu, they referred to Ricard Pastis as Richard Pastis and this was also not the first time I had been given undersized tankards for my ale. I alone am the vanguard of correct weights and measures. Nobody else seems to care. It's not hard, restaurant managers. If the bottle says 21 oz., then that is what you must put on your menu to be safe. But maybe I'm being unreasonable. The 1 and the 4 are like right next to each other on the number pad, and the 21 oz. bottle is the same size as the other 24 oz. bottles except for a slight tapering at the shoulder which could conceivably hide 3 oz. A trick of the eye, that's all. And I shouldn't forget that they comped my edamame. The beer card alluded that there were nutty notes and brown sugar in the taste of this beer, and I guess `hazelnut` is right in the title. Well, I don't know where in Oregon they get their nectar for this beer, but it was plain awful. There was a nutty aftertaste... of unsalted peanut shells. I've tasted a lot of wierd food people, so I know. And technically peanuts are not a nut, but a legume. They don't grow on trees.

I ordered the edamame because they had a house version for 50 cents more. In the end, it was comped so the price didn't matter, but the taste did. It sounded intriguing on paper, and it was good for the first few pods but man, stick with the regular edamame. I also ordered the mame because there was a two drink maximum unless I ate something. They didn't tell me that at first. And even though I had planned on stopping after the Rogue, I felt cheated. I wouldn't say that the experience was 0 for 2 so far, but I had to try something else. Bring on the Gouden Carolus, a dark Belgian beer that really is 24 oz. when you convert the pretentious EU labeling. 75 cL. What is that? It boasts of a caramel, liquorice flavour. I must say that as soon as I tapped `liquorice` into my handphone I forgot all about it. Even after a week, I was trying to figure out that taste combination. All I could come up with was a barely plausible turkish delight. The bottle came with a snifter. I guess. I told the waiter to cut me off, and I listened to a girl at the next table gab to her friends about how amazing her new boyfriend is. Ali doesn't do that. The Carolus was as advertised. Success! I can go home now. But wait, I'm getting chatty. I must be drunk. It's not actually time to go home yet. I went to use the toilets upstairs. I could still walk up stairs, that's a good sign.

What? The quirky kids who decided to move to the city and open a restaurant decided to broadcast radio plays into the toilets instead of annoying music. Well done! During my follow-up investigation last night, I discovered that the audio is not radio plays, but books on tape or whatever they're called. Last night, I went in to the toilets, and a Berlitz language lesson was playing. I was too sloshed to recognize what it was, but stupidly guessed it was Romanian. These kids had also decided to host a farmers' market on Sundays. That's over for the season, but I thought it was a great idea especially in that part of town. Not a big sense of community there.

I had a whole bit about Magnum, P.I. ready last week, but it's gone. I've been watching a lot of it lately, because you know, I don't have a job. Anyway, this show really sucked. Sure, it's Hawaii and the guy drives a Ferrari and the theme music is kinda cool, but come on. I never realized what a pussy Magnum was until I grew up and started watching the show again. I wasn't really allowed to watch it as a kid. As soon as Magnum came on, it was time for bed. You want to know a really good detective show? Banacek. That's right, George Peppard as Banacek. Can't go wrong there. Somebody told me he was a poof, and I believed it all up until about three months ago. You can't believe everything you read on Wikipedia, but there's no indication on his bio that he was gay. I don't know, maybe he was just a really good actor, and could play gayish or play roles with a certain air.

That's about all the text messages are going to help with this post. The rest are stale, or irrelevant except to mention that there were a lot of girls there last week with the skinny jeans/high heels combo. Until last week, I thought that look was out. One of the girls sporting this combo with yellowish leopard print heels was actually quite fetching, and possibly half my age. I'm getting old, and she is a smoker so there's no reason to discuss her any more. On the way home, I saw a nice black and white cat milling around a gated entry way. He didn't want to be pet. The door was ajar, and he ran inside. I was so drunk that I forgot the date, and actually texted reminders to myself that were three days late. Stupid. Special recognition for Ferdon, the manager from Bismarck who seemed like a really nice guy, and to Lulu the waitress who told me a lot about the restaurant. I stumbled home and got sick. Funny, everything I drank was dark but when it came up again, it was clear. Ali pulled my head up by the hair and at that moment tried to get me to promise something as follows:

"Are you never gonna drink until you go to haka?"

I wasn't so much drunk as I was weak. I totally knew what was going on and also knew that she was talking gibberish. There's no way she was going to take advantage of my weakened state and try to use fancy Japanese words on me now. "What's haka?"

"Until you die!"

"No deal". We have an agreement that theoretically we don't drink, except on special occasions she will allow me to have one or two. Even if I say no, she acts so surprised. It's actually not that complicated. I just have to watch what I'm doing and not make an ass of myself.

So I went back last night, and almost did just that. I was supposed to go back and try the tequila reposado, but I didn't feel like tequila. Instead, I was going to have one beer, and one only. One 24 oz. beer. I ordered myself a 3 Monts. This is a french beer, lighter in colour than the beers I had last week, and also comes with a snifter. I can't actually call this the champagne of beers because there is already another beer that makes that claim, and is on offer for like $35.00 a bottle across town. And I can't actually say it's a champagne because it has hops in it. Otherwise I would say it. I was reminded instantly of Veuve Cliquot du Ponsardin brut. I'm not a big champagne drinker. Sorry to the really hot chick who came to my wedding and gave us a bottle as a gift. If only you hadn't made a silly best-friends promise to Sissy, and I wasn't too shy about being eaten for breakfast. It was a nice gift. Foolishly I drank it, and could not replace it when Ali immigrated. There was some kind of shortage. It's back in stock now. Back to the 3 Monts. It was very crisp, and dry like champagne, but it did have a slight hoppy taste to it. Don't get me wrong. If I could choose between this and champagne, I'd choose this. But that's moot because the chances of this beer being offered alongside champagne are slim.

I don't know what it is about these beers. It could be the alcohol content, or it could be the fuckyou size bottle that it comes in. I was careful to choose a moderate alcohol content, but I still got sloppy. I singed the hair on my left arm on a table lamp as I reached across the table to pour more beer. It must be the 24 oz. I got home okay, but there is something about Belgian beers, and 3 Monts that just kicks you in the head. Not in a hangover kind of way, but in a somebody-spiked-the-punch kind of way. Anyway, I got home okay.

I haven't been writing lately because I've been trying to concentrate on school, and quietly trying to finesse my way into a job. My instructor is hiring, but it's a bureaucratic nightmare that's being dragged out for as long as possible. The job would be at one of the universities. Not one of the Ivy League ones, and I wouldn't be teaching but the job definitely seems to be one I'd like. The problem is that because it's a job at a university, they have to post the job across the state. I'd be competing against hundreds, if not thousands of people to get it. The job would be in forensic accounting. At a university? I know, it sounds weird but they have some things they need to look into. It's been seven weeks since he announced to the class that the position was open, but I have yet to receive a job description. This is a job worth waiting for. How many times have I passed up good opportunities for fast-money? Too many, that's how many.

What else? Foxy has been learning a lot about animals lately so I thought it might be a good time to take her to the zoo last week. Too early. She liked to look at the animals, but as soon as they came to within ten feet of the fence, she would freak. Even the miniature ponies that roam free. She knows about ponies, but she doesn't want to touch them. We met a family that had brought their 20-month old to the zoo. Their kid had no problem with the animals. I guess I should have waited until next year.

We took Foxy to a real farm for Enzo J's second birthday. We got to see lots of people, and animals and lots of stuff. Foxy had a good time. I had a buffalo burger and cake. Enzo J has two different coloured eyes. Not spooky or anything, just one is dark brown and the other is brown. I never noticed that before. Enzo's nephew won a trip to Italy to tour the Ferrari factory at Modena. It looks like Sissy and Enzo J might have to go too. Bobby's probably off to Greece next summer, but that's looking like less and less of a cert. And I'm trying to get things together so Ali can visit Japan a respectable two times a year.

I've been spending a lot of time cooking for Ali and our friends. It's not cheap, so the initial flurry of activity has died down a bit plus I was getting behind on my assignments. I'm ahead of the game for now so I thought I would blog a bit and sit down this weekend to watch Lewis Hamilton win the Formula One Drivers' Championship. It's a shame that Felipe Massa isn't going to win it. He's worked really hard, but Lewis has worked just a bit harder.

On top of all of Ali's government bureaucracy, we've been having a little trouble with the condo association. It's over for now, but it sure took a lot of time and effort just to get to that point. And it might all get brought up again, whenever the condo board vice president feels like it. Jerk. Nice guy, but jerky vice-president.

Ummmumumumum... oh yeah. The movie passes. I entered a draw to see Zack and Miri Make a Porno, knowing full well that I wouldn't be able to see it because I have class on that night. So I gave the passes to Randy and Kat. Actual viewer quote: Hilarious, dude! But Randy says that about a lot of stuff. The movie stars Seth Rogen and Elizabeth Banks as two friends who need some quick cash and decide to make a porn film. I have no doubt that because Seth Rogen is in this film, that Randy's comments are accurate. Jim Norton and Traci Lords make appearances, directed by Kevin Smith. I hope Randy appreciates this because I gave up the opportunity to win free passes to see Guy Ritchie's Rocknrolla for this. Who am I kidding? That also would have taken place on Wednesday, when I have class. What to do on Hallowe'en? Dressing Foxy up in a lion costume and taking her around to Orange Peel's place for a party.

I'll Buy the Ice Cream and Other Lies I've Told

Here's some photos of me in my Uniqlo shirt and Foxy on a not-so-recent "fact finding" trip to Seattle. If you look closely you can see my first grey hair. I now have more than one. Randy and Kat told us about a café that has some really kick ass hot chocolate. Now, I must tell you that I'd already had good hot chocolate... It's just part of my life but I will say that this place does it better. They said they almost didn't have enough chocolate, so I was surprised when they brought out two servings.

On to other things. What a fun trip to Boston. I say, we must do that more often. Quite frankly I didn't want to leave in the first place and Ali wanted to go back as soon as we got home. I did however get home just in time to get some leads on a job, right before the long weekend so that was nice.

Enzo and Sissy came over for dinner on Sunday. Well, not really. They came over but we went out for dinner. Enzo paid for a surprisingly mediocre dinner (not his fault) and Sissy suggested we all go for gelato. I pipped in that I would pay for the dessert, but somewhere along the way I changed my mind. Maybe it was while the Nike+ Human Racers prevented us from crossing the street that I had time to think about it. Actually, it was because the vendor decided to charge me to use my debit card. Get that. The vendor made a business decision and signed a contract to accept another form of payment (not credit card) but didn't accept the part about how the vendor will pay all charges to the debit card issuer. Hmmm, I never knew that you could sign a contract but decide which parts you don't like and say no. Anyway, it's kind of douchebaggy in my opinion that a businessperson would make this type of decision and then pass a normal cost of doing business onto the customer, and then make a big sign that says "Cash is preferred". Guess what, Fucknut? Debit card is cash. It comes straight from my bank account to yours. But that's not what I was mad about. I was actually mad that they didn't accept credit card.

This particular gelato guy has a reputation - at least among his regulars and former-regulars like myself - as being a bit of an ice cream nazi. What really pisses me off about this guy is that he doesn't do anything in his dad's shop. He just stands around shouting at the minimum wage help who are just trying to pay for school, and barks at customers. He wasn't there this time around, but he really needs to understand that he's not the only gelato vendor in New York City. Sissy paid for it instead. We all had gelato, except for Foxy. Enzo dropped his on the pavement because it was on the cone and not in the cone, and Enzo J got his gelato all over his face and overalls and in his shoes. Talented boy. I had pistachio and regretted not being able to share with Foxy, but she had some of Ali's.

Foxy decided that the end of August was as good a time as any to let me know that the best use of our time and resources would be for her and Ali to share the big bed. I'm on the couch now, and Ali doesn't see anything wrong with that except for the constant hair pulling. Don't worry, I got that one covered. Randy's going to give us one of his old Hallowe'en wigs so that we can trick Foxy into tugging on that instead of Ali's real hair.

I'm back in school and am looking forward to it. What? It'll be interesting. It would be nice to have a decent job to go along with that, but I'll have to wait for that I suppose.

I saw a little presentation about the usurper of blogs at Yongfook. There are several "lifestreams" out there, but his is better and called Sweetcron. He's been talking about it for a long time and finally finished it. Oh yeah, he likes lolcats, poor poor boy. I still pronounce it [switkorn] as though the spelling is meant to be incorrect, but it's supposed to be [switcr^n]. So it goes that really busy people don't have time to blog any more, and so using Sweetcron is an excellent way for those busy folks to manage their websites so that readers can follow them better, or currently. I thought this would be an excellent thing for people who like to live in fishbowls, or for people who have have a lot they want to share with friends and strangers. I also thought this would be a great time save to the blog, and I wouldn't have to type as much as I do, but Sweetcron is all about managing content so I would need content, a nice euphemism for life. I don't have a lot of content to share, so I'm going to pass on Sweetcron. It might be just the thing for you though. To be honest, I was just amazed that there are people out there who think about stuff like this, and can actually build it. But then again I still find voicemail amazing.

Going Places

'We don't need you Dax. We have someone else who can do payroll. Oh by the way, thanks for teaching her everything'. Oh really. Imagine my surprise when my bank account appeared to be more flush than usual. The sillies paid me last week (more than usual) even though they laid me off last month.

Technically, the money is mine. If they want it back they'll have to go after me in Small Claims. But you know me, it was an honest perhaps ironic, mistake. So I'm going to pay back the money and laugh a lot - and then have a wee bit of a blub. I think I've made a few shekels of interest on it. The shitty part is that I just signed up for school again and would really like to use that money for a little while.

On top of that, Ali got a case of iwannas a few weeks ago. She couldn't care less that I don't have a job. 'I wanna see Backstreet Boys'. Done. 'I wanna see Daisuke'. So we're going to Boston to see them play the White Sox next week and also probably do a little shopping. Can't wait! 'I want chocolate. I want ice cream'. Well I want a blowjob. Some things just aren't going to happen babe. She got her ice cream, but I couldn't find any of those little chocolate pats they have at Starbucks.

We need a road trip again. I know we just had one a few weeks ago, but I'm sick of watching the Olympics. Ali is nuts for the Olympics. I guess I learn something new everyday. She doesn't care that she can't understand what the commentators are saying, as long as a Japanese athlete is kicking some butt, she's happier than a fat kid locked in a candy store.

Shar pei Foxy. Ali can be so mean sometimes, but it's this kind of stuff that makes her laugh. Her sense of humour is more warped than mine in many ways. Speaking of a warped sense of humour, I saw A Clockwork Orange the other night on the telly. I didn't see all of it, and maybe it was edited but I just didn't get it. I mean I get it, but I don't get what the big deal was about this movie. A former friend of mine told me that it was a really sick movie, one of the sickest he'd ever seen and that I should see it but also be prepared to be sick. Knowing him, and now having seen much of the movie, I find it hard to believe that it's one of the sickest movies he'd ever seen. I mean we saw Natural Born Killers together and that wasn't too bad but it was more violent than what I saw of Clockwork. Honestly, he'd seen worse things in real life as a soldier than what Clockwork had to show. Alex Burgess is cured at the end of the movie according to some viewers, but I don't get that feeling. I figure he'd just found another way to con the system and have his eggy weggs too. I've met many people like that.

Olympian in Training

Foxy is my girl. Know how I know? Because she already knows where to find the snooze button on my clock radio. Nine more minutes Foxy. Good girl.

I also know she's my girl because on Saturday night, when Ali was working a singles' cocktail party in her kimono I got to babysit. It was a little weird. Have you ever had one of those moments when you are driving in a neighbourhood where you used to live and the randomly chosen music on your car radio is the same music that you used to listen to when you lived there? I have. I've had a few of them actually. Anyway, I was driving around the old neighbourhood in a gentle summer rain and Flock of Seagulls came on the radio. At some point during that song, Foxy fell asleep. Gotta tell you, those were the best days of my childhood and now Foxy can enjoy the same experience.

I'm not sure if this also indicates she is my daughter, but this morning she woke up at her usual hour, and very quietly tried to dismount her crib. Usually she fusses and all, but this time I guess she didn't want to wake us. She didn't stick the landing, but the difficulty score must have been pretty high. Luckily she landed on our bed mattress, unluckily she used her face. I guess that damn crib is no good now. She only used it for about a month. I'll probably have to turn it into a bed soon.

Foxy 1 : Nappy 0

We had a one-in-200-year event as the insurance guys say. It was time for dinner. I came out of the den and in the dim light I noticed something small and possibly orange on the carpet. I assumed it was one of the many nasty silicone jellies that Ali insisted on bringing back from Japan. These are nasty because they are as my friend Calvin's mom used to say in her Ipoh accent, "Kiut kiut no use". They are also nasty because Foxy can grab them, rip them apart and ingest little bits of silicone almost at her whim. We can't have these things on the floor. Instinctively, I pinched it and picked it up. As soon as I did that, I realized it wasn't a jelly.

At first I thought it might be a wayward bit of baby food that she set free rather than eat. I held it to my nose. Indeed it was a bit of food she had set free, only she had eaten it first. Immediately, I looked to see where Foxy was. She was, as usual trying to push through the baby gate into the kitchen. Futile. Between her and me was the faux persian. I carefully scanned the rug to see if there were any more bits. None. Whew!

I called to Ali in the kitchen and told her that Foxy had pooed. She didn't believe me at first. How could I invent such a story about a toddler dropping a deuce at random? As if, right? No baby has ever done that. I encouraged Ali to survey the area outside the kitchen to see if there could possibly be any more. Sure enough. Ali freaked. Fortunately, there were only two and they didn't smudge the carpet. The rest was in Foxy's pants.

Without even thinking, we put emergency procedure number 7 into action. I jumped in the tub, ready to receive the fudgy baby, of course now bawling because of Ali's reaction to the discovery. I washed the baby, Ali washed the baby's clothes. Crisis averted. We should probably move a size up on the nappies. Only we bought an extra 200 case because we had a coupon. Ali's a bargain hunter. We've still got almost a quarter of that box left and Ali wants to get her money's worth.

Randy's Cat and an Apology

Busy morning already. I had an appointment with the insurance company so we could do a side by side comparison of the damage Pepper suffered back in June. The results were inconclusive, so I took the time to introduce myself to my neighbour - whom I have previously referred to as a douchebag - and apologize for all the trouble. Turns out he's a nice kid. Soft spoken, new here from Iowa and a little upset about not having peace of mind. Apparently the insurance company wouldn't even tell him who made the claim against him. We talked a little bit and I could tell right away that he was not happy. He explained that had he known/if he hit my vehicle he would have left a note. I didn't say it, but I think he knew that the insurance company had told me not to contact him directly. He was relieved and happy that his insurance wasn't going to cost another arm. Long and short, it's still considered a hit and run and it will cost me $300 to get fixed. Maybe I'll wait on that.

While I was waiting for the car to be looked at, I called Randy to tell him about the free passes we received in lieu of the Amal screening. There were some changes that I felt were important. His voice mail said that he'd be out of town for another week. Holy Shit! I gagged on my Starbucks. I hadn't checked his place since Sunday. The cat needed food and stuff.

In between the handholding with my neighbour and booking Ali's tickets for the Backstreet Boys in Atlantic City, I jumped in the car and booked it to Washington Heights. Randy's place was a mess. The cat was not happy and had wrecked the place. I replaced the water and the food and then checked on the animal. It was shy as always, but it did respond. Whew, it was still alive.

When we were camping, the running joke was that Bobby was a cat murderer because he was the last person to see his boss' cat alive when he house sat for him. Of course, not everybody felt it was a joke but they didn't want to face the facts about this particular cat. Anyway, we couldn't have two cat murderers in the family. Bobby's boss' daughter would never let it go.

Done Done and Done

Well, that's that I guess. I'm out of Canal St. and looking for a new job, but I'm also enjoying myself in the meantime. There wasn't much I could do in the end after a friend of the managing partner said she could do my job for free. My value was essentially zero at that moment. She later confided in me that she probably couldn't do it, but it was too late by then.

We planned for a farewell party, a small get together at a karaoke bar but it didn't happen because I had other plans. I was a little resentful that I would be missing a chance to sing some old favourites. My other plans were to go see Amal, a nice Hindi movie that sounded promising, starring Naseeruddin Shah as an eccentric wealthy man who discovers that he has only a few days to live and wants to find the most deserving heir in Calcutta the cesspool. Don't get me wrong. I've met some fine, very upstanding people from Calcutta. That's just how the promo scrip described it. The director, Richie Mehta or "Rishi" as the emcees would call him would be in attendance, quizzically still sporting a Veterans' Day poppy.

Also in attendance, unfortunately, would be an old classmate from high school. This particular classmate would be the first and so far the only one to go to prison. He beat some dude to death with a piece of rebar ostensibly due to a fight over crack. The last guy you would want to meet anywhere, let alone a soon-to-be darkened movie theatre. I'd see him panhandling every now and then, ever since I moved back to Newark. He'd call me Bobby. I'd try to look past him but he knew by the way I made eye contact that we knew each other. The guy was psycho in high school. I won't get into it, but it's so obvious in hindsight. So the other night, Randy and I walk into the theatre and before we even get in the door, the psycho has us scoped out. His recon is phenomenal. I guess that's a good skill to learn in prison. That way, nobody shivs you from behind. Anyway, he calls out "Bobby!" I grin because he's going to act like he's my best friend in the world and he can't even remember my name. He slaps me on the back as I brush past him, putting myself between him and Randy, and go to the end of the queue. When we got out of earshot, I told Randy that under no circumstances were we going to sit next to that guy. It looked like life was looking up for him actually, but then I dismissed it as the benefits of a life of crime. Later on his date showed up. I felt bad for her. She looked like a girl we went to school with. She must have known. He must have told her. I think it's one of the twelve steps. He didn't tell me, and even I knew. This is not a hard thing to find out. Pretty much guaranteed, you bash a guy's head in because you're in a crack house and you're so high on drugs that you think someone is trying to rob you - and you're stupid enough to get caught because you think you can lie your way out of it just like everything else - your trial is going to be covered at least by a stringer. You might not make the evening news, but the media are going to tell. Either way, she should eventually find out. I really wanted to tell her, but I guess even drug-addled vagrant psycho killers have a right to privacy after they've served their sentence. Label me a democrat.

That was all soon forgotten as the film started to roll. Close up of Naseeruddin Shah slumped over and sort of bumping up and down. Silence. Artistic effect I thought. Then someone front row left yelled "Sound!". Sitar music cut in and credits began to roll and I thought the film was going well so far. Then the film cut. A very embarrassed Richie Mehta got up in front of the audience and said that something was wrong with the audio. About ten minutes later the film started again. This time, Shah narrated from the beginning in English a little about the backstory. As the scene changed we were treated to Hindi dialogue. I still didn't see anything wrong with that. Just another Sunday afternoon for me. About two minutes into that scene, Mehta leapt to the front of the theatre and told the projectionist to stop the film. The distribution company had sent the wrong print. There were no subtitles. Mehta offered to act the movie line for line scene for scene, but said it wouldn't do the story justice. After some debate over how to proceed, he offered free passes to everyone who left tonight and came back to another screening. Randy and I took the offer, but a fair amount of viewers stayed. There were a lot of Hindi speakers there.

It was quite comical. I could just imagine how Mehta felt. He really kept his composure, although he did refer to the distribution compamy as a bunch of idiots. He had done the subtitles personally, and felt that the viewer needed to understand everything so that the little nuances could be caught. Mehta was very, very apologetic but I think the audience was very forgiving. Afterall, it was a freebie and mistakes happen to everyone.

Randy and I hit a nearby pizza joint and cursed the restaurant for making Newcastle Brown the special on another night. I had my first Kilkenny, and was pleasantly surprised at how smooth it was. It wasn't watered down, it came straight from a can but that cream ale is extremely smooth. Then I had a Lowenbrau and silently reminisced about my first Lowenbrau tallboy last summer and the film festival that went with it. Randy and I talked about stuff, the waitress fawned over us because I complained pointed out a slight discrepancy between the volume of the Kilkenny can and the promotional material provided by the restaurant.

Ekaterina came and picked us up in her and Randy's new car. We went out for coffee and talked about Kat quitting her job and then we were kicked out and they drove me home.

The next day, Ali and Foxy and I all piled into the car and took Pepper camping in Maine with Bobby, his boss and his family and four exchange students. Overall, given it was a new venue for all of us, and it was Foxy's first camping trip it went pretty well. Nobody lost any fingers or lost any toes. Nobody came home with ticks, except maybe the dogs so it was very nice and we look forward to it again next year.

The Dark Knight

As I've said before, I'm not big on comic book-based movies so I wasn't really planning to go see the new Batman flick starring Christian Bale, Heath Ledger and straight from his disappointing finish (not first) at the Mazda Long Beach Pro-Am Celebrity Challenge or whatever they call it William Fichtner. Who? Yeah, that's right. Fichtner. Most recently of the once-awesome television series Prison Break, but some people might remember him, like me, from As the World Turns back when the soap censors were less prudish - way less.

So about this movie. Long, and not in a good way. I figure they could have told the story better in about an hour to an hour and a half. But then I've never read the umm... comic so I wouldn't really know which parts to leave out. I'm just saying that as a viewer, I prefer movies to be between 93 and 136 minutes. I sat through Ghandi because frankly I was too young to leave the theatre and try to find my way home, and because it was about something THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED. And if I remember correctly, that screening came with an intermission.

What can I say? Randy and Katerina invited me out to see the movie so I went. I really liked Ledger's Joker, and Bale's Batman. Bale could lose the vocal thingy he does when he appears as Batman. Not sounding good. I especially liked the way they ripped off the Iron Man workshop/laboratory thing. Maybe it was the other way around. I don't care, I just like how they recycled ideas. Speaking of Bale, he's having a wee problem with his mummy lately, at least I think it's with his mum. Sounds like they have some family issues to work through there, and if my hunch is correct, it'll all get a little ugly over the next few months, but it won't get much press.

My boss and I had a little talk a few weeks ago, right before he disappeared for a week and a half, and the result of the chat is that I'm out. Honestly, the company is so screwed now. Not because I'm leaving, because of other things. The way it's playing out so far just makes me want to get away as far as possible from this enterprise. I lost my best girl, and she left because she had had enough of the chaos. I tried to help her with job leads and stuff, but that didn't really work out. She found another gig doing pretty much the same thing, but she'll be working for somebody she can actually get along with so that's probably a good thing. Last anybody heard, she headed to California to do an album before she starts her new job. I miss her already.

So my recruiter, the one who got me this gem in the first place, the one who got a very nice little something from me for Hanukkah has quit her job to take some time off. That's very nice. She deserves it. Really. Only love. It's just going to be a little more difficult for me now having to work from the ground up with her successor. And that's going to be a chore. I could tell from the moment I met her. She called to introduce herself and told me to come by her office anytime, just call ahead first and give a ballpark time. I did. When she met me, she acted all in a rush like, and get this - she gives me the once over before I even leave the room. She's got to work on her poker face and her cues a little, or maybe a lot. So far, she's got nothing for me.

Fugu, Flowers and Fags

Here we go. I didn't want to do this this way, but let's just say that things that were important to other people kept coming up. The next sections will be a day to day account of my most recent trip to Japan, and believe me it was all a lot more interesting as it was happening, not as I bash it out on this laptop now. Overall impressions: Apart from a slight annoyance with a tick, Japan was much better than last year. Japan was ready for me this time. It is my last day here, and I'll be typing like mad, on a Japanese keyboard no less, trying to spit it all out before the plane trip back to Jersey. Movie stuff out of the way first: Ali received a flyer or a pass or something to go see the Japanese premiere of Speed Racer starring Emile Hirsch, John Goodman and Matthew Fox, who my hairdresser supposedly gave me the same hair style as. At least now I know whom she thinks about when she uses that vibrator I got her for Christmas. Thanks for the pass, but we're going to pass. Opens July 5, so we won't be here anyway.
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I pledged. But that was about it. I did train for a few days at the beginning of the trip, but then I came down with a bit of a cold and thought I should probably rest. Rewind a bit to the very beginning - Ali wanted to take a taxi to the airport. I didn't because they are often unreliable. Guess who won that argument. So we're in the taxi after waiting for 45 minutes and calling two different companies. I'm not going to try and flag one down on the street for a trip to the airport. I fancied calling a livery service, but Ali reminded me not to overcomplicate things. We get to the airport and got priority screening. Not quite the same as priority boarding, but hey you don't get if you don't ask. That was all ruined very quickly by a very old man with OCD who may have possibly lost his keys. Homeland Security should have been on his ass, but I guess there were more pressing issues to take care of.

The flight was totally uneventful, except for an overly bitchy flight attendant who didn't have a sense of humour. Who knew asking for a gin martini would stir such emotion? British Airways material you are not, ma'am and you never will be with that attitude. Foxy was well behaved, and take off and landing were no problem for her at all. Ashi, f.k.a. Genya Number Two got us home eventually. I shaved, walked the dog and went to bed.

As I was walking the dog, it occurred to me that urban sprawl is not such a bad thing. We could go the other way and cram everybody into a really small area like Japan and see how long we enjoy that. I can't even take a pee break without the neighbours having a gawk.
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Foxy couldn't sleep so we went out at 4:00 in the morning to check out the neighbourhood. We watched telly on some vending machines, checked out the hospital and went to 7-11. I bought some oolong tea because it allegedly promotes weight loss.

Later that day, we went to visit Ali's grandmother, the one who doesn't hate white people, which is not what I thought at first. Still waiting to meet that one. Apparently, she's too busy. We got to meet Ali's aunt and cousin, not the hot one. Ali's grandfather had gone out for the day and nobody knew where he was, nor were they concerned. For a man his age, I would have been concerned. Grandma came for a walk and did some grocery shopping with us, which is nice. At least she's still got some kick. Foxy and I were still fighting jet lag so it was an early night for us.
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We went to Chiyoda to visit some friends of Ali. I had some really good donburi in a sweet restaurant on the sixth floor of an office building. Textured concrete walls, floor lighting, separate rooms for separate parties. Well done. Afterward, in the lobby, I reached into the tote bag on the baby stroller for my tea and was about to take a swig when a guy twice my size asked if he could have some. At least that's what I thought he said. It turned out though, that he was quite happy about his weight, but very unhappy that I was taking in fluids in the lobby. He told me I should do it outside. What a strange man.

We went to a nearby Tully's with Ali's Sandra Oh lookalike friend, only still hot. We discussed baby names for her kid. She didn't want to give details so we changed the topic to living in Chiyoda. I could actually handle living in Chiyoda, or Toyosu or one of the other neighbourhoods that are halfway decent.

I could feel a cold coming on so for dinner we ate fugu - sort of. Ali's dad noticed my sniffles and declared that he would cure all my ills with a little cocktail made from shochu and fugu fins. This is the same thing he offered me last year in Toyosu, but didn't trust him enough to try and what's more, he wouldn't have any either. And then more alcohol. Apparently that's good for a head cold.
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A day off. Ali's dad figured it would be a good time for more cold remedies seeing as how the fugu fins didn't work. I was starting to worry. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I had not been vaccinated lately against Japanese encephalitis, or mumps or any of the creepy crawlies they have around here.

Ali's dad offered me some powders that I'm pretty sure the FDA has banned back home. We went to the baby store to get some stuff for Foxy and I couldn't take two steps without stumbling. I was flat on my back for the rest of the day.

By the way, whoever said that Japan has a declining birth rate apparently never took the opportunity to visit a suburban mall. A mall here is like a great big giant daycare. Nothing wrong with that, I was just amazed at how young some of these mothers were, already working on their second or third kid.

What the hell are these? I've never seen these flowers before and would like to know.

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A couple of Ali's friends who were in New York at the same time she was came by for lunch. It had been a long day already. Foxy and I were still fighting jet lag. Good food, good times.
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Ali's dad made some arrangements for us to stay at the home of one of his "business club" buddies in Kamakura. We checked out some Buddhist temples. Ali found the god of accounting in some caves. Sculpted into the wall. Can't be much more of a wallflower than that. Probably socially awkward. Due to a parking dispute with the world's snippiest hunchback dwarf, we had to make quick work of the sightseeing while Ashi double parked in the street.

Found her! We decided go for a "light lunch", and there she was - seating customers at the local Denny's. I'm not sure how I feel about that. She said hello. I said good bye. It was all very anticlimactic, but I finally got closure. She looked awesome. Ten years looked like nothing on her. Oh, and Denny's? The only place we went that had high chairs with belts. Everywhere else was like a bring-your-own-belt kind of place. I've noticed that Japan needs to work on it's public safety. There are numerous examples, but the relevant one in this case is that high chairs need restraints. High chairs without belts are like chocolate teapots - useless.

We had some sweet digs. Japanese style baths, but no hotsprings. Sauna, nice gardens, and rooms. Got to hang out a little with Ashi. He's actually a nice guy, but he doesn't speak any English. It was raining pretty bad so everybody hopped in the baths and waited for dinner. I weighed myself - 76.4 kilos. Nice.

Great food, but Ali's dad did that annoying thing where he asks me if I want more beer, then opens a large bottle and refuses to partake. I had to drink it all myself. He knows Ali does not approve.
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Foxy still couldn't sleep so we went to the beach while Ashi hung out at the house. People were surfing at 6:00 a.m. Nice. The beach was a little garbage-y, but that was my only complaint. No Nutella nappies that I could see, just bottles and cans barfed up by the sea.

We snapped some pics, and when Foxy had settled down we went back to the house for some breakfast. It was the first time I ever had buffet in somebody's house where it wasn't catered. We checked out some more Buddhist shrines, Oneshima Observatory, and had donburi katsudon for lunch. Then it was time for more shopping - my mother-in-law's favourite activity.

I'm not sure, but I think I made out with my mother-in-law. She bought a blue potato soft serve and helped herself. She told me to open wide. I didn't think she'd do it, I honestly didn't. She shoved the rest down my throat. Blue potato ice cream is actually pretty good. We did some more shopping and eventually it came time for Ashi to take us to the Tokyo flat. A chance to see my sister-in-law once again. What fun.

On the way back from Kamakura, the GPS system spazzed and kept telling Ashi to take a road that didn't exist. We gave him a challenge on top of the one he was already dealing with. Our special challenge - avoid all tolls on the way back to the flat. It took him about three hours, but he did it. He dropped us at the flat and took Ali's mum back to the compound. Dinner at Hotto Motto. The next time we saw Ashi, he had a brand new GPS.
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No Ashi today, but we made it to Tokyo Disneyland by noon. 25 years old and still sucking hard. I'm always amazed at what some people think is appropriate attire for a family theme park. We stayed for the night parade because we just had to, and Foxy got sick again.

Ali's mum made a surprise visit. Apparently nobody likes Disney more than her, and this whole time I thought Ali was the freak. Foxy got a Winnie the Pooh balloon, and seemed to warm up to Grandpa quite a bit.

We went back to the flat. Ali was stuffed from overpriced popcorn, so my father-in-law and I went for italian to the same place we went last year. Seafood pizza (for the second time that day) and a simple bacon and onion spaghetti plus six-dollar bread we didn't order. The restaurant was a little too cigarette-y for my taste, so we left.
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Imperial Palace. Meh. I liked it better from outside the grounds. The public half is filled with nice green spaces and gardens and proves to be a bit of a hike. Nice! You're right in the middle of Tokyo and you wouldn't even know it.

Later that night, in reference to our visit to the Imperial Residence Ali's dad would make some comments, which if taken in the worst way possible would probably amount to treason. Except that the comments were about the last emperor, not the current one, and he's dead and nobody really cares about the current one anyway.

We went down to Ginza to see my friend Yumi. I wanted to go back to the Tully's we went to last year, but that Tully's, our Tully's has shut. I suggested Doutor, slightly wincing and then repeated something Ali said to me on the way to meet Yumi, "That Doutor is expensive", motioning to their flagship cafe in 4-chome. For the next ten minutes Yumi and Ali made cheap jokes about me when really they should have been about someone else...

Japanese coffee can last for hours. We went three. We had a lot of good conversation, and I think Ali finally accepted one of my female friends. I had a brown sugar latte or something. This drink should come with it's own dentist and/or insulin shot. A lot of auxiliary water was required. By the time we left there it was dark. We had forgotten souvenirs for Yumi's nephews. She was jazzed about starting a new job, but sad about Prison Break being cancelled. We said our goodbyes and off she walked into the darkness still (I would assume) with the best tush this side of Turin.
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Day off at the compound. I took the time to write some postcards and later my father-in-law took me to the Keirin track to do some betting. I didn't know much about it, so I checked it out on Wikipedia. The training program for Keirin reminds me of the animated film The Triplets of Belleville, and Keirin itself is referenced in Kikujiro. My father-in-law walked away about a thousand bucks richer.

I suppose even if you're Sean Lennon, you have to grow up and get a job one day. He's over here repping for Honda's new model. Saving the world one celebrity-endorsed green product at a time. It could be worse I suppose. It could be Hilary Duff shilling some really gay looking cell phones.
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Road trip! First, a little bit of overlap to the previous post about Foxy's trip to see the doctor. Then onwards. Ashi didn't come with us today. He was dispatched to deal with the gardener pretty damn quick. I didn't get the whole conversation, but it was something about the hedge along the east wall being a little short. It was making the whole hedge look a little wonky. I took Foxy to the doctor. Three steps outside the pharmacy were cigarette machines where I bought these fags for Bobby: I think Camel might be on to something here. I've talked to a lot of smokers in my life, and the one thing they say they can never get enough of in their daily drag is nutty menthol. Some I spoke to said that they had started out using just plain menthol cigarettes but that they were now, then, craving something to go with that menthol flavour and the consensus was nuts. I'm pretty certain that Bobby will throw away nineteen of these cigarettes. I just want to see him try one.

We rolled in to Mashiko, in Tochigi prefecture in the early afternoon. It's about ten miles outside of Motegi, site of Danica Patrick's first, and so far only IRL victory. Just in case you're interested in stuff like that. We checked into the hotel and went for a tour of the town.

"Geez!", I thought to myself. I got the impression that Mashiko is probably the Quincy, California of Tochigi. Flashbacks of that ill-fated road trip to Nevada and ticks for some reason. Goosebumps. I figured it was a bad sign when the hotel clerk couldn't think of a kombini close by. What? They're everywhere. Apparently not in Mashiko.

Back to the hotel for a quick dip in the rotemburo before dinner. I'm still new at this so I need an onsen buddy. Sounds pretty gay, I know but before I could even get my boots off, my buddy was gone. Emphasis on quick dip. If you're the kind of person who is self-conscious about walking around a hotel in your robe, then this is not the place for you.

We took dinner at 6:00. Good food. By 7:30, we were at the clinic looking for a doctor. Foxy had another fever, and Ali didn't think Tylenol was going to take care of it this time. Emo hotel clerk turned into Emo ashi and drove us up a very windy road to the top of a mountain where the clinic was. Makes sense... I guess. Inside, the doctor at first disavowed any responsibility for infants and recommended we go to another hospital. But the night nurse came in and took control. And by control I mean she first asked for my address so that she knew where to send the bill and then she attended to Foxy. And then out of nowhere came another doctor who just popped in and wasn't actually on duty. What a guy! He did a quick check and relayed to my wife that it wasn't glandular so it probably wasn't meningitis. Thank you sir, but please don't tell me what it is not, rather what it IS that is making my baby sick.

The nurse told Ali that she needed both parents' consent for the next step, and we assented. Thirty seconds and one anal suppository later and it was all over. Back in the van to the hotel. Oh, and the bill? The doctor laughed and dismissed me in that international way and told me that the billing department was closed, but that it won't be so much. If I don't pay, it's not like they can collect anyway. Back at the hotel, I went to the onsen by myself.
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It's 7:30 in the morning and I'm sitting outside naked in the rotemburo listening to some rather calming music, thinking about how nice things can be in Japan. A rather weak version of Amazing Grace on violin starts and then cuts out abruptly as the waterfall begins for the first time this morning. Ahh. Again, all by myself. Nobody wants to sit in the onsen with the foreigner and his big dango balls. Life is good. It's the little things about Japan that make it what it is. I weighed myself - 98.5 89.5 kilos. Sonofabitch!

Breakfast. Pack. Clear out safe. Checkout. Foxy was feeling better, but the car ride did not look promising. Just inside Ibaraki, she had a meltdown. We stopped and bought some goodies, including a soda pop that has a marble in the bottle. WTF!? Just when you need the drink the most, the little marble comes down and blocks the bottleneck. Damn! Eventually, I finished and Foxy had a new rattle that she promptly dumped as soon as we got back in the car. We went back to the compound and later that night I watched Terminator which is even better in Japanese because you don't have to listen to Arnold Schwarzenegger's voice. It's dubbed.
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We went around to Nakano and hung out with some of Ali's friends. One is married to an ex-pat and he's been living in Japan for almost five years. He's got a nice house, 1.5 kids, a car and he nearly had me sold on the whole moving to Japan thing. Nearly. He said he'd give it all up for a decent tube of toothpaste. Yup, toothpaste. There's a lot of good reasons to stay here and a lot of bad ones, such as: adequate dental care. Of which he says there isn't any. And then there was his respiratory condition. Possibly not Japan-related, but I don't want that to happen to me or my kid. This is one of those situations where I want to eat my cake and have it too. Technically, living in Japan and being back home are mutually exclusive opportunities, unless I want to be sneaky. I think Foxy's best chance is to be back in New Jersey. It comes down to one thing: ticks, really. I hate ticks. I hate all disease-carrying parasites, but ticks seem to be getting a free ride in Japan. Nobody here seems to have heard of Lyme Disease, or cares enough to get rid of the things; which, in fairness as far as I know, are not the type to carry Lyme Disease. They do however carry other bacteria that cause various fevers. I don't have to settle for it in Newark, and I won't settle for it in Tokyo. Besides, why should I deprive my daughter of the awesomeness of being American?

I actually had one land on my chest yesterday as we were leaving the compound. I shit bricks and when Ali's mum asked me what was wrong, Ali had the nerve to say in Japanese, "It's not a tick" after I specifically said that it was. I flicked it outside, but that did nothing to address the larger problem. Makes me feel sad for the gardener. Came back from Nakano and ate sashimi and onion rings, and watched Mao Asada on the telly.

One of my least favourite things about Japanese television is the overabundance of one-trick ponies. For example, there's a guy whose only schtick is to contort his face every time he says a certain syllable. He's one of the innumerable celebrities in Japan who make you ask yourself how much pole they had to smoke to get that gig. I've got more talent than that guy. In fact, I've started writing material for a manzai act that Ali wants to do together. More on why that probably will never see the light of day below. Forget me, there are several people I saw last year who have disappeared from the spotlight because their talents, presumably aren't as good as this guy's. But that's the killer. They are better, way better.
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Ali was feeling feverish, possibly from a tick bite (Do I fixate or what?) so we bailed on some more of her friends. It's okay, the only one she wanted to see was also feeling sick. We'd catch her the next day anyway.

I settled in for a nice, easy day at the computer and quickly tired of it. My father-in-law took me to one of his favourite cheap restaurants called Gusto. It was jammed full of school kids who should have been in class in my opinion. But they weren't and I think I know why my father-in-law likes this restaurant, and it's not the food. Gusto Coke - not the same as American Coke.

We came back, expecting to visit more relatives, but Ali had other plans. In her best I'm-not-telling-you-not-to-come-I'm-just-telling-you-that-you'll-be-bored voice, she talked me out of visiting more relatives, in particular the hot cousin.
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We went to Kaminarimon to see Ali's friend who we missed the day before. We did some souvenir shopping for the folks back home, went and saw some quirky museum in Kappabasho, and then Ali's friend decided to show me a strip club. Sixty bucks just to get in, and there's no alcohol so that explains the cover. We didn't go in - no way I'm gonna pay sixty bucks to see some tired old titties. Got some photos of whale meat in a can for Randy because he finds that stuff funny. Couldn't buy any though, the shop was closed. Actually taking whale meat back home for Randy would have been hilarious.

We went for lunch at Tempura Sansada, reputedly the best tempura restaurant in the neighbourhood. So-so I guess. Then we went for coffee in a little place that I think originally was constructed as simply a landing for the staircase between the floors above and below this cafe. But hey, what do I know? Ali got her fortune done at Kaminarimon, which I knew was a bad idea, but you can't really stop her from doing anything. So for the rest of the afternoon I had to hear about how her fortune says that she's with the wrong guy and blah, blah, blah. On the way back to the compound I explained to her why I probably won't be moving to Japan any time soon (or more likely ever), and put it in such a way that she quit her yammering.
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And there it is. My latest trip to Japan. Off to catch a plane.