It has been an interesting few days so far in Chicago. I had lunch with my first ever official girlfriend (from when I was 13), her mother and another good friend with whom I went to high school. My first girlfriend's mom hated me at the time. Perhaps she just hated me dating her daughter. I was a freaky kid from a dysfunctional home so I can't really blame her but it was fun putting her on the spot about it. She lied and said she didn't hate me which is always nice.
Here are the two of them (her mom left early).
I stumbled across a farmer's market at the Federal Plaza and bought some amazing fruit. The cherries were some of the largest I had ever seen. Delicious.
I also test road a custom chopper that can best be described as wicked.
Unfortunately, the one I wanted, with an American flag paint scheme, was in Atlanta so I test rode the same bike but in red. The red was also a hard tail and the blue a soft tail so the ride on the blue one should have been much more plush.
If I knew I would be living in Chicago I would have pulled the trigger and be cruising the streets right now instead of waiting for the stupid internet repair tech to come and restore connectivity. Obviously, my tenant must not have been using the internet service because the ethernet port on the wall is not giving any connectivity.
Since I didn't buy the motorcycle I compromised and bought new motorcycle cuff links instead. Yes, something about this seems strangely discordant. I'm even feeling a little out of sorts.
I have also spent way too much time in the office considering I'm on vacation. I am going off the grid completely next week and look forward to it. I still need to enact my life simplification plan. It starts today with a shaved head.
When I finally finished my errands for the day it was almost 5PM so I
quickly through on my running shorts, grabbed my swim goggles and ran
the 2 miles to the lakefront.
The sun had not set but was already low enough in the sky that the
skyscrapers along Lake Shore Drive were casting long shadows on the
water so I didn't waste any time getting in the water.
The lake was cool and undulating with very little chop so I was pretty
excited to be out in open water. I felt pretty good after just over a
mile, still not too cold, so decided to double up.
It was great swim but after 2.4 miles my teeth were chattering and my
fingertips were numb. Even after the 2 mile run home I was still not
warm. Still, I think it's worth it because I am pretty tired of flip
turns every 20 meters. It really is a great lake.
It was a warm but lovely night in Tokyo. The moon, almost full, was bright and high in the sky. It was a nice focal point for me while on the terrace taking a conference call during dinner at Eat More Greens (my favorite vegetarian restaurant).
On the way back from dinner at I snapped my reflection in the dark lobby of my apartment building. I think the small portions and the low fat meals are taking their toll. At least it will be much less baggage to carry around come Ironman Wisconsin this September. I may be under-trained but I'll be lighter. Yes, that is my awesome retro Flash t-shirt.
I found a new theme song while listening to my iPod at the hotel gym. I can't believe I never thought of it before. It made me chuckle (in a funny/sad sort of way) when I heard it, especially the line about "It's only mine because it holds my suitcase".
I've been living out of suitcases for the last 18 months. On the one hand, you sometimes find yourself wanting something you have left behind but on the other hand, you find yourself being able to live without just about everything. My next long flight on Thursday, I am definitely writing down my "Life Simplification Plan". There is definitely something to be said for being able to put all your necessary possessions in a travel-sized container.
I'd invite you back to my place
It's only mine because it holds my suitcase
It looks home to me alright
But it's a hundred miles from yesterday night
Must I be the man in a suitcase
Is it me, the man with the stranger's face
Must I be the man in a suitcase
Is it me, the man with the stranger's face
Another key for my collection
For security I race for my connection
Bird in a flying cage you'll never get to know me well
The world's my oyster a hotel room's a prison cell
Must I be the man in a suitcase
Is it me, the man with the stranger's face
Must I be the man in a suitcase
Is it me, the man with the stranger's face
I'd invite you back to my place
It's only mine because it hold my suitcase
It looks like home to me alright
But it's a hundred miles from yesterday night
As you walk along Roppongi Dori the fragrance of gardenias is overwhelming. Since this is a busy thoroughfare with constant traffic, I find this quite amazing. I haven't traveled outside Tokyo enough to know if the abundance of planted flowers is a by product of the metropolitan wealth or simply just part of the Japanese culture. I do find myself lacking in botanical knowledge. I need to find a decent picture book of plants and flowers so I can begin to identify all the amazing ones I see. I have a few photos below - if anyone can identify the ones which I simply label as 'flower' it would be greatly appreciated. I wish I had some photos of the beautiful hydrangeas around the imperial palace; some are purple, some are white and some are a pinkish hue.
Tonight outside the Tsutaya hosted Starbucks, I saw a white gaijin couple wearing summer kimono's called yukatas. If pressed I would wager heavily they were American and probably working for some consulting or accounting firm in Tokyo. The guy even had the wood sandals on for cripes sake.
He looked especially ridiculous as he tried to fake-run into the Starbucks while calling back to confirm to his wife "a non-fat latte right?". What really did it for me was the woman shouted back her reply in Japanese, then took a good look around to see who had noticed, hoping to prove their authenticity. She then sat fanning herself as she waited for her 'last American samurai' husband to return with her non-fat latte. Sweet freakin' lord.
It's admirable to know and appreciate a culture different from your own, but it's another thing entirely to be a poser, wanna-be, pretentious schmendrik. Can a woman be a schmendrik? They both just needed a smack upside the head. Often a nice smack upside the head will cut through a lot of the nonsense.
Though I do possess the limberness of a kung fu master, it is not of this flexibility that I speak. I am referring to the agility with which I reconsider long held beliefs and adjust them to suit new information and new experiences. Though this may make me another flip-flop liberal in the eyes of Karl Rove, I have changed my mind on the purpose of small dogs.
At one time, I earnestly believed small dogs should exclusively exist within the domain of socialite heiresses and blatantly homosexual men.
(Those American metropolitan eunuchs walking their "wife's dog" are a topic for another post.)
At one point, I even considered such diminutive hounds to be suitable lunch as they were just big enough to make a single serving meal. However, my appetite has shrunk and my impression of the miniature pooches has changed. I now consider the playful little pups to be perfectly acceptable companions for even the most hirsute of he-men who reside in island nations of limited space. Perhaps it is due to advancing age and seeing such playful energy and demands for attention as signs of youth now in retreat.
Tokyo is fraught with such wee canines. It is probably even more common to keep them in couples if not trios to be paraded about and appreciated by a culture obsessed with everything kawaii.
Roy Blount JR.'s essay titled "Son of a Bitch" will not only make you reconsider your current lexicon but it will make you go out and rent the John Wayne classic True Grit.
[Uncharacteristically though, Scott Raab's distraction on the term 'faggot' and Chris Jones' rant about the term 'cunt' are not worth the combined 5 minutes it will take you to read both.)
Perhaps Raab used his monthly quality quota on "The Battle of Newark" in which he details the struggle and dedication of Newark mayor, Corey Booker. A very worthwhile read.
[Page 44 has the perfect gift idea for yours truly, only US$7,000, if anyone has been fretting Christmas 2008. But please don't get fancy, keep it simple and stainless, no diamonds, no rubies and no sapphires. Of course, this expense is easily justified because I have saved you untold amounts of cash telling you the rest of the men in your life should be given the US$8.00 subscription to Esquire as their gifts.]
One minute away from the Hamamatsu-cho train station is the beautiful little park Kyu Shiba Rikyu. The entrance fee is ¥150 (US$1.45). Most of the well manicured parks I stumble across have a similar entrance fee to subsidize the upkeep. Kyu Shiba is interesting in that it is nestled within an otherwise bustling business areas. The park provides a very tranquil respite from the busy surroundings which are predominantly media industry firms.
Surprisingly, there was abundant animal life as well. Besides the standard koi (giant goldfish) and turtles, the pond was playing host to a crane and several ducks. The flowers in the park provided interest for a litany of butterflies and dragonflies. Hydrangeas are in full bloom around Tokyo and Kyu Shiba was home to many purple hydrangea shrubs.
One dragonfly was kind enough to come land right beside where I stood.
I don't remember when I fell in love with Anna Fermin, maybe 10 years back. I don't even remember if it was at the Empty Bottle or Schuba's or the Hideout. It was some dive bar for certain, with cheap beer and a minimal cover charge to hear what proved to be some of the best live music you could hope to hear. Of course, those who are repulsed by a little twang might disagree. But that ain't me.
I had this song on repeat tonight on my walk home and while in the grocery store. Though this song is not a strong example, Anna Fermin's voice is like a cannon dipped in honey, obviously powerful and unusually sweet.
One more for the road...a favorite remake of mine. I used to be the annoying guy at her shows who would yell out "Play Besame Mucho!" after one too many Old Styles.
The only thing that compares is Kelly Hogan's version of [Blue] Spanish Eyes - it's enough to make a hard man cry. Sorry, I've only heard it live, not sure if it has ever been recorded otherwise I'd post it so you could be in awe as well.
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ShiftingBalance said:
That's the kind of trash talk I would expect from a deposed Iraqi prince. Now bring it!You better hope you... read more
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[c’est top]I would go as far as saying the BEST street meat vendor in all of NYC. I judge this on... read more
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Fazul said:
Sadly, it pains me to see that 18months of miserableness has not humbled you. No matter, surely getting you pants... read more
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Jay said:
Eat more Greens??? Nah, better keep drinking milk lest you shrivel into nothingness. looking forward to enjoying an adult calorie-laden... read more
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Yup. shoulda bought the chopper!!!!!! Still could get the sporty though read more
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