So what else is new?

I taught my first Japanese class last Saturday. It wasn't bad. Coulda been better, but you can hardly go wrong with a few students to pester you with grammatical questions that sound so... so... legal. All that talk of rules vs. custom vs. precedent.

The activity was draining, though the psychic return was worth the financial vacuum I experience regularly as a result of taking this job. Being the general manager (roughly buchou 部長 ) who functionally manages the English Review, Nihongo and Computer "departments" of the company (kaisha 会社 ) is not all it's cracked up to be, especially if the company is only a few months old.

I was also at the Philippine International Convention Center recently (recently is: saikin 最近 ). What was up? An exhibit of the best of Philippine crafts and trade goods. I managed to look at jewels, handbags, religious items and I do have to say our skilled laborers have come a long way since attempting to make poor knockoffs of foreign goods.

So what has this to do with the Japanese (Nihonjin)? Nothing I am at liberty to discuss. Except to say that my Mom would have liked to buy the stuff on exhibit, and that I would have too, especially the new takes on Catholic statuary. Innovative use of material, interesting designs. Woulda made great Christmas gifts for future clients and business partners.

Now, I'm prepping for my ongoing Jap classes-- the ones I'll teach and the ones I'm still taking.

Ja, ne!

GODDAMN IT.

I've had enough of comment spam. I'm switching on the damned comment verification system. I'm sorry guys, if you haveta experience extra crap commenting. But this poor excuse for responsible marketing is ... I can't find the damned words for it.

Loser!

I must be at an all-time low. While waiting for my 6-year-old art student, I am busy pretending to work. What I'm really doing is looking into registering at a ... say it Dex... personals site. The kind that cater to desperate losers looking for love and/or "activity partners," "casual dates" and the like.

Yes you're shivering. You should. Losing Anna's driven me to this pass. It's eaten into my work, affected my better judgement and caused me stomach- and muscle pains and attacks of stress-induced diarrhea the likes of which I have rarely felt. Having responsibilities I cannot shirk plus seeing Japan and its indigenous womanity have helped ease the symptoms of losing the love of my life to the vagaries of evolutionary biology. But not by much. Seeing the young women in Kofu, Sendai and Akihabara actually hurt after the inducing in me the initial pleasures associated with critiquing female eye candy.

Yes, feminists, I am too a sexist pig who should be shot. One of your kind left me because I don't fit your criteria of provider-life partner despite (or maybe because of) all my efforts to be the New Sensitive Caring (therefore wimpy and pussy-whipped) Man. So please cut me a little slack for feeling the requisite pain and lashing out.

Check back with me and I'll let you know if I've put myself on sale on the mass market for losers who can't find the time or the energy to actually bother to meet a live human being and get himself a date. Or not.

Japan: First Impressions

I've fallen in love six or so times since I've arrived in Japan. They are all beautiful:

-the weather in Sendai
-the scenery along the highways criss-crossing the middle and southern parts of Honshu
-the gas station attendant on the long road between Tokyo and Sendai
-the receptionist at the Shinjuku branch of the Toyoko Inn.
-the visually impaired girl eating at Jonathan's family restaurant in Kofu
-the waitresses at that sushi place in Kofu.

Sadly most of the women-- the younger ones especially-- are dolls. And I don't want to grow old with one.

Manejiya Dewa Nai

Well that did it. I've been so preoccupied being available for everyone again that my duties are simply not being fulfilled. I think I may have managed to piss off a potential business partner. I'm in too deep to quit without making a mess. And that's not even a real option since I'm trying not to let the family name rot in the reek of corporate shame.

How is it that I let them railroad me into something I'm not equipped to handle? No choice but to swim in it now.

Is it possible to be with someone so long that you become an object of distaste? I think so. If continued reticence is something to go by, I think it's already happened. All this in spite my good intentions, my efforts and despite my seemingly warmly received proposal. All this in spite of what I thought was some form of binding understanding between us.

Don't do this to me. Please, please, please not again. Not on the heels of my friend's mother's death. Not on the heels of everything that's just happened. Please don't make me an object of misplaced pity.

If that's what you want, you have to tell me to my face. I deserve that much.


A footnote: I woke up at 2am the other day, your name, your presence ringing in my head. What happened to you around that time?

Japanese Words for the Week

chiaki [千明]-if my translation isn't off, it means a thousand lights, or a very powerful brightness
chiharu [千春]-it may mean a thousand Springs (the season, not the bubbly body of water)
shizuka [静]-quietness
yuki [雪]-snow

my more astute readers will immediately figure out what these words have in common, and why I likely put them up here. Enjoy!

Smooth Criminal

It must be common now. But the last place I expected to be victimized by crooks was the McDonald's at Philcoa --I'm refering to the general area around the Philippine Coconut Authority that is at once a Quezon City landmark and a more or less critical stop for people wishing to go to the University of the Philippines or to Don Antonio Heights or Fairview.

I was in the middle of a lesson with my Korean student, Tom. We'd leaned closer to each other across the table to facilitate communication over the din of the post-post-dinner crowd: students, mainly, hiding in the nearest 24-hour fast food joint for a semblance of peaceful study over a hot meal. Neither of us noticed Gray Shirt Perp slipping his hand under the table, onto the chair next to Tom. Gray Shirt Perp's hand closed over Tom's celphone and that was all she wrote. Gray Shirt Perp was able to abscond with another celphone which he was bound to sell to support his drug habit or his fetish for American brand name apparel.

The only person who did notice Gray Shirt Perp was an old lady who was cowed into silence by Perp's fierce gaze. I don't completely blame her, but she could have shouted and Tom and I could have subdued the creep or at least prevented the celphone theft.

We chased Perp's shadow futilely for a few minuets, returning to McDonald's to talk to the manager about yet another crime happening under their collective noses. Old lady couldn't finger Gray Perp, though I had a feeling he may have lingered just outside the MacDonald's after passing the ill-gotten phone to a confederate.

I did a surprising thing-- I prayed with Tom. I prayed for peace for him, the replacement of his phone with something better. I was tempted to pray for the speedy growth of painful and perennial hemorrhoids on Gray Perp's dyolog ass, but somehow I didn't.

We ended the class and natch, I didn't ask Tom to pay me anything-- his wallet would be feeling the loss of his phone soon enough. The same way my wallet was feeling the loss of my projected income.

Thanks a lot, Perp. I hope we meet again in a year. I hope you try something stupid. I hope I'm there to place you under citizen's arrest.

Letter to GoGo Yubari

GoGo Yubari
Crazy 88 Headquarters
Japan

August 26 2005


Dear Ms Yubari,

You're going to stay young forever and I'm not. So please pardon my being forward. If you don't feel like literally spilling my guts over strong drink, we could go out. It would do us both some good. It will take you away from the tedium of killing everything that isn't O-Ren or that bald guy you both hang out with. Too, I believe that the proper type of medication can help you quell certain episodes that involve slashing someone's belly open.

Underneath the hair and the psychoses and the school uniform, I am sure you are a wonderful, beautiful person. I would like to get to know you without the knives, whips and chains (though those can come later, after we've gotten to know each other very very well).

I have admired you for your physical beauty, your fighting skills and that loyalty to O-Ren that some of your male subordinates wish you'd lavish on them.

If it helps you make up your mind about me, I am learning Japanese as well as the ins and outs of dealing with people in black suits. I love Japanese food and I would love the opportunity of exploring ...something with you.

You can take your time, as I've suddenly got a lot of it on my hands. As with one other person, I can wait for your reply. Though not forever.

I look forward to your affirmative response.


With much admiration,

Dexter Lira

SPAM

The only other person to comment on one poem in my other blog said nothing about it, or anything remotely related to how the poem made him feel. Instead, I got a long-winded sales pitch beginning with--

"Big News From The Healthcare Industry!!

F******** G***** S*********
Current Price $0.15
A company with hot new identity solution products and licenses with over 40 current governmental and non-governmental contracts in negotiations.

...Watch this One to Trade!"

The Evil Marketing Man has struck again.

I could either feel flattered that my page has garnered so much notice that people are posting ads in my comment field without so much as a damned "by your leave." Then again, I guess I could feel taken advantage of, as this guy could have just left his comments here as part of a "blanket" strategy: schlep every comment field on every blog he can get his hands on.

I want to tell that enterprising person (he knows who he is) this:

PLEASE. I don't care how good your product, company or stock is, point of the matter is neither Blogger nor Dexter Lira is getting money or desired recognition from your blatant attempt at pushing your own agenda on MY space.

You could have found my email address by googling my other blogs and told me how good what your selling is. I would have likely put in a good word by treading on the blurry line between "Hey, this is good news" and "Hey, I'm conducting a marketing blitzkrieg."

And I don't particularly care that you hide behind your own "This is my opinion" clause. Clever, but I know bull when I smell it.

Tamad

It's come to the point where I simply do not want to work. I don't want to see work and when I do my mind tunes it out and I wind up surfing the 'Net and discovering more and more trivia that will neither make me rich nor make me a better human being.

Like now. I should be making the writeups or the flyers. でも、ぼくは　ブログを書いています。 I can't even bring myself to write something edifying now: my bodega blog has been crying out to me for a decent update. I could be doing other things, like fine-tuning my Tai Chi, studying for the resumption of my Nihongo classes tomorrow. I hope I can turn this around in an hour or so before I waste the remaining hours of my working Sunday.

Yes, I'm at the office on a Sunday. Which is probably why I don't want to work. This is bad. Gotta sign off--

I've still got work to do.

The Universe Has a Weird Sense of Humor

Lifted from this site devoted to the original xXx movie.

"Asia Argento is also the author of a number of short stories published in such prestigious magazines as Dynamo, L'Espresso, Sette, Village and Max. Her first novel, I Love You Kirk, was published by Frassinelli Editrice in October 1999."

Asia Argento had become somewhat significant to Dex as artist. Nothing personal, of course. Few of my friends would get the Asia Argento references; I'm snickering as I type this.

But if I were my old self, I'd be crying too.

練習します(Practice)

I've probably fudged this somehow.

僕はマネジャーでわない。今日、清水さんと橋本さんは　僕の会社に来た。僕は不意だった。At least, 僕は　橋本さんの欲しくことを　習った。あの方は　僕に　CADイラストサムプルを　見たから。従ってそう、私とフィルジャプスのCADスタフ（マニーさ んと 多分ルスさ ん）を会議する。いつ、僕は分からない。
Anyway, 来週僕は　プロジェクトの作ることを　終わって、　コンピューター　２　を　ネトワークをします。

Everybody seems to be pushing his own agenda and for some asinine reason, I'm the guy who gets pushed around. Granted that in a perfect world, my agenda would probably involve lots of sleep, martial arts demos and futile job hunting, maybe dreaming of landing a gig (martial arts, visual arts, teaching, singing, theater) somewhere-- hardly lucrative. But that's supposed to be my damned prerogative.

But no, everything is also my fault, somehow. And any ulcer-producing sitch I'm in is of my own making, no matter how much I may feel that the Powers that Be decided, on a drunken whim, to gang-rape me. I am being slowly forced into courses of action predetermined by someone else. I can't just up and leave as too many eggs have been put in the basket that is Dex.

And I can't bleeding talk about this any more than I already have, except to say: when is Dex going to get his chance to simply do something he loves in peace without courting messy familial and economic consequences?

Hmmmm... Reallly?

Your Birthdate: February 1

Your birthday suggests that are executive ability and leadership qualities in your makeup. A birthday on day 1 of any month gives a measure of will power and self-confidence, and very often a rather original approach. This 1 energy may diminish your ability and desire to handle details, preferring instead to paint with a broad brush. You may be sensitive, but your feelings stay rather repressed.

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

That Dratted Potato Song (2)

My apologies to the Japanese.

Looking back as I was assaulted by images of singing, dancing potatoes and potato products, I remember exactly why I stopped watching Japanese channels on local cable six or seven years ago.

The Japanese have a... preoccupation with all things cute. The, uh, mania is so pervasive and so cloying and over-the-top that it borders on the pathological. Consider the pleasing (yet disturbing) preoccupation with youth, short skirts and sailor suits. Consider too that until Utada Hikaru came along and broke the mold in a big way, women singers tended to strangle themselves trying to turn their make their voices child-like. (This is not to say that there weren't singers with brassy or smoky voices, but that preoccupation with wanting to be cute often kept those singers from well-deserved audiences and accolades.) Too, the Japanese tended to burn through their pop idols quickly, frequently discarding yesterday's idol for the new face and voice ingenue.

I have visions of ex idols scrabbling for scraps of fame, vainly trying to hold on to their youthful good looks and high-pitched voicesagainst the inexorable march of time. Brrr.

Thankfully the women do tend to get over it (as evidenced by the very competent female staff at the Jap Language school I study in). Granted also that I was watching a kiddie show when my senses were assaulted by the potato song. But the lady host's brand of cuteness -- even the male hosts were trying to speak in piping tones when they sure as hell didn't have to-- have the words fake and soon-to-be-desperate written all over it.

I got sick of all the blasted sugar-substitute cuteness six or seven years ago and I'm still sick of all the blasted sugar-substitute cuteness now.

I'm all for cuteness when it comes naturally. And one doesn't have to speak in piping fake-kiddie tones to be adorable. But there comes a time when you have to relegate oozing cuteness to someone else-- preferably someone under 18. Your own "cuteness" -- a function of your innate and developed beauty will come out of its own accord without being forced. It will likely be treasured all the more.

That Dratted Potato Song

Some time before my Nihongo Basic 3 classes ended, the tech boys at the Jap language school had set up a teevee at the reception desk. It was tuned perpetually to NHK, as if some Japanimation fanboy set the channel with the only working remote and proceeded to break it.

I decided to take advantage of the situation and spend my idle time watching and listening to the idiot box to better pick up Japanese. It was, in theory, a good plan with a good fringe benefit: I got to see what Japan had to offer the visual connoisseur in the art of, ah, female appreciation.

It was going well, too. Until--I was watching a kiddie show --the girl host I was appreciating opened her mouth and proceeded to sing about the virtue of potatoes. The song wasn't bad; it was written and arranged well, in fact. But it was insidious. It snared you with its catchy tune and insinuated itself between the folds of your brain the way the grease from a bag of french fries oozes permanently into cheap paper plates.

Today, weeks removed from the original airing, I'm cursed with instant, insistent, and near-permanent recall. Mention "potatoes" and the song plays in my head again and again and again and again and...

(Jap) Words for the Week

Nihongo （日本語）n. the Japanese Language. Take a country, almost any country, and insert the suffix "go" （語）and you basically have the name of that country's language in Japanese. Of course, the Japanese have their own names for select countries, but let's not "go" there yet.

Eigo （英語）n. English (the language)

Firipingo （フィリピン語）n. Filipino (the language).

jagaimo （じゃがいも）n. potato

Bone tired. Not dead tired; not yet.

I've had to move furniture around the house because I simply couldn't work there properly. No doubt, I'm bound to ruffle some feathers-- always the trouble when you're living with the folks-- but this is going to be worth it. My home workspace actually looks better and I can literally and figuratively breathe with all the space I've managed to free up.

I'm waiting for one of the foreign partners today. He'll be arriving sometime after lunch, (which means that could be any time between 12:01 and 4:00 pm.). I won't have to talk to him alone, though, as er, mom's original foreign partner has decied he'll show up and fill my language gaps. Some translator I'm turning out to be...

In preparation for their arrival, I've decided to clean up a bit. There were some shortcuts to some pc games that I've had to bury. I'm also throwing out the old bulletin board (paper on paper, stuck on the wall) and slap on a decent-looking felt surface over some decent board which I will then slap on the wall, with tape and some tacks.

Among other things.

Something good will come out of this. It must.

Nearly Got Something Cut Off Today

11:30 am, Convergys, Makati City

Thank God the knife was dull and made of wood. Thank God the guy with the wooden knife pointed at my groin was Sifu Russel. Thank God this was just a martial arts demo.

The audience had gasped, sensing that this wasn't your standard demo drill. And in spite of my own two seconds of helpless panic-- I totally did not expect him to scoop under my leg and lock me down, groin exposed to a knife-- I loved it.

Half the fun of a martial arts demo is watching the light bulbs flash over the audience's heads, regardless of who was playing the martial arts hero or the goon who was going to be very sorry he messed with the wrong guy.

Doing "It" with Friends

In a perfect world, we'd all be friends; we'd all be living together; working together like stepford neighbors high on a totally harmless form of hash. But the world is not perfect; and sad to say many of us will probably never ever get along. It's God's game of craps-- all right, baccarat-- that brings disparate people together. And it's only God, and your neighborhood shrink, who can predict how you'll all turn out.

A decade or so ago some common friends --a group of twelve or so uniquely talented individuals-- decided to pool their artistic strengths together and make a name for themselves as a Power in the commissioned art business. For a few short months they established Camelot. They were an art commune/tradesmen's guild/peripatetic philosophical society all rolled into one package way cool for its time and place.

"But why," you ask, "have I not heard of them?"

Like Camelot, the Power imploded, taking with it carefully nurtured friendships that should have been immune to poverty amid plenty and well-meaning neglect. The founders of that new Camelot were young and naiive, professing faith in contracts sealed with a smile and a handshake. Naturally, they could not have succeeded financially.

Camelot's knights broke under pressure from their angry parents, who railed against the injustices done by friends to friends. They broke under the pressure of academics-- which they had neglected on the off-chance that their mutual quest would bear lucrative fruit. They broke under the pressure of their own infighting as-- egged on by parents, failure, poverty and broken promises-- friend turned against friend. Heroically, they tried to regroup and recoup their losses but with Camelot's knights leaving the order one by one, there was nothing they could do to stop the end from happening.

When the dust settled, there were no more knights. Just tired souls wary of taking risks and trusting people.

Soredewa, kyameroto no menbaa wa iro iro tokoro ni itte, oboenai kuni ni oboenai michi wo aruita.

What's the moral lesson here? Aside from "always have an ironclad contract" it's never go into business with friends.