Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Geek post: because you thought I was becoming respectable.

Well, first in the "bum-out" news is the fact that Central Park Media seems to be going titties up.

From Anime News Network:

CPM Lays off Staff, Prepares for Bankruptcy (2006-05-26 17:00:58)
Central Park Media laid off the majority of its staff today, maintaining only a small number to deal with "loose ends." We have been informed that "issues with creditors" arose last week, and the company is expected to file for bankruptcy next week. No further details about the creditor issues or bankruptcy filing are available.

(Above: Crap I bought/have to buy. VOTOMS on top, Patlabor TV/OVAs on bottom)

Well, hell. I just hope the rest of VOTOMS and the pre-ordered goodies I was promised with it come through. It's sad to see CPM go, but I always had the feeling they would get lost in the shuffle. They didn't really cater to "hip series 300339" of the year, nor did they bother with intrusive and annoying promotion.

I guess this is the siren call to buy the rest of Patlabor on DVD... which I've been meaning to do for years anyway. Also: DNA2. Also: Now and There, Here and Then.

(Oh, who am I kidding? I'll never get around to this shit before I'm retired.)


(Above: Anime pedophilia meets "Cash-cow-itis")

In "holy shit do you think people will buy this a FOURTH time?" news, ADV Films is releasing Evangelion. Again. Apparently this time it's a "premium boxed set" with more special collector's stuff. And I haven't even seen the platinum edition yet. Damn.

However, since I finally sat down and gave FLCL a dedicated spin I must admit that an Evangelion re-watch sounds fitting. Too bad I'm doing VOTOMS for a third time.


Oh, and in other "shows that I like but won't catch up on until I reach my mid-30s", ADV is NOT releasing Full Metal Panic: The Second Raid after doing both the original series and the second series. Oh, and two manga spin-offs. Funimation will be releasing it.

I'm sure somebody's going to end up missing Tuesday morning from work at ADV. Casino-style.


Monday, May 29, 2006

"So that's how long it takes baby batter to travel from the tube to the egg? Oh, and is that chicken?"

So people have been asking all week "How was Doctor Poontang-a-lang's party?"

DELICIOUS, that's how.

I was buried in meat, beer, good conversation, and wonderfully cheerful vibes. It's times like these when I'm glad I shunned everybody just to study verb forms and other shit that would be useless to 80% of the people I talk to. You hear me, people I alienated at home and in Japan? I GOT FILLED WITH MEAT BY WAY OF A PROFESSIONAL LOVE BURGER MANAGER. Suck on that while you converse with "friends."

The best part? While I sat down to get things started, the doctor told me about his research project at USC, or as I call it, "where I couch-surf at in Cali." He went on and on about telling me how sperm travels through the fallopian tube and how he was working with various hosts and theories for some projects at that time. It was good to see a man who was into his work, although like many members of the "pull out nation"(tm), I kept wondering why somebody would fortify themselves with that kind of information when they could be watching Adult Swim and not having to worry about any "problems" that may require, say, 100,000 dollars worth of money from your bank account.

(By the way, I become an uncle next month. I will let you know if it stops my solipsistic assholitry at all)

But even with that said, I must admit that you have to have respect for a guy that invites you over, welcomes you into his beautiful home, introduces you to lovely aromatherapists who hit on you all evening, and then spouts on and on about vaginas and semen before you take bite one of the delicious bbq he's prepared for you. It's like baking a cake for a wedding reception, and then loudly talking to everybody within earshot about how painful and long-winded your shits have been lately.

"It's like squeezing frozen fudge through a twisted water hose."

The second best part, aside from being scouted for a new job, was when I was asked to "present flowers" to some nurse he had there for some reason. Whatever, it was his party. It wasn't like he was asking me to wed her... at least I hope he wasn't. I guess you had to be there. And yes, there are pictures. And yes, I did bow down like Sir Lance-a-lot in one of them.

Good weekend. Props to you, Dr. Fun Mound. You are fighting the good fight.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Saturday: Meat and Vaginas. No shit.

A few weeks ago I got an invite by way of another Yats JET for a bbq at the town gynocoligist's house. Now, I don't know how this one came about ("... ok, you can close your legs now. Oh, by the way, do you like brisket?"), but anybody that knows me knows that I live for two things: vaginas and meat.

And they are together, sir. AT LONG LAST.

Now, I'm not much for the events where some random local well-to-do says "I like having foreigners come 'round. Summon the honkies and pro-offer them sausages!" right before clicking their fingers and raping a slave, but fuck... my love of flame-broiled flesh will draw me into that party faster than you can ask "this guy really works on meat wallets for a living?"

So after I made the initial inquiries, such as "can I bring my bitch?", I was on like Megatron. Awesome. Who could pass up a shot at free food while finding out who in the town has crotch-rot after feeding a few beers to Doc Furrburger? Not me, sir. No way.

Fast forward a bit to yesterday, when I get an email stating that I would be the only JET attending, and wondering if I would still like to attend.

The answer remains the same. Despite the doubts of being alone, and not actually talking to any of the people I live next to. The answer doesn't waver.

Fuck yes.

But this brings up an interesting query that I should ask myself. In short, has my solipsistic lifestyle reached its logical end? Or will it continue to spiral forward, to the point where I'll be shrugging at the inevitable deaths of people I care for and love? Has the kind of stoic indifference birthed from years of intense physical and emotional conflict made me permanently "too cool for school?"

Seriously, does the fact that my personal attitude to the world has remained "Hey, what shot do we have anyway?" really mean that things have reached their end? I just feel like I've given up on everybody. Completely. Japan has nothing to do with it. It just seems that my relocation here has just re-enforced it more than anything else.

I'd like to care a bit more, but every time I start things fall apart. I just feel like it's a struggle, like I'm lost in a supermarket.

Oh well. Pussy and beer. Yee-ha.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Some Girls Japanese tour dates

Some Girls, the supergroup from San Diego (with members of The Locust, American Nightmare, Unbroken, and a ton of other groups), will be coming to Japan and playing a whole slew of shows. Nothing in Kyushu, although you'll see that Honshu gets more love than R. Kelly at a junior high school party.

Anyway, these guys are great. I saw them at SXSW and it was like watching an improvised munitions incident in a war zone somewhere. The bass sounds like a dump truck, the singer is 7 feet tall and terrifying, and the drummer looks like he's some kind of bearded Toshiro Mifune "off-to-kill-some-bandits-after-the-set" vibe. Karen O from the the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (shrug) did vocals on their last record, and even that kicked ass.


This goes down about a week after the Lightning Bolt Japanese dates, which will also melt face. Awesome.

June 17 Tokyo, JPN @ Shin-Okubo Earthdom

June 18 Tokyo, JPN @ Shibuya O-Nest

June 19 Shizuoka, JPN @ Spiralmarket

June 20 Kobe, JPN @ Blueport

June 21 Osaka, JPN @ Unagidani Sunsui

June 22 Nagoya, JPN @ KD Japon

June 23 Sapporo, JPN @ Counter Action

Saturday, May 20, 2006

JET and Yatushiro and Yatsushiro and JET

New placements have stalked me via Yatsrad. Yowza. For those of you wanting to get in touch, please use the email feature at the right.

The History of Violence: Yatsushiro's Morbid Side

Sakakibara murder site in May 1997.

Aum Shinrikyo leader Shoko Asahara/麻原 彰晃 (née Chizuo Matsumoto/松本智津夫).

Like any small town, Yatsushiro has mysteries. Conundrums. Things people don't like to talk about. Nagging shadows that are simply too taboo and brutal to bring up. For instance, do you know the history of some of your neighbors, as well as some of the people raised in this town? Try this one on for size:

On May 27, 1997, the head of Jun Hase ( , Hase Jun?)(ca. 1986 - May 27, 1997), a student at Tainohata Elementary School, was found in front of the school gate hours before students arrived for classes. Hase had apparently been beheaded with a knife, with further mutilations being done before being left at the front. [2] A note, written in red pen, was found stuffed in his mouth, identifying the killer as "Sakakibara." The note read:

"This is the beginning of the game... You police guys stop me if you can... I desperately want to see people die, it is a thrill for me to commit murder. A bloody judgment is needed for my years of great bitterness."

Additionally, some English was on the note as well: "shooll [sic] kill".

Or how about this former Yatsushirite?

On March 20, 1995, members of Aum attacked the Tokyo Subway System with the nerve gas Sarin. Twelve commuters died, and thousands more suffered from after-effects. After finding sufficient evidence, authorities accused Aum Shinrikyo of complicity in the attack, as well as in a number of smaller-scale incidents. Tens of disciples were arrested, Aum's facilities were raided, and the court issued an order for Shoko Asahara's arrest. Asahara was discovered in a very small, completely isolated room of the building belonging to Aum, meditating.

Shoko Asahara faced 27 murder counts in 13 separate indictments. The prosecution argued that Asahara "gave orders to attack the Tokyo Subway", in order to "overthrow the government and install himself in the position of king of Japan". Several years later, the prosecution introduced another theory — that the attacks were ordered to "divert police attention" (from Aum). The prosecution also accused Asahara of masterminding the Matsumoto incident and the Sakamoto family murder. According to Asahara's defense team, a group of senior followers initiated the atrocities, keeping them a secret from Asahara.

At best, unnerving, isn't it?


All of this has a beginning. Don't worry. I'll explain.

When I was young, growing up in the town that hell forgot, we managed to snag subtitled Japanese news in the mornings before going off to school, airing at 6:30 in the morning. It was a revelation.

At that time I was about 13 years old, and things weren't going well for me, which was a situation that continued well into my teens. In fact, I don't even like to think I existed until I was 20. But regardless, every morning I'd wake up and watch the news before being carted off to a school full of sociopaths and future violent criminals.

It was horrifying, edifying, and beyond a doubt amazing.

Via these strange phantom broadcasts ("Why the hell are we getting this?"), I'd revel in the oddities of a then-obscure foreign culture, as this was years before the early 00's "Japan culture boom" that rocked nerds all over the US. Confounding, ridiculous, and arcane, I'd stick by the tube religiously from the second the screen flickered until it was time to make instant oatmeal.

I saw footage of the Kobe earthquake which ravaged the city and killed thousands. I saw Tokyo fall apart during the isopropyl methylphosphano (sic?) flouridate gas attacks. I saw the subsequent manhunt and near dismantling of Aum Shinrikyo. And I saw Shoko Asahara's face for the first time.

Asahara can be likened to Japan's Charles Manson. Morbidly obese, nearly blind, and genuinely disturbing via his mix of religious metaphysics and the terrifying miasma of his murderous organization, Shoko Asahara scared the living shit out of me. The man screamed "horror", and I dare anybody to not spend a little time reading about Aum Shinrikyo and not think that his disquetingly calm aura belied disturbing passions and desires.

Look at him. Look.

Asahara could have you killed. Brutally. Shot. Head cut off. Fingers gone. Eyes gouged out. Lime-dissolved. Burned beyond recognition.

Sure, his organization may be remembered as particularly bumbling and inefficient in a lot of respects, but it still continued under the auspices of Japanese police for far too long. Thank God a hurried response by the group only allowed a gas with a purity mixture of 11% to be released in the subways and not 40% or even 90%... hundreds of thousands could have been killed. Can you imagine going to work and ending up choking down enough neuro-toxin to paralyze your diaphragm while thousands of people rush about Tokyo's busiest subway stations? What about the blood rushing up from your lungs as you gasp and convulse, begging wordlessly to not die on a damn subway car at rush hour? And all because some religous cult wants to make a last-ditch effort to throw off an investigation.

And guess where this guy's from?

Yep. Kyushu's finest. And here I am, traipsing around Captain Gas-a-lot's backyard.



Every now and then a murderer takes the public consciousness by storm. In Japan this is also a fairly regular occurence. It's just like America's obsession with Dahmer, Manson, Ted Bundy, OJ, Scott Peterson, et al. But the brutal and seemingly arbitrary nature of Japanese culture made their killers more and more terrifying to me.

For instance, Tomoko Kaneda was a nurse in Tokyo who murdered, dismembered, and hid the body of her friend in various trash recepticles near her apartment. She methodically hid the body parts over a course of ten days, possibly to stunt police investigation (garbage is picked up twice a week in Japan), and was then jailed.

The boyfriend plans to marry Kaneda after her release, with the ceremony taking place in the Church of Satan.


This all culminated during a discussion I had with a Japanese friend a few months ago. We were discussing Kaneda, who I had found out about in an official Japanese Language study packet from my "Big Bosses" in Tokyo, and she mentioned Shonen A to me. She inquired if I knew about him. I answered affirmitively that I did.

She then told me that he now lives in Yatsushiro after an early release.

Dios mio.

I first heard about Shonen A in the first (and so far only edition) of Creation Books' excellent Suture: The Arts Journal. The story was delineated in an article about Japanese post Ukiyo-e artist Suehiro Maruo. Maruo's work could be described at gut-churning, and the description is well-deserved. But the cultural context lead-in featuring vicuous murder, mutilation, police-baiting, and Engrish capped things for me again.

"God this country can be scary."

My friend proceeded to tell me that nobody liked or cared to discuss Shonen A and his life in Yatsushiro. I've heard it intimated that he works in a convenience store (note to self: be very nice to employees there from now on), and that he lives with older relatives here. Regardless, the rumors about Shonen A set off a raging stampede amongst a select group of local JETs to find out if this was true or just an old wive's tale, compounded by Winter alienation, cultural uncertainty, and an unrelated double murder that had happened in our area of Kumamoto during that period.

Within days we had second confirmation from a trusted source. It was true.

Welcome to Yatushiro. Care to meet the neighbors?

Friday, May 19, 2006

"Hey, hey it's the weekend! Do some more damn work."

This week is sports week, so we've spent all week getting the kids organized for the enormous task of running a bunch of relay races. In some ways it's kind of cool... but it also requires a seven day work week.

Not to blow my own horn here ("USA!! USA!!"), but in America we could knock this shit out in two and a half hours, replete with human pyramids and surprisingly hetero-questionable male cheering. Then I'd punch a football player in his motherfucking mouth, just like I did in summer school.

(Yes, my life is that awesome)

Oh well... Saturday brings Corrupted to Django, which is located off the Shimatori, near Fuji slots. I'm ready for some metal, folks.

David Cross quote of the day: "All my friends are always telling me how hard it is to have kids 'Oh, David, it's so hard.' That's not hard. You wanna know what hard is? Try talking your girlfriend into her third consecutive abortion."

Goodnight, and good luck.

While "anonymous" people call me a douchebag online...

George Tabb is dying as a result of poisoned air from WTC debris.

But, you know, I guess slighting strangers is more important.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Tied for second place.

Some anonymous (who'd have thought?) doink put me in the running for most annoying poster on Hands Up Houston, despite the fact that I post there MAYBE 3 or 4 times a month.


Wow. Give it up, huh kids?

Saturday, May 13, 2006

Episode 15: "14 sucked ass, so it never went up."

Back on the warpath. Listen to me attempting to wake up on a Saturday morning.

"Comedy death."


The finest band from Rhode Island is coming our way, with three, count 'em, THREE Kyushu dates in the mix.

I'll give you a full write up on Lightning Bolt and their style soon, but man, I'm so stoked that I can taste it.



6/1(THU) Tokyo Shibuya O-NEST With: STRUGGLE FOR PRIDE, cudda-chikurelo DJ$B!'!!(BK.E.I.(VOVIVAV)

6/2(FRI) Enoshima OPPALA With: Guitar Wolf, KIRIHITO, DJ$B!'!!(BL?K?O, K.E.I.(VOVIVAV)

6/3(SAT) Kyoto UrBANGUILD With: Amazon Saliva, Oshiri-Penpenz

6/4(SUN) Yamaguchi Houfu bar Indo-yo$B!!(B With: Tadashi Sasaki, Soul-Kyoudai, GeGeGeGe Qualtet, The Golbees, FRATENN and more...

6/5(MON) Fukuoka Decadent DELUXE With: Ishiatama-Jizou, nontroppo, accidents in too large field MC&DJ: BOGEY

6/6(TUE) Oita AT HALL With: VELOCITYUT, Yunagi-Sensen

6/7(WED) Okayama PEPPER LAND With: Idol Punch, Kecchi, THE PINK PANDA, Sprite, LIVE CLEAN STAY YOUNG, Nurumayu, AcmeCocaPipans

6/8(THU) Osaka SHANGRI-LA With: Afrirampo, Ultra Bide


6/10(SAT) Tokyo Super Deluxe With: DMBQ, HAIR STYLISTICS DJ: K.E.I.(VOVIVAV)

6/12(MON) Tokyo UFO CLUB With: Afrirampo

Friday, May 12, 2006

Please direct your fat rage at somebody who's NOT a raging solipsist. Thanks.

Fat rage: (n) An overtly mean-spirited projection of anger originating from someone in their 20s who has a negative self-image. Fat rage is often directed at somebody they don't know, and occurs regardless if the negative self-image or anger stemming from it is warranted or not. This person is often female, as "man rage" is a different phenomenon with vastly different repercussions.


Group psychology is wonderful. It really is. When you get 3 or 4 people together, any stupid idea seems brilliant, if only because you have the support and understanding of people who may or may not have the brain power of rotten vegetables. In groups, bad ideas turn good so fast that your head will spin.

To wit:

"Let's rape this stripper!"
"Let's hang this black guy!"
"Let's run Kerry for president!"

The oddest thing about group psychology and it's inclusive nature is that if you disagree, no matter how right you are, you will probably feel wrong on some level somewhere in your psyche. Somewhere something will snag at you, tug at you, and make you feel that much more subhuman in your dissenting viewpoint. Is it shame? Anger? Fear? Whatever, it's a pain in the ass. Most of the time I've managed to curtail it, usually by thinking "that's a moronic idea, and mass acceptance doesn't make it OK", but sometimes I feel bad even when I'm certain I shouldn't.

Now, as I'm not a square and tend to go out every now and then, I've been the recipient of fat rage before. Cock-blocking, derision, screaming, crying, bitching, moaning, and complaining are all a part of fat rage. Hell, even this year a "colleague" attempted to convince somebody that I was intent on murdering their family. That was probably the gulliest moment of fat rage I'd ever witnessed, in fact, if not the most pernicious. But fat rage coupled with group psychology is deleterious indeed.

Thursday of last week I went out to a night market in Hong Kong with a friend from northern Europe, AKA "the well-adjusted part." We had a good time, despite my being a bit out of it all due to travel sickness, and all was well. Cool.

So towards the end of our sojourn I decide to have a night-cap at the bar next to my atrocious hostel. I step in and look over my VCDs at the bar. I'm a movie lover, and frankly I cleaned up on flicks while in Hong Kong. Seeing my stash, the man next to me started asking where I picked them up. I informed him of the appropriate markets and the appropriate places wherein the "moves could be made," and he offered to buy me a beer as compensation.

(No brokeback)

After that, this gentleman and I got to talking about movies, television, work, and vacation. Not only did he offer me a discount cruise down the Yangze from his company, but we also agreed on the validity of television and diversified markets for niche programming, in addition to discovering a mutual admiration for The Family Guy and Adult Swim's programming savvy.

Cue the fat rage.

There were three people sitting next to us. One was an older guy and his wife, and another seemed a slightly younger, manic fat girl from one of those countries who's accent seems to mangle English beyond all comprehension. She kept trying to stick her head into our conversation, opening with a question for the ages:

"Does my bum look big?" she asked, sticking her (frankly formless, large) ass out at us.

"Well, I live with Japanese women, so anything that doesn't look like a plywood board is fine by me," I answered. And she laughed. OK, now we can all go back to our individual conversations, right?

From that point on, every few minutes the increasingly rowdy morons to the left of us kept trying to bring us into their conversation. Eventually the line was snagged and we started talking to them.

Say it with me: MISTAKE.

For some reason the girl kept talking to us. She eventually asked me to guess her age. I said "29." Her eyes went wide in shock. She started freaking out. I hit the bathroom.

Say it with me: MISTAKE.

When I came back, the girl was STILL complaining about her age. STILL. She tried to let it go, but kept referencing it over and over. Turns out she was 23. Before that point I had been nailing ages left and right when people asked, as it was something of a hobby of mine that I never took seriously, but I fired wide and to the right on this one.

The joys of entitlement mean you get to hear people discuss things they shouldn't discuss, talk about themselves in glowing terms, and otherwise have the chance to torture yourself by listening to the kind of self-involved garbage that would make you want to cut off your own dick and cram it in your ear. And when you "insult" somebody like this with a (non-desultory) query about their age, well, the entitlement on the poor cow will probably turn into fat rage.

And it did.

Oh boy, it did.

For about 40 minutes this girl just started going off on me. All the while I sat there, just drinking and smirking to myself as she got more and more derisive.

"Where are you from?"


"So you're inbred? And your grandmother's your sister?"

"How is that even possible?"

"All southerners are stupid."

"Yeah. Hey, how's YOUR space program?"

"You're single, aren't you?"


"Probably not by choice."

"No, I just don't want to put up with anybody's ridiculous bullshit."

(drunken, unintelligible ramble)

"What was that? I couldn't hear you."

"Probably because of your hair there. You need to cut it. It looks like shit."

"Yeah, I know. Got it off a horses' ass."

"You need to get a tan."


"Did you just come here to be HATE-ED?"

"High price of being number one."

This just kept going ON AND ON, all of this was "aided" by the asides of her friends, who frankly lacked the mental power to remember to wipe after taking a bowel-deflating shit. None of it was well-thought-out, witty, or smartly delivered. It was like hearing a retarded kid call you "fat" for an hour, over and over again. Pointless and sad. The guy who was buying me beer just shrugged through it, though eventually they started being nice to him and trying to level insults at me.

At the same time though, I couldn't help but feel a little wrong. What did I do to engender this shit? Where was this coming from? Was it the fact that I wouldn't deign to give them the satisfaction of being angry because I was too tired? Was it because I wasn't angry, which probably pissed off "Tons-o-fun" even more? Was it just my aloof nature making me an easy target for people that didn't seem "there" mentally?

Why was I feeling bad for not being the kind of asshole that randomly accosts somebody in a bar for no reason on an off-night at 1 AM? Somewhere deep down, I did feel bad. I did. So I turned to her and asked her:

"Do you feel better now? Do you feel better now that you've got all the negative attention you could want just from sitting there and saying mean-spirited things about me?"

Her answer was pricless: "Do you?"


Here's where I realized what the deal was. The gist of it is: morons are morons. Three of them being moronic doesn't make anything they say "right," just as the Backstreet Boys being popular doesn't automatically equate them with being "talented." They're morons. Fuck 'em. And they're squares. It's not like we were talking music or movies or modern art. It was just vague, general, "I hate Americans shit." Yeah, well, you're also fat. Who cares? Learn how to construct an argument. Learn how to navigate beyond your blind rage and self-hate. Wire your head together and direct your dissatisfaction proactively.

Or what about this... how's by you get back on your meds or just stop going out in public? Nobody can like you that much. And this coming from a guy who goes to bars "just to be HATE-ED."

For all you Americans in Japan...

1.00 United States Dollar = 110.172 Japanese Yen


Why you should do "safe-search" at work.

Yesterday I was collecting images and pictures for a new alphabet game that I am going to do with my special needs students. I was matching letters with words, and I decided to use "m" for melon, which is a loan-word in Japanese. Thus, the kids would already be familiar with it. Simple enough, right?

So I went to yahoo.com and did an image search for "melon."

I swear to Jesus and John Woo, this is the first thing that came up.


Thursday, May 11, 2006

Go Washington Mutual?

Operation: Rock the fuck out.

Defend the Ghetto.

Houston's finest Karp tribute band finally has a myspace page. The Ronin King still has one too, but we're dead and gone so don't expect much. I never check it, in fact.

Here's a link to some new mp3s by Sonic Youth.\
Stream the new Neil Young album. 'Tis nice. Neil blasted this fucker out in a manner of days. Rocks the house and sounds like he's angry again.

Vinyl Mine post about Appliances SFB. This was an amazing band that Steve Albini put out a record for in the 80's on Ruthless Records. NOT Eazy-E's Ruthless, btw... we're talking the label that Effigies, Big Black, and several other fine post-punk Chicago bands used as a collective name to get distributors to take them seriously. Hot.

And not to be smited... Mission of Burma's new site, replete with new mp3s. These guys are like the Stones of indie rock... except they aren't phoning shit in. At all.

Houston, we have a communication problem.

A lot of people in Houston bitched at me for not keeping in touch with them when I initially moved here. I tried my best, sent messages, called, and mailed postcards, but then life got in the way. So it goes.

During the winter when my entertainment options were reduced to a.) watching videos, or b.) hypothermia, I actually DID step up contact with people back home. I made the effort like a hoss, in fact.

Guess what I heard back?

*cue tumbleweeds*

The poetic justice of this is that now nobody from home contacts me about things. And not just minor niggling issues. Big things. I have to call at odd hours and pester people to hear about news that anybody in their right mind would let me know about. It's ridiculous. I've heard things about people quitting jobs, being killed, getting arrested, and getting major promotions only because I have to act like "Aunt Edna the intrusive bitch." Is it any wonder why I said "fuck it" and moved halfway around the world?


So for everybody complaining that "I don't keep in touch anymore," well, you have your reason. Just think of me fondly and warmly, as you should, because we're friends and that's what friends do in the event that they can't manage a half-assed email.*

* = (Unless your one of those d-bag 20-years-too-late art fags who got mad at me for making fun of Basquiat on the Hands Up Houston page and decided to deride RK like a whiny 5-year-old.)

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

In the words of Rousseau: WHO THE FUCK CARES?

Above: two has-beens.

Britney Spears is pregnant again. Not to spoil the mood, but here at the Yatsushiro Radio studios a resounding cry of "who the fuck cares?" has reverberated around the building all morning. Honestly, folks. What the hell? What kind of horribly sad attention grab is this?

Say what you will about my constant mental spank fight of the sprightly, beautiful BoA versus the depression "probably-fucks-like-Bon Scott-after-a-good-show" festival that is Mika Nakashima, but I doubt either one of these J-pop stunners would publicize every move their vagina makes.

(No matter how much I wish they would)

If anything, the whole Britney Spears thing just proves the same adage that I have been kicking around since junior year of university: when former pretty girls "while out," my friends, DUCK. They will go from the iron-bodied and blonde-haired type of teenage party girl that wouldn't spit on you if you were on fire to a first-class bar skank of epic porportions. This is especially true for southern girls, who go from "bomb" to "mom" so fast that your penis can't even recede into your intestines before you go "arrrgh, God no."

Never you mind the "let's bring up my DEEPLY personal life" line of logic that these people seem to swear by. Why do we need to know? WHY? Who holds the curiosity anymore? You cracked one out. You're about as hot as an icicle now. Wholesome mom? We've got that footage of you with a snake.

What does this mean? It means that even before you start screaming about every detail of your own personal life in very public forums for those few of us who haven't stopped caring... your kid is FUCKED. Your first child was probably screwed by name alone. Sean Preston? Did you find that in the Big Book of Future Frat Rapist Names? That kid's going to fucking jail. Better name the second demon right. And don't publicize the shit.

That's right.

No press releases.

No pictures.

No US Weekly.

And no fucking statues.

I just don't get it. I just don't follow and I just don't get it. I wouldn't want to be a parent if it involved living in a solid gold house. It's too much to handle, and there's too many assholes/pedophiles/rapists/murderers running around.

In all honesty... I know we have readers from all over now. I know that. I know a lot of you are also around my age (mid 20s), have a lot of the similar interests of the staff (I know big J is killing it with the movies and music, and if you look at any of my link updates you know I'm OBSESSED with the "rawk"), and lead a similar lifestyle (unattached flirts, skipping from girlfriend to girlfriend, not really trying). OK? We're probably on the same page, if not a similar one. Awesome.

But do any of you have kids? Any of you fire one out of the flesh-o-pod? Was it intentional? Or did it just spring up on you like "eh, I'll take care of it?"

I can't fathom being a father. I can't. I'm not equipped for it, I have an adversarial relationship with a lot of the world, and with wages being what they are for what they do I've got no options if a kid comes along. I'm dumping about 12k into long-term savings in September, and that's going to last me into my 30s. If a kidling comes around (Thank YOU, pulling out!), what are my options? How can I raise a kid that's not a sociopath?

And even if I did manage to bake one from my ball batter, I wouldn't put the poor thing through a public pregnancy. Or drink publicly at parties to try and throw off the press.

I'd be at home, doing push-ups, cleaning my gun, and learning judo. Just to make sure nobody ever even LOOKS at my kid the wrong way.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

For all of you raging nerds out there...

MSN Mai-nichi ran a huge Evangelion special on Sunday to celebrate 10+ years of it's existence. I read that as "it was this, or we talk about that fucking ice skater again."

There's a bunch of parts up there, all linked from the bottom of that interview. I couldn't find a "main page," so just work your way through it and sort out the mess. Kind of like the series itself, really.

For all of you wondering "why the fuss?", keep in mind that this animation was, has been, and will remain HUGE in terms of monetary intake. I was once told by Matt Greenfield (muy importante ADV fella) that there was Evangelion TOOTHPASTE available during it's heyday.

(Oh ok... for all you people out there who have girlfriends that aren't your right hands, here be the wiki entry)

Evangelion was funny for me, because even though it blew up massively while not only making ADV huge but also greatly increasing the availability of geek stuff, I still thought it was just "ok." I wouldn't actively seek it out, mostly because the style of storytelling just confused the shit out of me, but I liked certain parts of it enough to say that it warranted a watch. I applaud it's attempt to burrow so deep into Jungian and Freudian concepts that you wanted to puke halfway through the story arc, but overall it was just too shambolic and dis-connected in it's raging post-modernism. The fog on the mirror overcame the reflection, so to speak.

So basically, I view Evangelion like I view The Rolling Stones: the good shit rules, the bad stuff is pointless. And yeah, Rei IS cute.

Monday, May 08, 2006

I rode the Hello Kitty airplane. Would you like to let me fuck you?

I had to use the phone. I was boarding the plane, but man, I HAD use the phone. So I was ON IT.

The quick, heated call started off with four rings. My friend picked up. My mouth agape, I stood happy as a pig in shit and was about to share some nutzoid info with my buddy. I heard Japanese kids giggling and I figured they'd be amused too. Instead I heard:

"Dude I'm in class!"

Abrupt click. Sad Evin.

What did I see? What was happening? I FLEW ON THIS:

Hello Kitty airplane, motherfucker!!

That's right, I've ridden the friendly skies of a strange and creepy cat-fetish airplane. TWICE. And you know what's really cool about this? Not only have I wiped my face on the Hello Kitty napkins, and eaten the Hello Kitty-shaped dessert while I rested on the Hello Kitty headrest and pillow, but I fully intend to exploit this information to make girls giggle.

Right before I try to impregnate them.

"Hello titty."

Coming soon... the wrap-up.

Daddy's feeling run-down today after 14 hours of sleep and all those layovers that came with getting back from Hong Kong. Was it worth it? Probably not. But I liked the food, and I now have enough Lupin III to watch to keep me from leaving the house for months. Awesome.

Haven't done the mailbag lately. Simple explanation: "comment verification" has been a cock-block. Honest explanation: "lack of regular broadcasts is butt-fucking our listeners."

Expect an episode sometime soon. Feel free to leave comments today for me to address this week.

The grand clarifier....

Remember the scary post about the back of my apartment? With the blood everwhere? Well... we finally got it.

Was it a political killing?

Was it a vicious, brutal stabbing?

Was it a suicide pact?


No it wasn't.

Some kid fell off his bike.


I'm yet to find out why the blood was spread apart in the way that it was... unless the poor kid feel three times and cracked his head like a wallnut at least twice... but that shit was still terrifying.