Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Cody's LiveJournal:

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Monday, October 6th, 2008
9:50 pm	Writer's Block: Eat Your Vegetables The fall harvest is showing up in markets now, including many of the green vegetables children find so disgusting and yet are forced to eat. What is the most disgusting thing you’ve eaten, either by choice or against your will? Submitted By bloodcurdling View 500 Answers i spent the better part of three years living in japan.... a land that we've come to associate with such fine n' delicate cuisines as sensual sushi, miso soup, and warmed sake poured from an intricately patterned raku pot... yeah, well, lemme level with you.  while i love my former foreign abode, traditional delicacies not found outside the country pretty much include ANYTHING scraped off the bottom of the ocean. particularly icky things that have been in my mouth are as follows: fish head soup fish eyeballs deadly blowfish every kind of marine ovary crab brain pate various shellfish (alive and wiggly, slowly flame-grilled to death on the table before me) shark fin sea cucumber (think giant slugs) RAW lobster (oh so squishy) RAW horse (not from the sea, but disturbing) RAW chicken (let's not talk about it) chicken knuckles (crunchy!) whale (yes, endangered species) and (shutter) fish semen sushi (i swallowed, wink wink) but, if this post is about vegetables only, then i'm guessing the worst would be "natto", a common breakfast food.  consisting of fermented soybeans in a slimy, sticky white goo, it smells not unlike 3-week old gym socks.  often times, 'tis mixed with raw egg and onions, and eaten over rice... for breakfast. i'll take spinach n' brussel sprouts over that any day, thank you very much. *cody* (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 24th, 2008
1:23 pm	Wanting All Things Naughty (Not Looking for Nice) I posted this from here to eternity... if you, too, can help, please do!  luff!! *************************************************************************************************************** ‘Sup all y’all fellow philes!  The name’s Cody (long-time lurker, 2nd or 3rd time poster) and I’m a-needin’ some serious help.  Currently, I got in the works a conventional style academic project on an unconventional subject: how modern vulgarities/impolite expressions are written in older, traditional Asian symbols.      (If that doesn’t make sense, the English equivalent might be doing research on the f-word, its various grammatical forms, usages, foreign cognates, and contending theories related to its historical origin…. See wikipedia for a fascinating distraction!)   Anyway, in a perfect world, I’d like to build a list of mainly CHINESE and JAPANESE -slang -profanity -curses, epithets -racial/sexist slurs -Subculture or minority group expressions -criminal and drug lingo -descriptions of socially taboo behavior -inappropriate synonyms for body parts, bodily functions, sexual acts etc…   ***But MORE importantly, I need to know the Mandarin/Cantonese characters or Japanese kanji (and maybe, to a lesser extent, the hiragana and katakana).    Any help would be appreciated: whether that be recommendations for websites, dictionaries, conversation books (i.e. the “Making Out In--” series), other blogs/online journals… or even just a lil’ comment here or in my personal journal… like something you once heard slung in a bar brawl, or whispered into your ear by a dirty-talkin’ one-night stand.   Once again, this IS for a serious project, and I thank you for any advice.  Cheerios, ladies n’ gents, and sorry for gratuitous cross-posting.   cody (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, June 14th, 2008
10:38 pm	I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Silk Screen Behold the fruits of a five week course in silk screening -- my first forays into DIY emo-esque hipster-chic mixed media guerilla arts!  DECK! "Pop Propaganda" by C. Cranch, 2008 (original photography: Asakusa Pagoda) (photo-emulsion print with stencil print background) "Tokyo Attack!" by C. Cranch, 2008 (original photo: Yurikamome Line, leaving Odaiba Island) (photo-emulsion print, with stencil print background) "Raaawr, Rions" by C. Cranch, 2008 (original photography: China Town, Yokohama City) (photo-emulsion print with rainbow roll gradation background) "Mischievous Oni" Newspaper Proof by C. Cranch, 2008 (original drawing: pencil, ink) (photo-emulsion print) "Mischievous Oni" Final by C. Cranch, 2008 (original drawing: pencil, ink) (photo-emulsion print, with one-time monoprint color) (10 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, January 1st, 2008
10:31 am	A Happy NYE from the big BD Well, hello.... and welcome… to my New Year’s Greeting Card.  It wasn’t easy being a barely legal me in 2007.  Sure, my pool boys think I’m 22, but I’ve dropped balls at least twice that amount.  And in my time, I’ve learned some helpful “tricks” of the trade: like how to spot-clean joy juice from an aqua-netted weave, or deep-throat kielbasas.  But I’ve also learned a lot about life -- Thanks, fortune cookies!  So here are a few tips to make this the best year [whisper] EVER…. We all have inner beauty, but unless you’re a Chinese contortionist with a big mirror, YOU'LL never see it.  That’s why looking  thin and being fashionable are essential.  Do you like this face?  I never leave my boudoir without a few accoutrements.... 1. blush 2. botox 3. hair spray and caulking glue 4. Maybelline’s signature “Canine Erection Red” lipstick 5. and a good sharpie to really bring out the eyes.  I also recommend a balanced diet of tic tacs and cigarettes....  or tape worms, for ladies on the go. The second key to happiness is money.  For example, I always pay top bucks for a fuzzy white beaver. And this was hardly the exception.  But, wait a mo'!  Low on cash, you say? No problemo!  Just remember: "the future, TODAY!"  All you need is a webcam and a working bowel.  What was that?  Money CAN’T buy happiness?!  Well, anyone who thinks so has never done 6 inch lines of booger sugar off an 8 inch hunk name Julio, the best hired hustler in a harness and pasties…. God, I love Reno! Oh, and lastly.  Fact: never underestimate the power of a good mental attitude.  I always think “positive”... unless of course,  I’m under the gun for my Hep test.  And while all those un-famous ex's may hate your wealth and emaciated body, just look into my lazy eye of doom and repeat after me:  1. “Junky whore” hurts, but it’s also French for “H-O-T exclamation point”.  And 2.  Brenda Dickson’s got yo sexy back, bi-atch. Kudos us.  Happy New Year. --BD (ghost written by drawmaboy, but inspired by the comedy of devengreen.com) (Comment on this)
Friday, August 31st, 2007
2:43 pm	Pussy Poll Entering a queer art show that requires TWO submissions.  I'm revisiting the "Gay Ukiyo-e" theme... homo-eroticism and traditional Japanese mythology.  Already know that I want to put in a similar image to this ( one ) However, I didn't have an appropriate second picture... something that mirrored the first, made a pair that could stand together, out of context and not look like two drawings randomly picked out from a larger series.  So, I played around.... but not sure which one is better..... (horizontal orientation juxtaposes nicely with the vertical males.... how Freudian!) VS. (more clearly has a direct relation, in terms of layout and positioning) Oh, and by the way, these lovely ladies are "hannya," or witch-demons. And yeah, if you HATE both of them.... maybe I don't need to know that.  Arigatou! (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, August 18th, 2007
12:16 pm	ReWorked n' ReVisioned No need to comment, 'cause these are already-posted pics.... just redone 'cause there was something *off* and I always back-up my work in multiple locations, in case of  a rectal fire (those who went  to DePauw circa 2001-02 will catch that one).  Later, gators! Skull Beer Logo (copyright 2007) by  Cody Cranch Gothic Stout Beer Logo (copyright 2007) by Cody Cranch (Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 14th, 2007
1:06 pm	Gettin' Kicks thru More Pics Avast, me pretty, they don't call me Long John, nor my Roger jolly for nuthin'!  Wanna shiver me timber?   Blow me down?!  Climb my mast while I  visit yer crow's nest?!?" "Pirate Grrl" by Cody Cranch for  Pirate's Booty Beer  Logo (copyright 2007) (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 27th, 2007
1:52 pm	Chicago-a-go-go!!! Last time we spoke, I was Chi-town bound....  and now, so happy to say, made those big changes and am breezin' through life in the Big Blow!!  Ya know, just settin' up house n' home, and searching for  enough gigs to get me through the day.  But before I go further into the harrowing (and at times, delightfully scandalous) details of my month on the move, here's a sampling from the latest project..... illustrations for a children's book all about those chivalrous chaps from times past.... knights!  (I always loved me a "Middle Aged" man, dressed to kill, and ready to get on bended knees before this queen's sharp, shiny  sword!) "Front cover" by Cody Cranch 1 of 12 illustrations for book detailing medieval weaponry, combat styles, and tournament games P.S. Any and ALL visitors welcomed to visit my bad-ass abode.  Drop me a line, or gimme a call.... We'll do brunch / lunch / coffee / cocktails.... or just have a good ol' wine n' whine session on the back porch..... whatever suits your fancy!  da digits: se7en se7en thre3 4our 6ix n9ne one 4our fiv5 se7en (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, May 25th, 2007
7:55 pm	Creative Quickie Hey all y'all! Lemme take a minute to tell ya what's what n' give a hawt shout-out to this land of the free, home of the brave.... I bit the bullet, made the move, and am back home!  I sure as hell have SO much to say 'bout it, but so little patience.... instead, I leave you with this in-the-meantime image.... was fun drawing some good ol' fantasy for once... something just for moi, only for me.  Plus, I think it'll make do as a nice welcome mat for my new webpage (in the making).  Ya nervous?!      by Cody Cranch (11 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, April 19th, 2007
4:36 pm	The Fabulous Adventures of Miss Sharon Needles: Illustrious Junkie Ho! In regards to my recent forays into freelance art, I made the promise to myself that I wouldn't post any pics until something solid was picked up by at least one person with even a modicum of power...well, not sure if this counts, but I'm gettin' published....in England, of all places.... Anywho, here's the deets. An old fling of mine who's currently a member of the London Gay Men's Choir....I hear chortles already.... needed illustrations for their program. Now get this.... as I understand the situation (it's all a bit iffy), this year's choir performance is a musical review that tells a "story" (ala Mamma Mia, Movin' Out, etc.). It's a typical taradiddle, known to many of us across the world and through time: gay boi, living at home, is unhappy with life and love (or rather, lack-thereof). Gay boi moves to the bright lights of the big city, where he starts to "experiment". Foreshadow, anyone?! It's all innocent fun and games, until a puff here, and a bump there, slowly send him hurtling down a dark and dangerous spiral of bareback orgies and drug abuse.... climaxing with (even I couldn't make this up) his involvement with a gang war?!? in which he shoots a man, and is sent to court. Exactly what songs and in what combinations have been arranged to tell this story, I have no idea (guessing NOT Judy Garland, though the parallels are uncanny). But for my contribution, I was to conceive of visual representations of said plot arc. Oh, sure, I'm a pulled-string, a pulled-favor, since my whopping salary comes out to around...oh, zero pounds. But it was good to get some creative juices flowing. And apparently, the choir tours all of the UK, with an estimated audience of 10,000. Not too shabby, me thinks, guv'nuh! (click to enlarge) Gay boi with the most angsty, teen-agery poem I could think of on the spot.... possibly not-work-safe parts #2-4 ( Read more... ) (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 10th, 2007
1:24 am	So long, and thanks for all the fish! Without doubt, this’ll be my most important post of the last three years…. for ‘tis time to turn the page to the next chapter, and say sayonara to sushi chefs and salary men, to English schools and the rising sun. My decision (return home, finally and for good) has been a long time on the brain, but short time in the making…. Sudden and surprising for some, but most of all, for me. I’ve gone through four distinct phases leading up to the here and now: resolution, creation, realization, and no-hesitation Or in other words: Cody gets off his duff, makes some stuff, sees things getting really tough (and into a brown paper bag he huffs and puffs) before finally saying, “Enough is ENOUGH!” Let’s delve. At the risk of sounding either like a total artsy snob or a flake with naïve dreams, I made the New Years resolution to be a more creatively productive person… I’ve always done odd drawing jobs for friends and coworkers… acting in essence as a charity free-lancer. But why not take it up a notch?! Put together portfolios, resumes, get my shit “out there” instead of hording it all on hard drives and in rarely opened sketchbooks. Starting February, I took a risk, cut back my teaching hours to part-time status, and got busy. In essence, I became….. I did work for the school Created a 15-part satirical cartoon series for English magazines Wrote and illustrated humorous essays (see last post) Continued the erotica Wrote a children's story ...Sally's quite different, Loves when leaves fall down, Dry up, turn crispy Moldy yellow, and brown Or waking up early To the world with white coating. Spotting clouds stuffed with snow Till they’re almost exploding... I auditioned for acting agencies, went to workshops, lectures, networked etc. etc. To be honest, there was lots of suckiness, rejection and little acceptance, unanswered emails and a fair amount of “Great work, but….” In the end, I only held out for a few months. Not nearly enough time. And rejection is a big part of an artist/actor’s life. I know this and am prepared to receive it. But I had an epiphany. I realized that “it” just wasn’t gonna “happen” here in Japan, and that maybe I didn’t want it to, either. Location and stimulation are vital for artists. Being amongst fellow peers and like-minded people is crucial for sustaining and protecting one’s passion. And Tokyo, though awesome in many respects, does not fulfill me, nurture me, nor offer even a fraction of the opportunities a place like America does. Also, to make matters worse, there were some financial issues as well…. Sticky circumstances that involve adult words like “economy” and “money” and “budgetary re-evaluation.” Combine that with the fact that my parents are getting older (dad’s approaching 70) and I desperately want to be a part of my nephew’s new life…. I’m lonely. I’m far away. Luck is in short supply, and life in general is slowly and steadily spiraling beyond my control…. I’m not living hand-to-mouth… I’m not in free-fall, but I am on the edge of the cliff looking down at a rocky bottom, about to be pushed over…. I just know it’s time. Get out while the memories are good and there’s still some yen in my back pocket. But I can’t help but question…. Am I a failure? A quitter? Will I regret my choices till the day I die, or can I pick up the pieces and start over? Will I forever look back, or can I face forward with chin up, and take the next step….a first step in a long, thorny road filled with pit-falls…. toward a final destination that lies far off, hazy in the distance, half-hidden by a treacherous mountain I must cross. See you May 10th. (21 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, March 31st, 2007
6:00 pm	Naughty and Nature The following is a super old post -- edited, shortened, and all but completely rewritten -- and submitted to an anthology of short stories about Japan Although occasional cold snaps still hit so quick you’d get whiplash, and that cantankerous curmudgeon, Ol’ Man Winter, continues to stubbornly hack up artic spats, time is ticking forward. The alarm clock’s set for Spring’s Awakening, and by the looks of it, there’s no hitting the snooze button. She’ll be getting up bright and early this year. For months now, the tree-lined streets have stood bare. Spindly branches creak and croon, pathetically knobbed with sleeping buds. But soon enough, the sakura cherry trees will explode to life. Blossoms burst, setting everything ablaze with fluffy plumes of pink and white. And oh, how we’ve waited with bated breath for this brief, brilliant harbinger of Spring. But seemingly overnight, the trees will weep their delicate blooms and blanket every surface with still-pristine petals. One can see why the flower was once a symbol of the fierce samurai warriors of centuries past. No, they weren’t pink-loving wussies. Rather, the blossom, like their lives, gloriously shines and then falls honorably in the moment of its greatest beauty. Thankfully, perhaps, these little flowers no longer incite no-holds-barred self-destruction and seppuku. Yet they still excite the Japanese like kids in a candy store. A scene of sakura trunks topped with plump clumps like popcorn and colored sugar-cotton, whet their appetite for warm days ahead. Nevertheless, since snack time is short, the Japanese horde en masse to gorge it down, get their fill. To an uniformed observer, the flower-viewing hanami party, along with sushi, sake, silk screen paintings, and Bob Sapp, might represent one of the quintessential images of Japan. Traditional, yes, but just as visible, alive and well, in these modern times as straight-laced businessmen quietly enjoy a smoke break in the park. Nuclear 3-person families lounge on plastic gingham. And centenarians stroll with keitais in hand, clicking pictures as if they’d die tomorrow. It’s like Buddhist serenity, Confucian practicality, and home-grown aesthetic sensibility all loafing under one canopy. But, look closely. Like the wicker picnic baskets filled to the brim with beer, something lurks beneath the surface – something just waiting to gush out. For every 10 sleepy-time tea ceremonies, for every 20 polite-speech-spouting office ladies, and for every 30 emasculating bows of deference, there is a devilish desire for debauchery seething in the subconscious of even the most decent, rice-fed folk. For example, let us take the “Honen Matsuri”. Considering the innocent name, this festival’s a rather serious soiree steeped in ancient Shinto beliefs. The theme: penis, sex, penis, and did I mention penis? Apparently, male organs (in particular, those of the throbbing, veined variety) are not just for making whoopee and wee-wee, but are potent charms for assuring fertility and a year of prosperity. On the appointed day in mid-March, people of all ages and backgrounds descend upon a tiny town outside Nagoya, and a shrine dedicated solely to the man’s member. Artisans and food vendors, too, join in for the Johnson. Every imaginable ware is for sale, but of course all fitting with the afternoon’s macho motif. Toy todgers. Pecker-shaped pottery. Little pizzle pops and pricks on sticks. Even Buddha’s been remade to resemble a boy’s bits – quite surprising since usually the three major Western religions are the ones rightly accused of phallo-centrism. (Though one doubts even the good prophets of The Book were going this far when describing Moses’ “mighty STAFF,” the “PILLARS of Muhammad,” or how Jesus was “HUNG on the cross” and would “RISE again”.) The highlight of the festival, however, is watching holy men dressed as gods and devils stroll down packed avenues. Priests, too, bless the crowd, though not with the usual laurels and wands, but rather with 14-inch unmentionables. After several hours of frenzied activity, the entire romp climaxes – not too soon, of course – with the unveiling of something in epic proportions: a thousand pound private part carved from an entire tree log. Strangely, with its slightly pink hot dog hue, this laborious lingam looks more like a shockingly misplaced paper-Mache wiener one sees atop Oscar-Meyer promo trucks. In addition, onlookers are encouraged to flock to the cock and get hand-on. This leads to shockingly more jerk-jobs than in any Las Vegas house of vice. Farmers fondle for a fruitful harvest. Girls grope for good luck. Young bucks vigorously rub the blessed rod and then rub their own rods for blessing. Why? For what reason? Well, to ensure he won’t be shooting blanks next time the old ball-and-chain wants to bake another bun in the oven. Prosperity can be measured in more than one kind of dough, you know. So, in conclusion, as March marches on, the blooming sakura promises new beginnings, just as the matsuri gives hope for a better future. And whether we groggily awaken to the sweet scent of flowers or a morning wood, the long night of winter is over... Cause enough for a celebration. (11 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, February 24th, 2007
1:28 pm	One Gay Man, A Big Ol' Wedding Plan, and Beautiful San Fran Blasphemous, I know, but it took nearly 25 years to make my pilgrimage to the homo mecca.... ironically, the reason for going: straight people. Pictures from my sister's wedding... Amy and Marc.... don't they just look so happy?! [but when is this girl gonna get her rock?!] ( probably only the girls in my group may actually look ) ( Hot stud burning the toast! ) (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, February 15th, 2007
11:55 pm	Gettin' Tough on Puff I shouldn't be surprised my previous "purdy picture post" got a next-to-nil response. While I snapped them at truly spiritual moments of awe and wonder....I realized they must bring to many-a-minds those inane dentist office/cubicle-adorning inspirational posters.... an art form neither I nor many of those I gladly call "friends" would go ga-ga for....So here's something more akin to our black senses of taste.... straight out of [to be said with hands firmly on hips and that cock-headed sitcom smile] The "Oh! Tokyo!!" files.... one of a dozen oddly poetic, guilty-tripping, anti-smoking campaign ads. Which reminds me.... [Claws off day-old nicotine patch, replaces directly over jugular, while simultaneously lighting up unfiltered, black-market Chinese cigarillo in the presence of an asthmatic fetus and ravenously fantasizing about licking inside of community ashtray.] Also, an unknown type of glassware product questionably named. No explanation available, none desired. (10 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, February 11th, 2007
3:48 am	Frustration Narration I got potential posts lined up like coke at a Kate Moss Christmas party! Stories left on the back-burner are more than blackened by now. Half-year-old entries have been locked, loaded.... but while it ain't exactly rocket science, for some reason, I just can't launch. WTF! Writer's block's got me so backed up I'm gonna need a few good flashlights and a bread-crumb trail just to find where I last left off. [Rustles around in the nearest kitchen drawer] Ok, so all I have here is a few dead double-A's, and come to think of it, rice is really more the Asian staple. So, in the meantime, let's relax, wait for Cody to enter his peaceful place, pick up the pieces, put it all into perspective....ooh, how about some pictures, instead?! One or two a week, till he produces something worth reading.... His/your/our moment of zen. The Transcendental Tree of Kamakura, Nov '06 Secret Nikko Niche, Oct '06 "I love the way...your sandy hair...floats in the air....To me it's like a lullaby....I'm just flying by, oh, so high...like a kite, tied to a stake...." Kip, '04 (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, January 27th, 2007
4:07 pm	Wizz Kids Yo ho, y’all! I’ve got a question and am hoping you peeps here have some answers. See, I’m currently holed-up in a "guest"... or rather, "gaijin" (outsider)... house, to those more comfortably familiar with local, xenophobic epithets. Basically, that means I rent my own room, but share bath and kitchen quarters with a constantly changing cadre of quixotic and quirky hoi polloi. Sure it has its perks. Mostly, my fellow housemates are gracious guitar n’ cigar wielding generation X gypsies, drinking wine into the wee hours of the morn, telling tales of backpacking from Biloxi to Bangkok, and that time they thumbed through all of Europe on 1 pair of undies. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I like it – I was once one, too, and may my recently acquired 9-to-5 modus vivendi be damned! So, when the wind blows in some new world-wanderer, I welcome him or her with open arms, offer a nice fruit n’ cracker basket, and give an earful of handy advice... Never know when these fresh-of-the-boat bohemians need directions to the nearest Book-Off! Yet, since my front foyer’s a metaphorical revolving door, it’s damned hard to establish guidelines for what’s good behavior, rules for regulation, respect, and most importantly, whose turn it is take out the trash. Sadly, I hang my head in shame for the times I’ve most definitely exhibited symptoms of slackers’ syndrome: leaving dishes to soak for three weeks straight, letting wayward mail pile up en masse. Still, in the end, I feel that I redeem myself with frenzied bouts of manic cleaning sprees... so what if someone else hasn’t scraped the soap scum strewn across the shower room mirror... C’est la vie! But never fear, for I am here! Mr. Mi Casa Su Casa, to the rescue, with a wet-wipe in one hand, and grim determination in the other. Regrettably, though, one of my most recent roomies leaves me less than enthusiastic about spick-and-spanning, since he’s what I like to call a dripper, a dribbler (and I ain’t talkin’ about coffee brewers or the Boston Globe Trotters). In other terms, there’s a splasher in town... Someone who sprays pee left, right, on, and under the communal commode like an uncut male kitty looking for in-heat hornballs. They might have "Dicks" in common, but even Vice President Cheney has better aim. In fact, I’m so incensed, angered, and indignant... I wrote a poem: When I need to number 2, And walk into our lil’ loo, I’m really quite befuddled To see your yellow puddle! But perpetrator, do not fret. It happens to us all, I bet. So please remember, when you tinkle If you miss – by chance, you sprinkle, Be so kind, and very neat. Get the tissue – wipe the seat. I’ve done it, too – I won’t be sore, Unless you fail to wipe the floor. Unfortunately, poetry in this situation (as in life, and in an econ exam) gets me nowhere. What should I do, people!? Here are the options, thus far. A) Confront the culprit directly. Good choice, in theory, but the biggest dilemma lies in the fact that I don’t actually know who does it... Sure, I have my suspicions, but they’re based entirely upon Sherlockian powers of deduction. Dates, time, surreptitious observations – not exactly evidence that would hold up in high court. In addition, the one I suspect seems to be a good guy... nice guy, salt-of-the-earth type folk. To wrongly accuse him would mean spending the rest of our stint in awkward avoidance. Oh... Hello. How are you? Yes... I am fine... And you? I am equally fine, as well... ...[cricket cricket]... Yes, Tokyo is nice. But I must go home soon. Me, too. How much longer urine Japa – – doh!!! Or, B) post an open letter to all residents. This is another model solution, but I’m already known ‘round these parts as the "note-writing king". Every time I’m out of town for more than 12 hours, or the local ten-and-yen (re: five-and-dime) has a super savers’ sale, or even just to put up a friendly reminder of my annual "Tsunami Drill n’ Chill" barbeque... I’m the first person chiming the proverbial bell. Plus, anonymity’s out of the question. After all, my Sailor Moon stationary and signature pink glitter pen are household icons. Besides, if I did, what manner of mentioning should I make this out to be? Do I go with the direct approach... Perhaps a blood-stained rag scrawled with the words, "You drip, I snip!" and a stick-figure cartoon of me holding scissors and a severed penis? Oh no, that won’t do!! I’m really more a diplomat, a peacemaker – a slow poisons-kind of killer, anyway. Perchance then, a nice embroidery above the bathroom throne would be in better taste... like little needlepointed cherubs with "God loveth the clean" in a bold puce cross-stitch? Either way, I need to be proactive... Usually I’m the type of person to just rattle and hiss, quietly sit on the problem and wait it out – however, in this case, where I’m sitting’s probably wet. And like the lovely smells wafting from my water closet, it’s not gonna just float away, no matter how many windows one opens. Thank you. Sincerely, A pissed-off potty mouth (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, October 2nd, 2006
11:04 pm	ATTACK OF THE ITALICS! While this is technically not my story, the sheer offense to good folks' decency demands I tell you..... IMMEDIATELY! See, 'round about Tuesday last week, called the BF to say "haro". He answered in a hushed tone, telling me he was at the hospital. "My God, is everything alright?" I gasped. "Yes yes, I'll buzz back in a bit," he said (I translated). Meanwhile, thoughts a-many ran through my head.... his mother's had a heart attach. His niece is down with SBS. Dutch Elm's Disease has reared its ugly head again. I was worried blue, and so passed the time the best I could: a hard round of cardio at the local gym. Finally, we got in touch, and Kenny recounted a long familial saga, beginning with, strangely enough, a long-estranged family member. Uncle Sabu. Uncle Sabu was once a happy man. A loving husband and father. Until, of course, debts caught up with him and he was dealt with the dull blow of a dirty divorce. He became the black-sheep, on the dole, and part-time hobo. Occassionaly, he would call, asking for money, and Kenny's mother would gladly oblige. After all, blood is thicker. Sometime in the recent past, though, ol' Unkie hit 'em up again, and this time for more than some change. Kenny's family pulled through and then heard nothing. Until. Uncle Sabu came into Kenny's store(which, by the by, he co-owns/runs with his mom) to show his thanks. Uncle Sabu, however, was not well. Besides being emaciated, he could barely stand and, as Kenny so cutely observed in English, "smelled like a died person". Ken and his mother rushed this uncle to the local hospital, only to be turned away.... he was just in too ghastly of a state to be treated by respectable health physicians. After three different hospitals, they found one who remembered their Hippocratic oaths (their nurses' oaths) and admitted the man. Turns out, malnutrition aside, the gangrene was less than a month from claiming Uncle Sabu's life. Forget apples-a-day.... double leg-amputation was what this doctor ordered. Now, it's time for an old fashioned poll.... Which part of this story is the MOOOOOOST HORRENDOUS? A. Uncle's putrid wounds were covered in maggots, or B. during inspection, Mr. MD accidentally broke off a toe. (Remember, America, your voice counts) (25 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, September 13th, 2006
11:23 pm	That was a lovely story, my boy. But be a dear, and make Auntie Cody another martini. My oh my, do forgive my manners. In neglecting this journal, I've also managed to forget mentioning a MOST life-changingly important detail..... I'm the loud n' proud uncle of this bouncing ball of baby lovin'! Everyone, please welcome Kai. Oh sure, I forget things. After all, I'm not the spry young 24 year-old of yester-yore. Nope. And with 47 days till I'm officially a quarter centenarian, I do comprehend life's cruelties.... First goes the brain, then the bowels, and before you know it, I'm baking my pants in an oven and giddy for spoon-fed bread pudding and Bunko Day. But in those quick moments where I casually remember Kai, my brightest light, I look forward to the future....and want nothing more but to get off these bed sores and pop a cork.... Here was my first gift to the kid. A poem. This is the story of a furry, stuffed toy And how he became friends with a cute little boy. See, Mocha the Monkey, lived in a far off land. A strange group of islands by the name of Japan. While most monkeys, teeny, twittery and brown Come from a forest, Mocha grew up in town. It can be said, “At least twas no zoo.” Still, Mocha was sad, everyday a bit blue. For he had no family, no nest, nor a home. No monkey best friend to call his own. So he swung all alone watching all the sunsets, From the big, gray buildings and steel minarets. Until by luck, he met a tall man, Who was called Cody, and HARDLY from Japan. "Hey, Mr. Monkey," Cody said with a smile. "Why that frown? Not been hugged in awhile?" "Yup," he replied as tears filled his eyes. "Nobody loves me," he squeaked amid cries. "Yo, ya know what?" Cody patted the poor lad. "I gotta plan – not quite perfect, yet not half-bad." "Back home, there's a babe, only two months n' a day. Come with me, meet him, and just say 'hey'." "But if things go well, and you cuddle up tight, Hug and snuggle and keep him warm at night, "I think you could stay and be his best mate!" "Oh yes!" Mocha yelled – he hardly could wait. So, to Japan, Mocha waved goodbye. Hopped in the plane to sail up high, And flew across oceans and through the blue sky To begin his adventures with a nephew named Kai. (20 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 27th, 2006
11:09 pm	GAG! 'Tis been an era since I last wrote.... mostly 'cause I've been busy with ( this one ).... Two months and counting, people! OUTRAGEOUS!! He's an artist, former model and French chef -- the three sexiest professions ever -- and 35. So we do things like take long walks on the beach and make key-chains for each other.... Are you judging? Oh yes, his name's Kenichi, which is, you know, Asian, so just say "Kenny G." and we'll know whatcha mean. Furthermore, I'd like to point out ( today's special )is "Giant Boo Weiners".... Additionally, ( Slot Machines )should be for ALL colors of the rainbow.... And that in these hot summer days, ( only the best )comes "From France". (29 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, May 28th, 2006
5:17 pm	Gettin' Nanjingy With It Though my trip to China was book-ended by a double visit to Shanghai, the overall plan for in between was about as well-laid as a 16 year old Spelling Quiz-keteer at Star Trek camp. Sure, Miss Kristen was kind enough to open up her home to me and my homo-nanigans. But I still wasn’t about to schlep around for a week mooching off her frozen mushu pork when a wide world waited. Truth be told, I've never been the one-pair-o-undies-per-week hostel-hopping type (roughin' it for me is a night at the HoJo). But I decided to dust out the backpack and set my sights for Beijing, solo-bound! But let’s not bolt ahead.... Traipsing up to Tiananmen for an ol' fashioned Forbidden City frolick was still days away. In the meantime, I'd come with Kristen to Nanjing and there was much to see, much to conquer.... Oops, sorry. Bad choice of words. Nanjing, the forth largest population center in China, is like most of the eastern cities here: on the go, up and out, paving over the past in a mad dash for better Starbucks parking. Its history is 10 times older than my own alma mater, yet much of what I knew at the time was gleaned from History Channel docs about those happy-go-lucky days of Japanese occupation, widespread rape and mass beheadings. I was nervous, to be honest. Being an America is bad enough these days. But an American, fresh off the boat from Tokyo to boot, does not get you good street cred in the back alleys of this part of town. I was especially apprehensive when I joined Kristen for some team-teaching at the university where she works. Apparently, it was show-n-tell day in class and I was the gift-store trinket being passed around for a good look. What will they think? What will they ask? Would they give the "favorite foods" and girlfriend inquiries a good ten minutes before grilling me over an open flame? Were they ready to pounce at the first whiff of wasabi on someone's breath? There was no way to tell and so I did what I guessed best: strolled into the room all smiles and charm, with a few breath mints in my pocket and a smoke bomb or two in case things got hairy. Turns out, these kids rocked! Smart, funny and naïve enough with the language to make even a seen-it-all sensei say, "Aw, super cute!" For instance, in China, students can pick their own English aliases. And with names like Artemis, Kaka, and Cabbage, morning role call is WAY much more interesting! All class, we goofed off, Q-and-A'd and just plain kicked it together.... when suddenly, I didn’t feel quite up to snuff anymore. There was, at first, a jumbly in the tumbly, and then an itty bitty ache.... an ouch.... "down there".... you know.... in my gennies! I thought to myself: "Oh NO NO NO! Please don't be a rebound, a reoccurrence of that problem I had awhile back. Not here! Not now!! Because I sure as hell slammed that chlam with a thorough regimen of Japanese germ killers and I should be right as rain!" But by afternoon, I was nearly doubled over by a stabbing pain in the stomach. Poor Kristen (bless her heart) rushed me to the local drug store for some OTC relief. The pharmacist, a wizened old lady who was 80 if she was a day, looked me up and down, asked where it hurt, and rattled off her diagnosis in a Mandarin diatribe quite abrasive to my dainty state of mind. "Um," Kristen chuckled. "She wants to know when you last took a poop." I calculated momentarily, feeling my face flush red. "Hey, if you need to think about it, then it's been too long!" Kristen joshed. "Look, Missy," I hissed. "I may be willy-nilly when it comes many topics, but bowel movements are strictly between me and the bowl!" Unfortunately, when everything from the belly button down's being speared and skewered, it's not the time for modest, and I reluctantly confessed my intimate intestinal details. The old lady laughed at my plight (not an uncommon occurrence in Asia when private parts are concerned) and she handed me ( this ) Now, if that’s not a sign from God, then nothing short of a burning bush would convince me I was simply constipated. I mean, my NAME was written all over the frickin' thing! LITERALLY!! Oh, sure, I hadn't the foggiest idea what was in these diuretic pills – powdered tiger's tongue probably – but I didn't care as long as it got IN me, and the brick-hard bulk got OUT! Sadly, alas, an hour later the scathing pain had yet to depart with its most likely cause, and it didn't take a genius to figure out something else was seriously wrong.... Kinda gives a whole new spin to the saying, "No shit, Sherlock," eh? And so, after much lolling about and general wailing, Kristen'd had enough (what a doll!) and whisked me away to the nearest ER – not my idea of a hot tourist spot in any place, but especially not in a country just a few decades out of the third world. I had visions of iron lungs, waiting-room amputations, and stadium-sized bird flu-itoriums. In hindsight, though, the hospital wasn't all that bad, albeit a bit convoluted. I’m still fuzzy on the details – being metaphorically impaled by a stake tends to take your mind off other things. But the procedure, as clearly as I recall, involved: several crash-courses in medicinal translation, dealing with more than a few fourth-shift receptionists bitchier than junkyard bitches, and lots of time spent poked and prodded by people in lab coats. Does it hurt here? No. Does it hurt here? No. Does it hur— OH FUCKING FUCK YES!! At one point I was on my back, covered in lube while a strange man had an intimate look at my insides.... not so different from a typical Saturday night. But in this case, the guy sure liked his toys: a million dollar medical sonogram with monitor (kinky!). Lots of heavy petting (but without any affectionate foreplay) later, he tossed me a tissue in disdain and announced the diagnosis: inflammation of the urinary tract due to long-term chemical crystallization. Oh GREAT! Ever since I was eight, I'd fantasized about getting a big rock one day, but kidney stones were NOT what I had in mind! The only good news was that they were small, and surgery wasn't necessary. A few injections in the love handle, a four-hour IV drip-a-thon and two days bed-rest were enough to break up my build-up. But regrettably, even though the whole affair passed (or rather, did NOT pass) without further incident, I had to cancel my trip to Beijing. Instead of turning into super go-go tourist, I spent the rest of the week chilling about Nanjing and catching up on Hollywood (not all pirates steal booty and babes, you know!). And yeah, I was a little disappointed, to be sure, but looking back, thankful it had happened at a time when helpful friends were around, and in a country where a whole day at the hospital only costs twenty bucks. Eventually, at week's end, Kristen and I returned to Shanghai for our goopy good-byes. But, the final night before my flight out, I spent alone, walking the luxurious streets of the Bund in search of last-minute shopping and feeling quite sad to leave so soon. Shanghai, for sure, may be louder and crazier than what I've grown accustomed to in Tokyo. But, I could see myself returning to China's crown gem, loving once more this city's life, and looking again upon the skyline's soaring centerpiece: that bulbous Pearl Tower, so aptly named after the jewel born from an oyster's years of hard labor.... so aptly a symbol of modern China, agonizingly coating its hard and gritty past with layer upon layer of lustrous mineral.... And as I stood on the banks of the Huangpo River, gazing at the sight, I patted my still-sore side, and thought, "I SO feel your pain!" (6 Comments |Comment on this)