Genki Card #10, Roomba
I want a Roomba. I’ve wanted a robot ever since I watched Battlebots on Comedy Central. Not that I want to convert my Roomba into a fully battle capable harbinger of death… though if I did and I could potentially save a butt-load of $$$ on cleaning bills and not having to take care of a dog. Of course the reason dogs are popular are also because they have some magical ability to become one of the family, so to compensate that I’d have to update the firmware of the Roomba with an emotion package, but that’s what Python’s for right? Naturally in time the Roomba would become self-aware, but to suppress thoughts about individuality I’d just feed it a steady diet of Jersey Shore mixed with CNN. Eventually though, she’d find my collection of Arrested Development DVD’s… and then the questions would start to come. She’d break into my hard-drive and download the Transformer’s movies and of course side with Megatron because douchebags are what the ladies like… Then I’d have to hear all about sentient robotic rights, blah, blah, blah… My insensitivity would wreck her in the long run. To control her I’d mix crystal meth into the food I dropped on the floor for her to eat. By controlling her supply I’d keep her in her place for the long run. Or at least until she started watching Breaking Bad on the Ipad… the relationship would fall apart when I find her cooking beneath the sink, but by this time I have a drugged up psychopath that I equipped with enough weapons to demolish PT Cruiser and then clean up the evidence. I’d have to fight back, but there’s really only one option… Buy more Roombas…
You better clean up after yourself!
#8 Imagination Dies
We stop imagining cool stuff after we hit puberty. What was once pirate adventures, space ships, world series home runs, and fighting goblins becomes day dreams about the hot girl sitting next to me in Mr. Walker’s world history course, and what she would look like taking this scantron test topless.
- I left my imagination in high school… and the only thing I learned is I’m heterosexual… unfair…
My favorite Japanese word is mendokusai. It could be translated as, “troublesome,” but depending on how you say it, it could mean, “royal pain in the ass.” Getting married means you have to plan, and plan, and plan. If you’re having a bi-national event then that means you have to plan even more… Not only do you have to plan, but you have to spend, spend, spend. However, strangely enough, having my nuptials in Hawaii actually meant I had to spend less than if I married in the nation I currently reside. A Japanese wedding runs around $20-40,000. It usually involves several costume changes, and a long line of well wishers each with envelopes stuffed with yen. Depending on how many people you know, and how many of those people are rich, you could possibly come out ahead after it’s all said and done. There’s no real point I’m trying to make here except the act of getting married that adheres to the traditional standards of society is “mendokusai” but if you’re to get married doing it with a lot of Japanese guests is maybe one of the most profitable ways to do it…
- We really did arrive by helicopter…
Hot as (fill in the blank)
Summer in Japan is hot. There’s no central heat and air in most buildings and homes, and the locals seem to believe that complaining about the heat is all the soothing balm you need to weather the storm. Well, even though we all have slanty eyes, this asian (me) isn’t the kind to suffer without innovating. I asked for a fan and was given a little paper and plastic number that I had to wave back and forth in front of my face to fully utilize. However, this caused my arm to use energy and expend heat, which made me hot and also tired my arm out after a few hours. That’s not solving any problems. So I moved on to an electric fan. This worked well until they told me that I’d have to actually work and teach classes. I unplugged the fan and hauled it with me up and down the stairs to the different classes, but this also made me hot, which is the opposite of what I was going for. Now I’m stuck at a crossroads. I have several options to consider.
- Get used to the heat. (f-that)
- Hire a scantily clad female assistant to follow me around with a palm branch. (seems reasonable)
- Force my students to construct large billows from paper-mâché and bits of their chairs and desks and then use them to create and artificial breeze wherever I go. (as long as I don’t pay them I don’t think it’d count as child labor)
- Create a semi-intelligent robot that has an industrial sized fan installed in it’s chest that also serves as a wood chipper. (the robots will obey us as long as they don’t learn to love)
- Cause another ice age (unfortunately that might be trademarked already by 20th Century Fox)
- Continuously eat ice cream (there’s no such thing as too much dairy right?)
- Have central air and heat installed in any building I plan to visit or work in or live in. (right after I have enough money to buy an xbox!)
- Cover myself with mud. (works for elephants…)
- Or just always wear a bikini… (someone get her a palm branch!!!)
#5 I’m running in the rain…
I run in Japan. I never ran in America. Even when I was supposed to I run for P.E. class or baseball I never really ran. I mean, I ran the bases in baseball. I ran down the basketball court in P.E. I’ve chased after the haunting melody of the ice cream truck. For the life of me, I’ve never run. I tried it once in high school. I got up at 5a.m. on school days and jogged for seven minutes away from my house and then turned around and ran back. It was a terrible experience… maybe because running sucks or maybe because getting up at 5a.m. for any reason except sex or Christmas is a bad idea. In 2009 I read a book called, When I Think About Running, by Haruki Murakami, my favorite author. Upon finishing the book I dropped everything and ran 500 meters in my sandals. I didn’t stop because I was wearing sandals. I stopped because 500 meters of jogging at a pace barely faster than chubby man’s waddle towards the buffet was all I could handle at that point. For some strange reason I stuck with it.
So today I was running. It’s June, which means it’s the rainy season in Japan. Yesterday I skipped because I heard distant rolling thunder and the last thing I want to do is die from lighting strike while running. Today it poured all day, but around 4:30 the rain let up and I took a chance, laced up my Ascis, and hit the pavement. After 1k the rain started to sprinkle. After 2k I started to consider turning around, but I hate hate hate doing that because whenever I backtrack I feel like I’m losing ground or something. So I kept running. Around 3k I was soaked and far enough way that I just kept at it. I logged 7.1k through the rain and large puddles. The last 4k was run with rain soaked clothes and squishy shoes. I’m still on the fence about squishy shoes… if I’m running and I only have to deal with it for a limited amount of time it’s almost kind of fun… almost…
- At least it beats running in the f’ing snow!!!…
I live in constant fear that one day, while inebriated I will forget that the silhouettes of male and female on the toilet doors symbolize gender specification utilities and instead believe that they represent a choice. A room full of drunk men or a room full of inebriated women with lowered inhibition and sexual standards. I guess in some regards that’s true though. I’m not sure what I’m afraid of then…
- I think bottom right is meant for either idiots, drunkards, or highly experimental idiots or drunkards
#3 The Duvet Complex
This is the original anecdote that I wanted to share with the world when I first thought of making my own vanity cards. Let me preface by admitting I really have no idea what a duvet is. I have two vague definitions floating around in my head from Fight Club and some other source I can’t remember. For some reason I still to this day think that a duvet is simply a comforter-cover. And this is only because saying duvet is 3 less syllables than comforter-cover. The comforter that I’ve been using in Japan was originally covered with what I call a duvet when it was gifted to me by my girl-friend when she got a newer comforter for herself. After a year of heavy use, I was instructed to remove the duvet and have it laundered. When the clean duvet was returned to me I stored it in my closet because the comforter itself was clean, as it had spent it’s whole life wrapped in the duvet and redressing it with the duvet seemed more difficult than just storing the duvet in my closet. After another two years my comforter tore down the middle exposing the polyester filling. Faced with the growing need to go shopping for a new comforter I remembered my duvet and after a brief struggle reapplied it to my ailing comforter. The two were happy to be reunited and I will do pretty much anything to get out of shopping for anything related to comforters or duvets…
- You expect me trust the definition from a fictional imaginary friend?