Today someone posted some hamster supplies on Mie Prefecture Garage, a Facebook group for stuff people want to sell or get rid of before them leave country. People sell all kinds of things: classic novels, furniture, beds, cooking tools, clothes and slightly used and Sigried-and-Roy-approved animals. This young lady is selling a hamster wheel, ball, cage, pooper scooper, some food, a water bottle, and a few toys. I had only one insensitive and dark question:
What happened to Pikachu?
I went to dinner last night with a great friend. We tried to get in for Japanese hot pot(Shabu Shabu), but the wait verged on the absurd. The man apologetically told us the wait for three hours at least. Instead, we went down the street and around the corner for all you can eat and drink sushi*. It was amazing, but the hostess/waitress was a lady of the older persuasion who had a face, attitude and response to two uppity white folk which gave me a singular and somewhat intoxicated thought:
I bet her own children don’t talk to.
A few mornings ago I woke up in the morning and took stock of my life. I thought about where I am, where I’m going and what I’m doing with my life. I thought about Facebook and how it’s an endless parade of other peoples successes, I considered the Whatsapp chat which one half of my social circle use to see if people have dinner plans, share pictures of tiny humans, talk about watches and money, and generally make me feel like my life is a worthless pile of nothing. A lesser man might feel down and depressed because of this, but my only response was WWABD:
What Would Anthony Bourdain Do?
Since coming to Japan I’ve lost at least 25 pounds. That’s an eighth of my current body weight. That number worries me, if I lost an eighth of something else of me I would be calling for an ambulance. People ask how I did it, and it puzzles me. Is this the normal question? When someone loses weight are you supposed to ask how they did it? Cuz I have no idea how I did it. I don’t track my food intake, I don’t measure the ins and outs of my bodily fluids, I don’t really pay attention to what I eat and drink anymore than the birds that gather outside my window to harass me each morning. So in my typically snarky attitude, I say:
Drugs. All the drugs. Especially cocaine.
I wash my beard. I assume that like the hair which covers the rest of me that if I don’t it feels like steel wool. But then I think “Wait a sec! I don’t wash my hair everyday** and it comes out fine, my normal bodily oils take care of that problem, shouldn’t this work with my beard as well? This hair is on the same body part as the vast majority of the rest of my hair, proximity matters doesn’t it?” Apparently not. My friends, take note:
Unwashed beards and mustaches can be about as pleasant as straw underpants.
*I didn’t drink the sushi.
**Anyone who has ever had dry curly hair understands why.