To the ever-present sphere of electronic communication:

I am standing in the band hall when it happens again. My phone buzzes gently in my slacks’ pockets, and I find myself obtrusively communicated to by the outside world. Not that I really mind all that much. I like getting text messages, but you have to understand my point of view. Well, let me explain.

You see, I am a salaried individual, a tax paying citizen, an indebted American, and a teacher. I consider myself fairly fortunate to be able to participate in the world in such a boisterous manner as I do, being able to pay for gadgets and fun and toys, and the like. Among these is my cell phone, which, while being no whiz-bang contraption, is certainly a vital part of my day. Many times have I received life-saving calls directed at my daily schedule that prevented me from being late somewhere important. You may find this hard to believe, electronic industry, but I really do use this phone to keep me abreast of the waves of reality that often threaten to pull me under in ways such as making me late to things.

Secondary to this, and very welcome, is the occasional influx of information and conversation I receive from all corners, usually by way of text messages. Friends, family, loved ones, all. I need this function on my cell phone, it is vital to my connection to those I care about. Thus, I pay a good deal of money a month to pay for services that I consider important. I only have a limited amount of text messages in my plan, and there may come a day when I want to text a guy all night long over silly pillow talk, and I need those free messages available to me.

So I address this complaint to you, universe of information transfer: Please stop treating my phone like a dying email account. I don’t want your forwards, I don’t want your “reply soons,” I don’t want to send this to fifty of my closest friends. I don’t need to know about the Money Bees, and I don’t need to know that Alltel will pay a nickel for every time this message is sent to the family who’s daughter is dying for the fifteenth time. We’ve seen those emails, and they rank right next to Nigerian bank scams and ads for penis enlargement. You don’t humor me, you don’t flatter me, you don’t get the point, so please, wide world of quizzical messages, please stop texting me, or I’ll have to block your number, and neither of us wants that.

Signed,

His Holiness, me.

It’s a movie I rented to soothe a bit of the Asian fetish that I proclaim. I saw pretty asians, and I thought, hey, this could be a lot of giggly-sit-at-home fun. And it was a for a bit.

As with most documentaries, it was a series of revelations, unclothed moment after moment. The movie is about the “host clubs” of Osaka, Japan, namely the Rakkyo club, owned by a guy named Issei. Essentially, the host is a boyfriend you pay for. They service women, charge by the hour, and have a developed clientele. The atmosphere of these clubs is one of both a sensual date and a party all at once. It is a lifestyle for the men, who earn large sums of money, and spend a good portion of it purchasing fancy-schmancy clothes, accessories, all things to make them seem more attractive to the sensitive woman.

One of the first things revealed is that many people fall in love with the hosts. There are some ten women interviewed for the movie, and nearly all of them claimed to be in love with Issei. He openly admits that he knows this, and has to deflect them, as he could never leave the club, and getting feelings involved just makes things hard.

The movie is subtitled “A tale of an Osaka Love Thief,” which is the most apt title imagined. Issei admits that the men at the club are there to sell dreams of love and happiness to these women. That is what they are there for, why the clubs exist, and that is a natural and necessary function of society. Then he tries to pull one on you that they don’t want the women to go broke over them, but then you see few clips where the hosts recite their monthly salaries based on sales. The lowest was $10,000 a month. Issei himself claimed to make $50,000 in a good month. And then we see clips of the hosts persuading women to by another bottle of champagne.

The bottles of champagne cost in the thousands, all of them. The hosts talk about how some of the women will spend thousands of dollars a night. And to watch them drink this champagne is something Roman. They pour the whole bottle in a pitcher chilled with glowsticks, and chug it. They chug $10,000 bottles of champagne. It was shocking to witness these men coercing these frail Japanese women to purchase and drink three and four whole bottles of alcohol. Binge drinking seems to be part of the life. Issei admits he has to throw up a lot during any night, and he’s pretty sure his liver is dead.

But the majority of the clientele? Prostitutes. Ironic that the women who need to be happy are resorting to prostitution just to pay their Rakkyo bills. And most of the women interviewed attend host clubs all over Osaka, not just Rakkyo. They meet and fall in love with men all over the city, every day, blowing thousands of dollars a night. To hear the hosts tell it, they know that the women use them. That is why they are there.

And the hosts simply continue to serve in this function of creating an alternate reality where the women feel loved and befriended, and are not alone.

So, I wonder how good that must feel. Even when they admit to all the grief and regret you’d expect, they still get up every day and do it all over again. I don’t get this, mostly because I’ve never been one to dedicate myself to one task for very long. My lord, the way I bounce around my house. I never sit still.

What a world it is out there…

These are the most hideous items that I own.

Aren’t they awful?! I love them! So comfortable, so warm and cozy. They are my sleeping socks. I love them.

I love them.

So ugly.

Love. Ugly. Love.

They are a capstone in my life, as my heater is on the blink, and it started to snow today. A man has come into my house and fixed it now, but before 6.30 this evening, I thinking I was going to spend the night wrapped like a gift in my warm cozy bed, then consider not taking a shower so that I didn’t have to leave my bed, then get wet, and then get cold when I left the blazing hot shower. This morning I stood there for probably twenty minutes wondering why I could not get warm, and yet wondered why there was steam on my mirror.

And thus, socks. Ever so important to me sleeping. All play and cold feet makes D an angsty boy.

Appetizer
How many times per day do you usually laugh?

Is “a lot” a number? If I could laugh all day long, I would. I often don’t, because that’s just not something that could realistically happen, but one can wish. However, if I’m ever feeling down, I know this joke about a cow.

Soup
What do your sunglasses look like?

Tortoise-shell brown, and a little high in the corners. I’ll admit, they are totally fabulous. I’d like to plead the fifth beyond that.

Salad
You win a free trip to anywhere on your continent, but you have to travel by train. Where do you go?

You mean I GET to travel by train… I would completely and unequivocally travel to Portland, OR. I’ve never been there, but something about it draws me there. One day, I will leave the shire and take the ring to Mt. Doom.

Main Course
Name one thing you consider a great quality about living in your town/city.

If you like to be left alone, and like to be just slightly scared when you walk around at night, this is the place to be. I don’t always like being left alone, and the idea of being accidentally mauled by a dog running loose in a stray neighborhood is not that appealing for me. However, who am I to tell you that getting rabies at midnight from a chihuahua isn’t sexy?

Dessert
If the sky could be another color, what color do you think would look best?

Is it wrong that I’m actually angry about this question? How could you want the sky to be another color? It’s perfect every way that it is now! My gods, what is wrong with you?!  *huff, huff* Okay, I’m better now.

Comic books.

I never had the chance to get into them as a child, though now, as an adult, they are so much more expensive, its almost not worth the effort. What used to be a dollar per issue is now almost four, and the graphic novel compilations are twenty a pop, so it’s not necessarily a fruitful venture into story-telling. I’m sure that industry knows it. I hear Marvel went bankrupt back in the nineties.

Graciously, my friend who does read comic books is letting me borrow the Civil War graphic novels, which are really collections of comics pertaining to a particular story line. For those of you with no knowledge of this story, here is the breakdown: Congress gets all antsy after 9/11 and starts to question the necessity of having superheroes, who routinely act beyond the arm of the law and cause property damage, register in a database and become listed as federal employees. Pluses: this will ensure the safety of many civilians, as superheroes will still be dispatched to cities to help protect, but won’t act or be seen as vigilantes. Minuses: many of the superheroes will have to reveal their identity and compromise their anonymity and lifestyle for the sake of supposed “safety.” It causes a rift, superheroes fight one another, people start dying.

While I’m no superhero, though I may one day aspire to be one (I’m at least working on the costume), I do stand with principle regarding anonymity. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard someone conjecture that someone is gay, and had to back them down with my stand-by, “They aren’t gay until they say they are.” If you’ve ever been one of those conjecturers (as I have) then shame on you. *wags finger*

[insert comment on wiretapping here.]
[insert comment on Patriot Act here.]

That all said, there is something to stepping out into the light of things and letting the sun hit your face. I still wonder when I’m gonna have some administrator confront me on rumors of my sexual proclivities, but I figure I’d rather deal with that when it comes and not be stressed to the point of exhaustion in the meantime. And religion, the core of belief and function for so many people, should not be a point of shame or hiding.

Just sayin’.

Because your life wasn’t weird enough, and because I’m fascinated by this, I present to you the last known remains of a living Pac-Man.

Brought to you by Geekologie.com

I never had braces. I was supposed to. I was supposed to get braces just after waiting for eight of my baby teeth to fall out. This was all when I was thirteen. The orthodontist took the x-rays and decided that he would wait for the rest of the baby teeth to come out. Smart man, as I wasn’t too fond of the idea of having braces at the time. Even more so now. I see adults with braces, and while I understand purpose of them, I feel bad. Forty-year-old women I meet with braces, and I think, man it must be hard being forced back into teenage-hood. I would never dare say these words aloud, as I’m sure these women are troopers and can probably bludgeon a man to death with whatever they happen to be carrying.

Even the teenagers. I see them with there shiny metal contrapted teeth, and I wonder how it feels. Granted, braces are probably more common today than ever. I taught a kid once who told the story of how his teeth were perfectly normal and his mother made him get braces anyway. His teachers confirmed this. He would break off one or two braces from his teeth, slide it across the wire, all so he could still play trumpet. Good kid, that one.

Two of the percussionists got thier braces off over the break. It’s nice to have a little less spit-sucking talk in the class, and they are ever so charming gentlemen now. Well, in appearance. They are still thirteen.

It’s almost an unnatural beauty. I think of my own teeth, and the slight compaction of my lower set, mixed with the supernomial tooth and the one baby tooth that still hasn’t gone away yet, and the two forward facing wisdom teeth on the bottom row, and the two swinging doors on the top set that threaten to just rot.

Though I brush twice daily, my mouth is pleasantly unmined.

In case anyone was wondering, cold butter feels kinda cool in your hands.

I have just finished sleeping 11 hours. I went to bed at 5.30. Why? Because I was bored and tired. And boy did I sleep well! I feel pretty good this morning, even if I am a little groggy. All the better I sleep a lot, as I expect to be drinking a lot this weekend. A friend of mine is turning 25 (a quarter century for the grandiose) and has promised a weekend of fun.

The kids did earn their free days for today, thank goodness. I went to check out the game room we will be inhabiting during fifth hour, and discovered it is mostly a mangle of chairs. However, they do have air hockey, ping pong, foosball, foospuck, and a whole filing cabinet full of board games. The cool ones too: Scrabble, Life, Battleship, Clue. It will be very fun. Hopefully nobody impales themselves on a chair.

Sadly, this game is not included in the game room.

Mrs. Head takes off tomorrow to go to her dad’s surgery. He’s having a major back operation which could be complicated by heart issues. I’ve been here before. It’s like my grandmother’s tale from the outside.

Because of all this, I’m gonna be left to mind the shop all by my lonesome. I’m hoping…desperately hoping…the my kids will complete our little deals that we have going. Right now, both percussion classes have 45 minutes in the bank, and both are confident that they will get their free day this week. I am counting on it personally. It will make it much easier to combine those classes so I can get a lunch break.

And I love my lunch breaks.

I’ll also be in charge of all the high school classes, which will be nice, but tiring. To be honest, I’m a big wimp when it comes to working a full day. My brain peters out around two or three solid hours. Tomorrow, I’ll be taking a five hour chunk followed by a two hour chunk, and then probably have plenty to do in the evening. It’s a dire situation. Okay, not really, but it makes for good storytelling.

The odd side to all this lies in the original agreement I assumed I was under when I took this job. Ya see, it was supposed to be that I would lead the high school bands while Mrs. Head would keep her stuff at the junior high as well as all the administrative duties. Turns out that I got stuck as Junior High director while she assists me most the time. I suppose its fine: Cutting your teeth is cutting your teeth and I’ve been doing plenty of that with the pseudo ankle-bitters. However, on days like tomorrow, I usually get very intense and work very hard to squeeze every drop of time from the high school group. It’s on a high school podium I imagined myself for so long.

So, while the cat is away, the mice will play. Happy Friday to me.

I’ll be honest with you, I’m not the best with people. My list of excuses for this includes my natural introversion, having grown up on the internet in a way, and being a total band geek. None of these really work, obviously, but everyone needs a security blanket.

It’s not that I freak out, or that I have a problem speaking in public. It’s more that I have a mild inability to form words just when my brain wants me to. It can be in a private situation when this kicks in, and its more of a “brain moving faster than my mouth” problem. Motor function + constant thought processes = mush-mouth. And sometimes, people scare me. I’m not a big fan of rejection, and I’ve often wondered what it would be like to be totally confident in myself in all things. I imagine that there are throngs of people who can handle themselves quite well and not feel the slightest bit of embarrassment.

While I’ve never really been one to look to songs for inspiration of the daily variety…

(Frank Sinatra, “High Hopes”)

…but this song has got me going.

(Regina Spektor, “The Ghost of Corporate Future”)

And here are some lyrics:

A man walks out of his apartment,
It is raining, he’s got no umbrella
He starts running beneath the awnings,
Trying to save his suit,
Trying to save his suit.
Trying to dry, and to dry, and to dry but no good

When he gets to the crowded subway platform,
He takes off both of his shoes
He steps right into somebody’s fat loogie
And everyone who sees him says, “Ew.”
Everyone who sees him says, “Ew.”

But he doesn’t care,
‘Cause last night he got a visit from the
Ghost of Corporate Future
The ghost said, “Take off both your shoes
Whatever chances you get
Especially when they’re wet.”

He also said,
“Imagine you go away
On a business trip one day
And when you come back home,
Your children have grown
And you never made your wife moan,
Your children have grown
And you never made your wife moan.”

“And people make you nervous
You’d think the world is ending,
And everybody’s features have somehow started blending
And everything is plastic,
And everyone’s sarcastic,
And all your food is frozen,
It needs to be defrosted.”

“You’d think the world was ending,
You’d think the world was ending,
You’d think the world was ending right now.
You’d think the world was ending,
You’d think the world was ending,
You’d think the world was ending right now.”

“Well maybe you should just drink a lot less coffee,
And never ever watch the ten o’clock news,
Maybe you should kiss someone nice,
Or lick a rock,
Or both.”

“Maybe you should cut your own hair
‘Cause that can be so funny
It doesn’t cost any money
And it always grows back
Hair grows even after you’re dead”

“And people are just people, (see! right here! truth!)
They shouldn’t make you nervous.
The world is everlasting,
It’s coming and it’s going.
If you don’t toss your plastic,
The streets won’t be so plastic.
And if you kiss somebody,
Then both of you’ll get practice.”

“The world is everlasting
Put dirtballs in your pocket,
Put dirtballs in your pocket,
And take off both your shoes.
‘Cause people are just people,
People are just people,
People are just people like you.
People are just people,
People are just people,
People are just people like you.”

The world is everlasting
It’s coming and it’s going
The world is everlasting
It’s coming and it’s going
It’s coming and it’s going