検索
The search string gods are favoring me early this month.
Someone wants to know the “duration of 2004 niigata quake.” To which one can only respond, “Which one?”
Someone’s inner Whitney Houston needs soothing: “how can you know boys if had a feeling with you.” Do I know where you’re coming from, or what, honey! But, you know, there is one way to tell. You could get a broken nose rather than an answer to your prayers, but what is this life without some risk?
I’m hoping “koda shosei kill sean” is a product of unfortunate syntax and not a minded use of the imperative mood.
Some poor soul just can’t quite remember what song goes like this: “i like the way you cross the street cause you’re…precious.” It’s the first song on
Pretenders
, and trust me, you need to buy the album, and don’t just skip through to “Brass in Pocket.” The whole damned thing will rock your world.
I know I’ve got at least one would-be comedian of a reader who tries obnoxious search terms to see whether he can get me going. If “homosexual inferior trash” is not from him, I will have you know, whoever you are, that my garbage is always put out on the right day–properly separated and in city-approved bags. Well, except the newspapers, which are stacked at exact right angles (I check with a T-square) and tied off, gift-style, with whimsical blue twine. I defy Shintaro Ishihara himself to find a reason to kvetch about it.
Finally, we have “alex kerr homosexual.” Hmmm. Wouldn’t surprise me. Art collector, lives in Bangkok with partner of unidentified gender. Cute and well-preserved, too. Even if he’s a het, we’ll make him an honorary. The guy hangs around kabuki actors; I doubt he’ll mind.
All right, little more cleaning to do so the place is ready for tomorrow morning. I was a bit casual about my unpacking this time.
I keep hoping for “Connie du Toit How to Give her A Million Dollars.”
Maybe it would help if you pretended to be the daughter of a deposed Sub-Saharan African leader. Considering how many of those there are floating around, someone must fall for them.
Yes, but do you put the nets on your trash, or do you let the crows get into it?
Well, in my new neighborhood, our trash goes into an honest-to-goodness concrete-walled room off the garage. With labeled shelves and everything. This is, apparently, luxury.
However, in the last place I lived (the Dogenzaka building), the crows would practically be circling at midnight on Sunday when you came out to the cans with your bags of daikon peelings. My landlady–a woman with standards–could be seen, at regular intervals, checking that they were latched properly. When they weren’t, you knew the next morning: Caa! Caa! Caa! as soon as the sun rose and until the truck came at 10 a.m.