July 10, 2006

# 104



I'm on the final bend of my fabulous experience of living and working in Japan. And while occasionally it seems as though I'm hurtling past stationary objects at a rate that James T. Kirk would envy, and probably bum roll forwards to counteract the effects of destabilised inertia in the Nanoo-nanoo Quadrant, the bulk of the past week or four has felt like the complete opposite. It's felt as if time has stood motionless by a Sulo bin. Perhaps it's stood long enough for my wife and I to get our bearings and to take necessary precautions to ensure we don't move on from the end of this chapter of our lives and into a chapter where we've left something essential behind; something as essential as a vital piece of our minds, for example.

Where is my mind? In Francois Black's double frapuccino.

We've made arrangements to have our junk transported from our home here in Japan to our home in Australia, including our beloved car, which we had acquired at an auction here and which we had, until recently, entertained the poorly-conceived notion sans credibility of getting back to Aus without necessitating the amputation of any of our limbs. How wrong we were? This wrong *grabs the vacuum cleaner cord and begins to run* There are hidden costs at not virtually every turn, but at actually every motherfucking turn.

Bastards!

We've opened mail kindly brought to our doorstep by the Japanese postal service and been bewildered by the neverending stream of strategically timed tax bills, each sealed with more mystery to their validity and / or origin than the previous and each, as though by decree of soon-to-be written laws governing miraculous connotation, bearing a due date which falls painfully shy of our departure date.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck and motherfuck you, you motherfuckers!

We've offered to friends items of no further use to us. Hopefully our fellow foreign gringos will find suitable homes for the likes of our rice cooker, fridge, stereo and android love slave. Farewell, Ursula B34GT; memories of our times together will be written so that the annals of history may reflect with a modicum of accuracy the mutual satisfaction that went unnoticed for the past twenty-eight months. Perhaps one day, movies to educate future generations about the importance of human-cyborg sexual interaction within a strange land may be made and people will no longer wonder about the wherefores, the lubricants and the hows of the how oftens.

On the better side of shit, at least for me, have been the farewell ceremonies that my schools have thrown, partly because it's traditional and partly because the staff and students genuinely care.* These have been lovely if nothing shy of emotional in the key of Vinnie Jones, with at least one school's first and second graders banding beyond expectation by synchronising their tears flawlessly. Judges awarded tens all round, followed by hugs, kisses and waves of a permanent, never to be repeated final goodbye nature that ensured it will forever be a positive memory of my time there, as will the unmistakable intervention of fate throwing her five cents into the equation by demanding Shonen Knife's On Top of the World, incidentally the only track of theirs with any real meaning to me, be played as I drove off towards the overcast skies and unto a fate which would heavily feature Asahi Super Dry.

Twenty days till re-entry. But who's counting? I am, Chuckie. I am.


* An assumption.



8 comments:

Mob said...

Android love slave? Wow, the Japanese certianly love their technology, but I had no idea.

I also surprised myself by getting the Pixies reference...I feel as though a lot of what I held near and dear in the early nineties has completely abandoned me, in that I hear songs that I realize halfway through are things I still own on CD, just haven't dusted off in years.

Kaufman said...

You should have seen some of the live web cams. I tell ya... ;)

The other day, I also had the revelation about CDs. I was copying Live's Throwing Copper from a friend's iPod onto my puter, rubbing my hands in glee at the thought of singing along later in the night. When the time came, I felt...well, flaccid actually as none of the tunes had the spark that I fondly recalled the first time around. I promptly deleted the files and spoke of the incident no more. Writing about it wasn't part of the deal so I feel fine about it.

I guess I own a few discs from the '90s; being an ex-music journo I tended to hang onto the ones I didn't sell for profit. But the ones I hung onto weren't by Nirvana or Pearl Jam but by Pavement, Archers of Loaf and slightly even more obscure bands / artists who had an impact in shaping my dimentia beyond the commonly available at any CD shop mainstream realm.

I guess what I'm getting at is that I'm happy to be in my own world when it comes to music while remaining open to whatever's doing it for me in the here and now.

Speaking of which, I'm about to crack open six Damien Rice CDs I downloaded, I mean acquired 100% legitimately over the internet, the other day.

Under the Radar said...

Only two things certain in this life, frustration and taxation. When is the leaving date again?

Kaufman said...

July 30th. Almost down to a single digit.

How are you holding on? Actually, forget I asked.

reverendtimothy said...

Oh man, that's a coincidence! Because you'll be coming back as I...

I've said too much already.

Kaufman said...

Rev, a mutual friend of UTR's and mine is also waltzing back into the country on the day I leave.

Coincidence? Bloody conspiracy if you ask me.

reverendtimothy said...

Heh. Thank you to the airline staff who are easily bribed.

"HIM? Yeah, he leaves then. If I knew he was coming back, I'd leave the country too." :-P

But anyway... I'm keeping it under wraps at the moment. I'd like to surprise my readers! ;-) hehehe

Kaufman said...

Understood. *winks*