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I cannot possibly be the only one to have noticed that the girl basically has one. single. pose.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure she has potential to make it into every college fratboy top ten shaggable. when she gets the coke-induced twitching under control.

But the fact this ridiculously cheap 20 degrees left, 30 degrees down, naughty-girl-with-malicious-eye-and-mischievous-smile is what nowadays passes for a paragon of charm, or even plain basic sex-appeal, is a sad testament to that pathetic MTV culture we live in.

And the fact I just took the time to write this, an even sadder testament to the very low level of productivity of my afternoon.

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Where do people get this intense urge to share meteorological insights with everybody they meet?

Have you noticed how some blogs go to incredible lengths to keep you informed of the exact humidity rate in whatever random corner of the world they happened to be written in, by covering half their homepage with some prominent weather-indicating gizmo. See, the trick is to make this otherwise thoroughly uninteresting data more palatable, by presenting it as an amusing novelty. Whether as a seasonally dressed character in stereotypical outfits, or the perennial Smily Sun and Pissy Cloud icons, there is always an effort to coat the dull core in a layer of pointless cuteness. The point remains: Nobody gives a fuck!

Believe me, there are very few excuses to bore strangers with detailed recounts of your personal adventure in mercury hop-skipping. And most of these only apply to stiff upper-lip middle-aged british men, whose emotional gamut couldn’t possibly cover any other topic, and hapless gaijin trying to maintain a casual level of neighbourly smalltalk, without veering too deep into the murky waters of a language that was specifically designed to let locals single out and decapitate potential invaders.

I mean, why can’t we find deeper subject on which to waste these precious seconds of our all-too-ephemeral lives. Why. Why? WHY? Are we so quick to forget that we are but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage. And then is heard no more. Have we descended to such abyss of superficiality that we can no longer reach out to our brother Man and talk to his heart. Do we need to hide behind shallow meaningless phrases and disembodied conversations?

Sad indeed…

…

Anyway, that being said:

Where is my fucking Spring weather!?!

Especially now that my futon sits outside like a giant soaking wet sponge after I failed to remove it before yesterday’s pouring.

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1. Unnecessary longwinded and irrelevant Foreword

What does one do, on a depressingly bleary rainy Easter Monday?

  1. Stay in and abuse pharmaceutical substances while watching the entire second season of Scrubs, freshly downloaded off the net.
  2. Stay in and abuse pharmaceutical substances while working on a thoroughly useless piece of software instead of, say, earn a living.
  3. Go to church and bath in Holy Water.

Answer: 1) and 2) (all about multitasking).

Oh wait, sorry… that’s just me.

I believe the correct answer for regular God-fearing sinners is 3).

I know… One usually partakes in such activities on the preceding Sunday. But yesterday was way too busy attending a sun-tanning contest in the garden with my neighbours.

Seeing how I nearly lost an arm to self-combustion last time Holy Water hit my bare skin, we will have to make do with the next closest topic at hand today, and discuss religions in general.

Note: Because this blog wouldn’t be what it is without its overly affected pseudo-wordly brand of cynicism, you can expect a certain amount of negative thoughts and disparaging comments on the matter at heart. We would therefore cordially invite the strongly religious and easily offended among you, to go browse somewhere else for the duration of this entry. Hare Krishnas and Jehova’s Witnesses: you can stay; you are probably accustomed to people overtly mocking your faith by now.

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Most of the afternoon was spent bonding with the family that just moved next-door. They were a bit cautious at first, but nothing like raw bacon and milk to cement good neighbouring relationships.

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It’s always the same thing: whenever I stop posting for a few days, the more I wait, the more I set expectations high for a triumphant return, laden with brilliant insights on life, love and death, all written in the elegiac, yet wry and witty, prose that has made my reputation all the way to the English-speaking suburbs of north-Tokyo, and beyond.

Just too much pressure to take.

That and also it’s been kinda sunny outside lately, and every hour not spent coding, has been spent basking in my sunny garden, catching up on readings and bonding with the neighbourhood cats over raw bacon and milk (ever tried raw bacon? It’s awesome).

I am only too painfully aware of how pitiful it would be to post, solely to apologize for not having posted in a while. Hence, I have taken the time to write a few lines about the only topic that I could muster any blogging enthusiasm for, right now: Me. Seeing how talking about myself, as this old queen used to put, is what I do best.

So without further ado: 99 things about Me, me, me…

Frankly doubt you’ll know me any better for that, but it will satisfy this website’s need for an “about me” section, without lifting too much of that shroud of mystery I like to keep tightly wrapped around my persona.

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I did promise you we would resume our Recipe Monday series, didn’t I?

I know. I am one week late. Some people have written to complain that my instruction to stash in advance on the main ingredient had caused a few problems with their spouse and neighbours. some petty matter of smell or something.

In order to make up for that, it is not one, but TWO recipes, that I shall bestow on my eagerly awaiting cooking public this time.

Tonight, we will be making a complete luxury meal, starting simply with a Pork Chops in Mango Chutney & Ginger Sauce, merely there to lay the groundwork for a scrumptious Squirrel Melba in Champagne Sauce.

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