Spurning the name of the Holy Ghost,
It’s career ginger Donnie Most!
Hey now guy and guytrinas!
I’m into a localized (localised damn you Microsoft Word, one more Americanisation of my admittedly slang heavy prose and I’ll have yer guts fer garters so I wills) home stretch.
9 more sleeps and I’ll be shooshing my way across the nature-rid Japanese countryside at bullet-train miles per hour on my way to the largest city in the world. Dramatic stuff right?
Really all that my mammoth commute entails is 35 hours of searching for Wifi for my iPod and chemically counterbalancing my caffeine/alcohol levels in order to resist succumbing to whatever timezone is trying to boss me around at any given moment.
The main focus of my week has been a charity concert that went on Saturday night and by all accounts went quite well. My main contribution was feasting on a proceeds-going-to-charity hot dog based dinner and playing a few songs with a badass trio of local musicians and some English teachers with unknown albeit undeniable talents.
The organiser also sang a few tunes more than ably, however as her set progressed I noticed a theme in her song choices, both that night and from previous gigs. None were of the frame-
“Hey baby, we’re both quite nice in our own way and things as they are I’d say we’ve got a pretty good thing going.”
In fact things were pretty sharply skewed towards-
“Fuck you and all the stuff you did to me and while we’re at it, I’m at least as rubbish as you. Moreso even! We’re shit!”
My finely tuned girly-man’s intuition tells me there was a bad break-up somewhere in this lasses history.
My set consisted of a Silent Night in 5 languages, some gospelly bluesy stuff and a bit of Blondie for the fogeys. I also seamlessly blended in a nuanced tribute to my two great influences “Teddy Wrong-Key King” and “Blind Playing-Chords-That-Aren’t-There Willy.”
Also, Bootsy Collins.
Gaze children, upon the face of madness…
The gig came and went at exactly the right time as within 20 minutes of getting off stage I was overcome by my annual winter 24 hour flu. Of doom. I slept from 1 in the morning till mid-day. Then snoozed. Cooked and ate lunch. Then napped from 7 till 10:30. In bed by 1:30 again, and presently I feel somewhere between heavy gas and a tax return. Though I only have a wealth of experience in one of those.
In the process of getting to this point I had two night time fevers where I soaked the bed (probably in sweat) and emitted irregular yelping noises as I tried to sing in my sleep. Worse again was my Friday night’s sleep, though in retrospect this may have been partially due to the beginnings of the flu soaking into my craw. On Friday night I dreamt rather graphically that I had killed a person and in doing so reminded myself of a previous time I had killed a person but had purged the experience from my memory.
All of which led to a terrifying 20 minutes pinned to the bed as I tried to figure out if I had in fact killed someone and de-remembered it (and killed a second person) or had just remembered a dream where I remembered a dream killing while committing another dream killing. Since my dreams are usually about eating roasted poultry and really sticking it to my family in fantasy football, this made for a bit of a rough evening trying to de-Inception my thought processes. There was also some grisly stuff to do with their kidneys which is even now some cause for concern...
A few bits and pieces I forgot to mention recently were that we were given a talk on emergency measures during our big English teacher’s conference thingy a few weeks back. It was given by a man who goes only by the name “Dansby” whose passions seem to revolve around not sleeping and passing litre after litre of low price liquor through his Keith Richards leather bag of a liver. A hero by all accounts.
In packing our emergency grab-bag his tips included “Don’t forget to bring food, otherwise you’ll starve like a tool,” and “You’ll probably be stuck in a gym with like 300 kids for a month or so, so you’re going to need one of these <lifts a bottle of Suntory Whiskey.>”
Also last Friday saw a strange upswing in the activity level of one of my Elementary schools. Everything was kind of the same, but just more so. For instance when all the kids sprinted in after break one of the 4th grader boys knocked down a 2nd grader girl that was close to him. However he then continued running and proceeded to drag the kids under them like a cyclist into a wheat thresher and basically stomped her into the ground like a cigarette butt.
Let’s peace!
In the same lunch break I planted a kid in the face with a dodgeball and had to watch him wander the yard airily as I wondered whether a particularly rigorously inflated balloon could cause concussion.
Also I said hello to one 1st grader who if I’m honest would probably Kathy Bates from Misery me if she had the body weight. I then immediately picked up one of the special needs kids who gestured that he wanted up.
Kathy Bates did her fucking nut.
Fucking with me will totally work out well for you
I think she calmed down once she found a game of dodgeball within which to smack some kids in the face but I think I may have to tread carefully till I get that flight out.
On that note of foreboding and knee shatterage a bid you a fond adieu.
Something rude.
Girl man in Japan.
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