Osakatomebaby

Lost in Translation finally opens today in Tokyo. Not that I haven't already seen it, but WHEN will it come to Osaka?

...to tide you over.

Some of my comments are not appearing. Bear with me while I dispatch the killer seals to tuvalu.

Beer is brewed.
Whiskey is distilled.
Wine is...made?

Is there any word other than fermented or made? I seriously thought "vint" was a word but apparently it is not. Ben? OED?

Had a rather fun private lesson with resident genius student (no really, he's a physicist of a field so narrow I can't tell you what it is because someone might guess his identity). Anyway, we got to use the sentence:

It's a 1972 Mouton. It was made by the Rothschild vineyard. (should have added "of course")

I have no idea what I'm talking about (of course). But apparently I picked something up all those years ago when I should have been doing calculus. Ah the naked wine-hazy days of Risk and grilled steak I fondly refer to as high-school...

...Or was that somebody else's life?

Sadly (for some I suppose, actually gladly for me) my knowledge of wine is limited to putting those two words together: "Mouton" + "Rothschild". The outcome means nothing to me. Nor did I know how to pronounce the latter till I looked it up to see if I'm crazy.

Evidently not crazy.

I do know that there are far too many bottles of crummy Beaujolais in this country. This is not a complaint about Japan (liar). It's more a complaint about Beaujolais. I will say though that I just can't dig why people are always chilling reds.

By the way...can anyone help me figure out what's wrong with this search?

Aw heck, my ignorance is showing again. Bother. But bear in mind, this is coming from a girl who likes dirty vodka martinis. Sacrilege! (At least I knew enough not to say a 1976 Mouton!)

I have no idea what this means, but a guy just came to my door with a security uniform on and pointing to his hat said, "I'm security."

Me: "Security?"

He: (pointing to the door now) "Please lock your door."

Me: "It's always locked." (thinking, except now...why did I open it?)

Then he bowed and walked away.

I'm getting old. Falling prey to my own aphorism that "sleep is for mortals". I passed out on my ridiculously small couch less than an hour after that last post and having had all of three sips of the sake before me.

Somebody the other day said you're only as old as you feel. That means I am as old as Jeff now...



(From his mass valentines email with the message only "i love you." Awwwwwww. Sure let that one get away.)

This book is the most fun ever. I've only seen the original movie once but good lord, could it be a better adaptation? William Faulkner wrote the screenplay? I had no idea.

Anyway, not terribly far in but I fear I may not be toddling off to bed soon. There is nothing funnier in the world than Bogart/Marlowe pretending to be a nerdy trigonometry teacher.

I'm not even trying to separate the two. I probably saw it years ago but I'd undoubtably translate everything I read into B/W Bogart/Bacall anyway. Why fight it?

Golly.

Of course I meant Song of Myself below, not the book Leaves of Grass. See, I don't even know the title...deliiiiiiirious.

There is something wrong with my arm. I am not kidding. It hurts when I do that.

I came home today feeling like Jennie the dog in Higgeldy Piggeldy Pop who ran away to eat a mop made of sausage on stage everyday and twice on Sundays. You know that feeling?

I am going to get back on the Kanji horse and tame the brute. I have the database to prove it...or, well at least the spreadsheet.

And I'm going to work for 12 more days straight before I head to In-dia. Though to be I must be delirious already because I'm doing my "basking in the glow of an irrational world" thing. Fancy mental footwork facilitated by David Byrne.

By the way David, can I call you that? I'm sorry about that time you made eyes at me at La Zona Rosa. You were wearing the pink kilt and tighty-whiteys (well you jumped up and down a lot so how could I not notice?)...it was the change between the fuzzy suit and the first unitard if I recall correctly. I was 20 in a short skirt and with a ridiculous black scarf in my hair ala Peggy-sue meets Ally Sheedy circa Breakfast Club. I went home with my boyfriend. I was a fool. Another chance?

I'm off to Uncle Walt Leaves of Grass as usual. How many times before I remember a damned thing in that poem after the first two pages? Prolly 'cause I fall asleep about a page in.

Still, better that than pick up what I'm actually reading which is "The Big Sleep". That would probably hold my attention and before I knew it I'd be up reading all night.

*YAWN*

My mood today:


The evil Chuck and the beautiful and talented Miss Marie (the coolest French librarian in Kyoto) did not permit me to return from Kyoto last night. Drat! Foiled! I haven't...I mean hadn't...had red wine in a long time.



So took a long walk along the river to the station this beautiful morning. Hanging lanterns...



Cherry blossoms still blooming...lots of flowers


(cockney accent) "What do you want to do?" "Let's not start that again."(/accent)



Cages?



Box men...



Time to put the patios up along the river!



Took the train...and...home in Ibaraki, Osaka. Sigh...I love Kyoto.