I am okay with reality.

Once I wedged a photocopied poem in some guy's door. It was about boats I think. At the time, it was the only thing I could do. And as much as I'd like to think that he noticed it and at least took a moment to wonder, I'm certain that he never saw it. He probably only touched it twice--once when he stepped out and once when he scuffed it away while he unlocked his door.

[Two days until I'm out of my apartment. Current progress: it almost looks like someone lives here, opposed to someone haphazardly storing things.]

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Stress makes me hemorrhage faster.

Damn that's a difficult word to spell from memory.

Anyway. Here are the stories of note.

Recently a sticker fell off my car onto the dashboard. Not one of my stickers, one of the official ones that came with my car. I didn't look at it until today, when it said "kanji kanji kanji some time two years ago kanji kanji please do the next one by September of 2005." Last year. wtf. wtf. I googled with all my might for information about a round sticker attached to my car, and all I got was that it was a for a suggested check-up. Oh internet, you're so helpful. So now I'm stressing about that too.

Today I signed a billion hats, shirts, pencil cases and notebooks at the elementary school. They're the hardest ones to leave, I think. Even though the junior high school kids can communicate a little bit better, they just can't beat the enthusiasm of the elementary school. I've had so many bashful girls sneak me notes, I love it. And one of my favorite students tried to give me some markers, and I told him I would rather have a letter. He cranked one out in about an hour, and even ended up with some stationary. How a sixth-grade boy pulled that off is beyond me, but he's going to be awesome when he grows up. He said I love you and gave me his phone number. Thanks kid.

When I was biking home today, a couple girls stopped me. They told me there were a couple weird looking guys sitting on the street and that they walked around them. I saw them too--they were the construction guys from across the street taking a break. I explained in my tattered Japanese that the guys were probably okay, they just weren't from our town. Sure they were a bit creepy looking, but they didn't say anything to me. ::shrug::

And last one--some morning, probably yesterday, I was biking to work. I saw a guy about to drop his fly to piss in a field. We made eye contact, and he unzipped and started pissing as I biked by. Oh inaka Japan. I won't miss the public urination part, thanks.

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I wouldn't hire her.

So I've been a semi-good girl, sifting through job websites rather than playing flash games, and I happened across some quotes about how people conduct interviews. The first boss talked about how conversational her interview was, and how she asked some job-related questions. Nice. Reassuring. I even started to try and answer her questions, because they were fun--could you imagine talking about your favorite movie in a job interview? Sounds great. Boss number two had this to say:

Since I did the hiring for our store, I could decide who was brought on. I made a point of not hiring anyone with my name...unless they were OUTSTANDING. I had seen it happen too many times when people got tagged with "oh, are you talking about big Jason or little Jason?" The one person I did hire with my name went by her middle name at my request.

Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. There are people like this in positions of power? And I'll have to suck up to these people? I don't care if she was taken out of context. Someone's got power issues. I'm glad she's not in education.

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Wacky. (more link abuse)

Fun with the dictionary:

ecdysiast: see stripteaser. Etymology: Greek ekdysIs

Them wacky Greeks. I do enjoy stumbling onto new words. Thank you Crispin Glover (scroll down to the end of the impressive quote list) for being just as wacky as the Greeks.

Here, have a clip. (Youtube link) It's good for you. No, before you ask, he wasn't on acid, he was being a character from one of his movies. I dig the pants.

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Confession.

Bouncing around the internet, I learned that President Vicente Fox is part Irish. This blows my mind in the same way my students freak out when I say I'm American. Or when I remember that there are Japanese people in South America. It shouldn't be that mind-bending, but hey, I'll admit it when I realize my perceptions are grounded in personal assumptions.

Another fun fact, the Mexican president has a term of six years, and can't be reelected after that. Period. Six years seems odd to me, but then again, I know more about spiders than I do about politics, especially international politics.

This discovery led to an even better realization--that Anthony Quinn was half-Irish. And supposedly, the guy that Zorro was based on was also Irish. That explains why they chose Anthony Quinn to be the old Zorro in the Antonio Banderas movie! And holy cow, he sure looked different when he was in Zorba the Greek! Man, I've never seen that movie, but I keep hearing about it here and there. And man! Anthony Quinn died of pneumonia in 2001? Bummer.

Wait. Wasn't he in Red Dragon?

And then all the pieces fell together, and I realized that Anthony Quinn is not Anthony Hopkins. ::sigh:: Yes, it was a slip, and I'm pretty sure I was so unaware of Anthony Quinn's career that I just kind of assumed when I heard about a famous Anthony, it was probably Hopkins. And yes, if I put more thought into it, I would remember that Hopkins is Welsh, just like Catherine Zeta-Jones and all those kids that mumble. And D, the island guy. (HA.)

The end. I just wanted to ramble a bit and abuse wikipedia linkage.

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Me and my big mouth.

I think it's hilarious when I sift through myspaces and I find old guy friends who are still single but have a million attractive girls posting comments anywhere they can cram them. Hi-lar-i-ous. I can name three off the top of my head, although it was the one I just found that clinched it.

Is it okay for me to find my gas station attendants adorable? Like not an "I want to get to know you better" adorable, but an "Awww, he forgot which side my gas cap is on, and can't do mental math" adorable. Totally okay, right? I want to pat them on the head and tell them it's okay to make the same mistakes over and over again. As I pulled away, I saw the guy who was checking traffic for me (oh Japanese gas stations, I'll miss you) pulled a long, low bow. 90 degree angle, at least five seconds long. I thought I was going to crash, I was looking in my rearview mirror for so long. Man, he might be a new guy, but he takes his job seriously.

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Tricked Again.

The internets! No one's updating them!!! Why? I demand entertainment!

Oh, right, Fourth of July. I barely noticed, and that's the way I like it. I'll get my fireworks fix in August, no worries.

Rah rah, red white and blue. I'm American, I appreciate the opportunities and am only moderately irked by the inconvenience of being judged as a result of my government, my country's history, and my country's BMI being criticized by the rest of the world.

I've already been asked (by a fellow somewhat-immigrant, no less) if I celebrated Thanksgiving. (Yes I do, and we do it with steamed rice and mashed potatoes.) I think I've felt on the fringes of Americana proper for a good long time, but that's one of the few concrete examples that I can provide. Does that make sense? It's no fun being labeled as an Outsider if you already feel that way.

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Always cheers me up.

The BBC is always there for me:

It's like a bright sunshiny day:

1. Chandelier in the men's toilet.

2. Hit his head, cut his arm. (Curiously, I recently learned that soccer/football players, when hit anywhere remotely near their head, be it shoulder, elbow, or rib cage, will fake an eye injury. Fascinating.)

3. Cancelled a Christmas role for judging a reality show.

4. HIT HIS HEAD, CUT HIS ARM. I can't get over it. I hope he was high.

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Wind from my sails.

I heard a lovely song one morning, and I felt all special because it felt like it was picked out just for me, and then I found it for myself and realized that it had been making the rounds on the music blogs. I'm not sure if I should feel cheapened by that or not.

I also still cannot do anything while I listen to music. I can't read, I can't write, I can't have a real conversation, and if I'm doing any of those things, then I'm probably really distracted by the music. I used to think that I could train myself to multitask with music, but it's been probably 10 years or so and I'm still tuning one or the other out.

I think I kind of miss being truly miserable, because that was the only time I really paid attention to music. I had to find meaning in everything; I had to assign order. I guess I still do that these days, but with less finesse.

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