Children are both adorable and entertaining.  This is part of the reason that I’m having one this spring.  That and I’m still unemployed so might as well, right?  But the truth of the matter is that kids are so dumb sometimes.  (Unless you are one and then you think that you know everything.   Like how being a grown-up is so cool because you can stay up late, wear high-heels, and shave).  Little kids also pitch hissy-fits over just about anything.  I know this because I sometimes venture out of the comfort of my home and into a mall or restaurant and witness a tantrum-infected child and his or her exasperated and embarrassed (sometimes oblivious but usually the former) parents.  I can only imagine that one of these hysterical outbreaks is about one of the following topics that little kids are just SO wrong about.  As soon as they reach adulthood, they’ll understand…

- “But I don’t wanna dress up!” Kids have got this one all wrong.  Dressing up is so much fun.  Mainly because getting dressed up means that you’re going somewhere super fun where they are more than likely going to serve excellent food.  Whether it be a special dinner date, a wedding, a banquet where you’re being honored, or a fancy reception, kids, please dress up and go.  It will be worth your while.  Of course, sometimes dressing up means that you have to go to work, but the key is this:  the more dressed up you get for work, the less work that you actually have to do when you get there.  Just ask Mr. Mondoo.  He wears a suit and tie to work every day and still has the time to read about professional wrestling on the internets.

- “Ew, cooties!” Ok, kids, experience tells me that sometime around middle school, you’ll knock it off with the cootie stuff.  Some cute boy or girl in your class will catch your eye, you’ll ask him/her to a pre-teen dance, you’ll meet him/her there, you’ll each stick with your respective groups of friends until a slow dance comes on, you’ll dance at arm’s-length until the song ends.  You’ll repeat this sequence until the evening ends with an awkward hug or—gulp—kiss.  In high school, you’ll probably actually land yourself a significant other.  I’ll be honest, I don’t know about the ins and outs of high school relationships these days.  The Today Show tells me they have something to do with sexting.  Either way, you’ll be fully over the cootie thing by this time and things only get better in the love department from here on out.

- “But I don’t want to take a bath!” Oh, ok, so you’d rather be dirty?  Kid, you’re gross.  Why are you fighting a bath so much?  This is another situation where the parents give you toys to play with.  I hate to break it to you, but when you’re an adult, you don’t get to play with many toys, especially in the shower.  Enjoy it while you can.  Baths and/or showers get pretty awesome as you grow up though.  Mostly because you realize that your filth is going to prevent you from getting close to your cootie-less crush.  Most days, I take two showers and I love them.  They are so warm and relaxing and if it weren’t for our water bill, I’d stay in there for at least an hour.

- “I’m not eating THAT!” To this day, I will never understand why children have such a love obsession with chicken nuggets.  Besides candy and cookies, they are really the only food that all children readily eat when you place it in front of them.  And really, have you ever cracked open a chicken nugget from McDonald’s?  That is not chicken.  Chicken isn’t gray.  Furthermore, from working with college students for years preceding my unemployment, I can safely say that most of you kids won’t grow out of this obsession with chicken nuggets until you’re at least 22.  Then again, if someone were to supply me with chicken nuggets from, say, Chick-fil-a, I’d probably eat them every day.  But I’d also want tacos and beef tenderloin, too.  I am pregnant after all.  And an adult, so my palate is much more refined.

- “But I don’t wanna take a nap!” Remember my favorite almost-three-year-old from Virginia?  Well she’s three now and all that means is that she still doesn’t want to take a nap when Mondoo is over to visit:

My favorite stay-at-home mom:  Here, drink your milk.

My favorite three-year-old:  NOOOOOOOOOOOO!  I don’t want to take a nap!

My favorite stay-at-home mom:  You don’t have to take a nap, you just have to drink your milk.

My favorite three-year-old:  NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!  No milk, no nap.  I want juice.

My favorite stay-at-home mom:  You can have some juice after you drink your milk.  And you don’t have to take a nap, you just have to drink your milk.

My favorite three-year-old:  NOOOOOOOOOOO!  No nap, no milk.

Some kids are even so serious about not taking naps that they sometimes injure people.  When Mr. Mondoo was a little tyke, he was so adamant that he not take a nap that this otherwise well-behaved child actually kicked his pregnant mother in the stomach (which explains a lot about Mrs. Zack Morris).  As if he thought that would help his cause.  First and last spanking he ever received and totally justified, too.  Because naps are awesome!  Kids, you have no idea.  I’d give anything to be able to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon.  I know what you’re thinking:  “But Mondoo, you can!  You’re unemployed!”  FALSE.  I rarely take naps during the afternoon, if at all.  I may be unemployed but I’m not lazy and worthless.  It’s bad enough that I sit in my pajamas until noon writing blog entries, I can’t start taking naps, too.  But anyways, naps, yes, naps are awesome.  Kids, you are dumb sometimes.

I don’t know about you, but when I’m in the shower, the routine is so ritualistic that it’s almost religious. I wash my hair. Then I wash my body, starting from the crotch, up, then back down to my legs. Then I stand there and let the water warm my body for a minute or so before I get out. It has been this way for as long as I remember. I don’t really think about it. I just do it. And not having to think about this ritual lets me think about other things. It’s a good way to digest events of recent pasts, especially when that past is, say, the night before when you had too much to drink.

The French has a phrase “l’espirit de l’escalier,” or literally translated, “the spirit of the staircase.” Imagine you’ve just been insulted in a café and are forced to leave the premise at once in embarrassment and defeat. Then as you walk out the door and up a staircase, the perfect comeback pops into your head; that’s the spirit of the staircase pouring salt on your wounds. I’m sure many people have had similar situations of quips that got away or the perfect “that’s what she said” that never were.  I believe that a similar phenomenon occurs when I take a shower.

Throughout religious history, water has been an agent of cleansing and reflection. Christians baptize with holy water to wash off their sins. Hindus bathe in the Ganges hoping to liberate themselves from the endless cycle of life and death. Zoroastrians use water in practically every ritual, to rid of the impurities of life. And you can get absolution with ritualistic bathing in Judaism, Islam, Shintoism, and probably in many other lesser-known religions. And I, with nothing but me and some rushing water, perform ritualistic washing of the entire body with fragrant soap while I reflect on the “sins” of my life.

It’s almost as though I’m genetically predisposed to believe that water not only cleans my body but also my mind. Maybe it was because the first time human beings saw our own reflection was on the water’s surface. And we, through evolution, began to analogize physical reflection with inner, spiritual reflection and clarity. Whatever the reason, the next time you’re taking a shower and thinking about your drunken night or what to have for lunch, realize that you’re not merely cleaning your body but you’re taking part in a ritual performed by human beings for thousands of years.

A call from her mother and the alarm clock wake her up about 4:30 am every day. In most of the time, she’ll just ignore them and continue to shut her world from the call of a busy world. All the clocks in their home are set about 30 minutes earlier than the real time because her mother says she doesn’t know how to move quickly. It will take about several alarm clock snooze rings and calls downstairs from her mother before she’ll get up. The moment she opens her eyes, she’ll utter a silent prayer for the new life and His continued guidance.

Breakfast is a bonding time to her and her mother. In most of the time, she’ll arrive home late and tired to even sit down and converse with her, so the conversation happens during breakfast. The girl with lots of rituals in bathing, she’ll spend about 30-40 minutes in the bathroom. Shampooing and conditioning her hair takes most of the bath time. From the bathroom, she’ll rush to put on her contact lens, which, in most time, difficult to wear. Then, rush again to put on her clothes and makeup. She really has this ‘affinity’ to ‘rushing’ things before coming to work.

Before leaving their home, she’ll kiss her Mom and say good bye. Since she was just a young girl, she never forgets to kiss her Mom before leaving their home (and arriving from work, school, or from anywhere). She feels that it’s the best way to have her mother’s guidance and blessing whenever she’s away from home.

Commuting to work, she’ll walk fast to ride a tricycle, passing the terminal. Tricycle drivers in their place know very well that she’ll pass them by. She’s been into some petty arguments with them before because the tryke won’t leave until there are no vacant seats. Meaning to say, she’ll be late for work (for the nth time!). Then, at the Olivarez-Binan jeepney terminal at the Bulihan entry, she’ll race along with other passengers to get to the jeep as fast as she can instead of waiting for the next jeepney to come (and be late for another more minutes!).

Arriving in Olivarez in Binan, Laguna, she’ll wait for traffic light to turn red so she can cross the busy street. There was a crossover (She thought it was flyover. You see, she can’t just recognize the difference between flyover and crossover. The same way that she’s confuse about a lot of several things. Worst, she’s not even sure that it’s crossover. Lol!) That was constructed in a hurry so the Mayor’s and Vice-Governor’s ultra big names can be flaunted there. Talk about building up a good image for the incoming election. She has tried using this crossover once. But never did it again because live electric wires connecting the big electric posts in the highway are all scattered on the middle part, that’s wide enough for her to hop over (when she’s very pa-girl). One wrong move and you’ll be dead. The nerve of these politicians to flaunt their names on substandard projects like that…

The traffic that she encounters everyday from GMA, Cavite to Olivarez is a bit better compared with the traffic that await for her from Olivarez to San Pedro. This is more so in Pacita where most of the bus terminals are located and in Landayan where it’s flooded by devotees of Jesus in the Holy Sepulcher. This should be a daily scenario that she’s supposed to have mastered dealing with everyday. But no. In most of the time, she still gets frustrated and stressed when the highway suddenly turns into a big parking lot. This girl is very much hates herself for always being late at work.

When she reaches United (short for United San Pedro Subdivision where their office is located) late, she’ll opt to ride a tryke from the terminal, costing P21 (as of this writing). This is her punishment to herself whenever she’s late. She wants the tryke drivers benefit from her being late. But in some rare times when she arrives early, she’ll go for one of the trykes that will stop for her. This cost on P7. A big saving for her daily budget at work.

Arriving at their office, she’ll rush to the comfort room to check on herself. One of the hassles of commuting is the big possibility of you inhaling the polluted air, getting your face oily, and your hair messed up. She wants to make sure that before several of her officemates see her, she’s as presentable as she can be. When she gets to her cubicle, she’ll immediately open her laptop and check for clients’ e-mails or offline messages from her boss and officemates about a project. Positive feedbacks from clients can certainly brighten up her day.

She makes it a point, if she can manages to, to always tune in to RX Monster Radio’s The Morning Rush with Chico and Del, or to Love Radio’s Tambalan to set her mood. These are her favorite radio programs. She really appreciates these radio tandems and loves their views on lots of things. Listening to them brings lots of smiles in her face, as well as silent/controlled laughs.  There was a time when she almost fell on the floor laughing when suddenly a window chat popped out on her laptop screen. It was her boss asking what is she doing at the moment. Good thing that their room is the only area in the entire office that has no web cams. Her boss’ question has nothing to do with her ‘almost fell on the floor from laughing out loud’ status. He was following up on the status of the web sites she’s doing.

In most of the time, she fights with her narcoleptic mood as she digs herself doing her daily writing and editing tasks. There came a time when she can drink about three cups of coffee a day. But hyperacidity trimmed her coffee addiction to just one cup. Green tea then became her alternative for the black drink.

This person I am with everyday learned that she needs to befriend stress. She realized that it’s pointless to let stress affect her life that much since factors causing it are, well, inevitable. It best that way, she knew it.

She has gone through a lot of things most people could never even imagine. But no, don’t get her wrong. Like what most of you know about her, she was raised as a God fearing person and willing to fight for what she believes is right. She’ll remain firm with her belief as long as she knows she is right. But this girl doesn’t think it’s too difficult to say sorry if she’s wrong. She could be the most sincere person you could ever meet.

Since her father died, she was automatically programmed to be strong, more on the emotional aspect, because no one’s there to protect her, her mother, and her two older sisters. She speaks her mind strongly when needed. She’s very transparent with the way she feels and thinks. A thing that some people either love or hate most about her.

This person I am with everyday cries easily. She laughs out loud when very much happy. She screams when she’s too excited or mad.

It took me a while to introduce this person I am with everyday. I guess, I just need to check on her most of the time. To prove that I know her more than everyone else. I know her a lot. So enough to keep her faith whole and make her spirit strong. i know her faith and her family keep her sanity always.

The Romans and Greeks who enjoyed the lavish bath complexes that adorned their cities, congregated around the splendid nymphaea, and traveled the fine new roads could do so because they had money. Coinage had given them that freedom and, for this reason above all others, was the most potent of all ancient technological advances.

- Andrew Meadows, “Technologies of Calculation, Part 2: Coinage.” In J. P. Oleson, ed.,  The Oxford Handbook of Engineering and Technology in the Classical World (2008) page 776.

Bathing as a way of life

Do you frequently take a bath for 45 minutes in 4 inch lukewarm, slightly murky bathwater? Lily does. Every Sunday Morning.

She has become an accomplished bather. For years she has practiced resting her body and head on the bottom of the tub so she can meditate for several minutes at a time.

What a luxury it is to bathe indefinitely.

Once she finally gets out of the tub her next activity is a long spell of sitting in a towel shivering with cold until someone suggests that she gets dressed or she finds the heater vent.

Her next move is to complain for a while that she can’t find any clothing.

Its good to be 5.

Teddy of Yerubilee (Messianic Roots Reggae from Jerusalem) describing what it’s like to take a bath in places where the water does not consistently run thru the pipes.

http://www.gospelreggae.com

http://www.yerubilee.com

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Teddy,

Yerubilee
"Gospel Reggae from Israel"

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As with all pets, guinea pigs are prone to picking up diseases and germs. If these are not detected early, they may lead to severe illnesses. As a result, it is important to spot them as soon as they appear. Although guinea pigs can take care of their own hygiene to a certain extent, you must assist by regularly checking the following 3 things:

1. Diseases

In the wild, as a form of self defence, guinea pigs will do their best to hide any health problems they have. Sadly, they also do this in captivity. This can make certain illnesses quite difficult to spot.

Their ears, nose, and eyes are especially prone to getting infected. You should examine each of these regularly, preferably every day, to ensure that they look healthy and clean. If you spot anything unusual, take them to a professional as soon as possible.

2. Teeth

Unlike humans, guinea pigs’ teeth don’t ever stop growing. If they are left to grow too long, your guinea pig can have difficulty eating. They stop them from getting too long by chewing on rough objects to grind their teeth down.

You must ensure that your pet’s cage has a supply of fresh, clean hay, which they can chew to keep their teeth short. Specially designed chew sticks are another excellent way for them to do this. You can buy them from most pet stores.

3. Bathing

Although cavies can keep their coat relatively free of dirt on their own, they still need to be bathed every now and again to make sure they are perfectly clean, and to remove any build ups of dirt.

At least once every three or four months, you should clean your pet, ensuring you get all of the stubborn dirt out of his coat. Guinea pigs love to feel clean, and will certainly be very thankful to you for it. Not only that, but you will be able to enjoy your animal much more with a clean, soft coat.

Our hot water heater went on strike this weekend. Can a family of three live without a hot water heater? Let’s see.

Do you need hot water to wash dishes? No, I think my dishwasher heats water to wash dishes.

Do you need hot water to wash clothes? No, I wash clothes in cold water.

Do you need a hot water heater to shower? Ideally yes, but in a pinch there are showers at gyms, swimming pools, or the workplace. There are also cold showers which have many health benefits, such as increased circulation and a nice boost of energy (better than caffeine). And finally there’s the sponge bath.  

Wikepedia sayz: Sponge baths may be practiced for hygiene or as a recreational activity. Recreational activity?

Sure, it’s novel to fill a tiny tub with water. It’s like camping, but in the comfort of your own home. Tonight we filled our largest pot with water and heated it on the stove. Then my daughter took a sponge bath, followed by an exhilarating cold shower rinse.

The process was quick (no need to linger), during which time I heard my daughter say “it’s not that bad.” 

Afterwards, I heard an enthusiastic “I did it!”

Followed shortly by ”can I change my Facebook status”?

There you have it. Hot water is optional. At least for a few days.

What do you think? Can you live without hot water?

it is dead here and it angers the humours of my effin novelist gland. you will all suffer the consequences and read my short story, or not, which i am about to post, right about….ready?…..go..NOW!

The Shining Path of Sciurus carolinensis

“You’ll know it when we get there, Sirrr.” The exasperated driver leaned far away from the stench of my hot boxed cigarette remains. I knew I was likely to recognize the Estate father had left to me, but I enjoyed ribbing my patent-leather servant nonetheless. I can’t always be on my best behavior. It had been precious few drugged and debauched months since father’s people had located me.

They found me in room 12, robbing the albino schizophrenic and his friend Jesus-number–three-on-unit in a shrewd game of spoons. Shortly after the suits relayed the message, they ran from the room into the sneering green lobby clutching their puritanical stomachs. I’d ruined a perfectly good hospital gown, shitting my non-pants. Hysterical laughter and cycles of haldol-amphetamine-stool softener cocktails will do that to you. Still, I had to love any news that involved my release back into a slumbering idiotic society, my one true ambition. Even if the news was more of my late mother’s whoring around.

I gotta give her credit in the end; I never would have thought someone with recognizable humanity would lay with her. Never mind Norman Fucking Rockwell himself. The good people at his lawyers’ office even supplied the pornography to prove it up. I’d like to see him paint that into one of his saccharine calendar scenes, but that’s irrelevant. In my fondest memories of genealogy, my mother would be floating away on the needle, bloody plunger hanging from her arm, and telling me that I was the certifiable spawn of Satan himself. I did my best to live up to this esteemed reputation. Sure, there were many immature false-starts; threatening to hump the Christly neighbors peek-a-what the fuck ever-poodle wasn’t my best work. However, the old lady did have a fatal public conniption so at least someone had seen my work.

Maybe my two dads weren’t so different after all. Blood money is blood money, so to speak. Following my arrival at the Estate, I spent a few more months indulging every whim that money can facilitate until I was numb, bored and chaffed. Rockwell would finance not only my tastes in prescription fraud and barely legal-firehose-rubber glove nun shows, but also my bestest, most ridiculous stunt yet. He would help me build an empire.

Have you ever wondered what becomes of urban road kill when you call the professionals to discreetly carry it off?  You see, I had this idea. Yeah, I know it was preposterous, but a criminally absurd genius did run in my romantic blood. It came to me while yelling at my mom’s long-dead terrier. That fucker would just sit and bark from the crown molding until I couldn’t even shoot my fucking score. It was like some kind of floating hairy canine troll, and it made me want to clean my brain with mouthwash. The important part is that it would sometimes enter my thoughts at the worst possible times, like some kinda reverse Viagra. It made me think of the big wide-world of infertility, and all these desperate, good people just suffering in silence with their loaded wallets. It made me cry a little, inside. On this particular occasion- and maybe I should leave an endowment to the good people who manufacture Dilaudid for making this possible- I plainly saw boisterous dancing, dead squirrels- happy to contribute their meager fur to the plight of cold testicles everywhere. If the little swimmers could be warmed to just the right temperature, then gee whiz, their grateful old ladies might be sending me flowers yet. I can’t describe the thrill it gave me to feel the conviction of my ideas, like a prophesy in Hustler.  Somehow, I would have to make this work.

Turns out, copping dope gives you perfect access to anything your depraved little heart could find offensively erotic. I knew a guy who specialized in covert, rodent necromancy (I didn’t want to know what that involved), and he was well stocked with flattened specimens on which to practice technique. Of course, my mother never taught me the finer elements of sewing- or pelt mongering- but I was a quick learner. I discovered the better angels of meat-art you might say. For the sake of brevity, and keeping your lunch down, I won’t elaborate much about the process. Suffice it to say, divine inspiration is a funny thing- the pelts were the perfect size and density for the purpose. I guess it is my sacred power to anticipate these things. It’s almost like they were made for each other- a dick for a squirrel. ——–Now, don’t you think those terrible things! I didn’t actually kill the cute little bastards. The real sickos were going to sell the furry grease spots for dog food anyway. Maybe my unheavenly father thought of that one. Ha ha ha.— I quickly immersed myself in all the requisite education: marketing, animal product law, sweatshop management, the miracle of birth. —That last one was purely to satisfy my own curiosity. —The proper research is a formidable weapon, my friend, and it opened the best fertility clinics in town to my glorious product. I was the official pimp of pelts.

One fine day- – who the fuck remembers dates?—after much success, I woke up on an embalming table with a metal catheter up my ass, in dazed but relative surety that it had been a good time. Gradually, I remembered the experiment. She had a thing for dead Irish junkies jerking off, didn’t she? As long as she was legal, it was okay with Mr. Pleasure Machine. But boy howdy, the zipper welts sure did sting. Those parking-lot lizards had serious anger issues. —Now don’t you go thinking I paid for it– we were in it for luuv! I am a southern gentleman and I made sure there was a quid pro quo black eye policy, just like she had been so righteously diggin’ me for in the first place. —Rocking my best air-lyre while getting off the table, I belted out, “That bitch tore my dress!” to no one in particular, and that started my private concert. I had that damn song from corporate radio stuck in my head again; the one about “The son of a bastard, Who was the son of a bastard, Who was the son of a bastard,” except I heard a reds-eatin’, grandma-boffing Elvis singing it. It was clearly about me, and I liked my version better. So much so that I wished I could put a hole in my head. But first I needed bourbon and a good soaping. It was becoming obvious that I needed to slow down my trickery before it caught up with me in the next John Wayne Gacy’s chamber of fun.

After my daily Orphic rituals, I was off to the accountant to check that the slick-as-shit weasel had deposited the revenue into Rockwell’s Offshore Holdings, Inc., and not spent it at his favorite titty bar. I was relatively positive he had relations with my mother as well, and looking at his face made me sick from the thought that he could’ve been my father. Limp dick fuck. Luckily, I didn’t allow my urge to smash his pointy head interfere with his competently making me a billionaire. The bouncing babies had me to thank, and in return, I thanked my drug dealers. Life is a funny thing- recycling death enriches you while you’re busy making other plans. And in the nuthouse.    

I always was such a sucker for a well-made picture, probably just the supreme artist in me. After all, this snake-oil started with the lovely sight of sugar plum taxidermy sashaying across my walls. It really shouldn’t surprise anyone that it would end in Hitchcock visions, least of all me. Still, I was woefully unprepared for that particular Technicolor, walking, talking, gum-chewing, nightmare ass fuck. It easily put me in the worst state of my whole life. I am a scholar of awaking in gutters, expert deep down to my naughty bits, so this should signify something exceptionally mind-altering raped my consciousness in a permanent way.

First, there were the night-vision magnifying goggles. Those beady onyx eyes staring through me in the way that only God’s original blueprint for mammals could. With those goggles, the squirrels could see every damn thing, real and metaphysical. No more being the food chain’s bitch. It was a real squirrel independence movement, and they were going to inherit the earth by evolutionary revolutionary robbery. The mere fact that harmless furballs had acquired the technology to strategize a foot-high Armageddon made my paranoia run riot. Had the CIA funded them? Had aliens planted them here? Was Bigfoot alive and living in downtown Buffalo, New York?  However apocryphal, they would seize power by any means necessary.

Second, there was their personal agenda for yours truly. Apparently, they were so deeply offended at my commercial desecration of their dead that they planned a thorough retribution against me. I felt a slight twinge of guilt at the squirrel extinction they said I was going to soon affect if they didn’t take drastic action. Their short furry little armies were being sent after me, in the trees, on my roof, conspiring with like-minded specie. They had spies and training camps and terror cells all over the globe and in every burrow. It was going to be a massacre, a mass human extinction, with me as their first sacrifice. It was inexplicable, how vermin extremists could amass such an arsenal, but the hijacked airliner they converted to an interrogation base was intimidating enough to silence any stupid questions. The array of readied torture devices and the straight razor they had pressed to my genitals finished their persuasion. Their leader, a bushytailed bucktoothed Che Guevara, took it upon his charitable self to give me a chance at redemption. He explained their revelation in detail, and a lot of other valuable intel about the sacredness of creation and the place of humans and yadda yadda. I should’ve listened better, but don’t blame the cowardly messenger when the Earth goes to hell in an apocalyptic hand basket.  Anyway—

What concerned me was my immediate redemption. I was ordered to sell my empire and donate the proceeds to animal rescue charities, and never look back on my Estate, lest my penis vanish. I was also instructed in a specific prayer for each time I passed their fallen brethren, so they could assure my full lesson in humility was properly honored. I would have skipped that last one, but they made it abundantly clear they would be watching, and they could enforce their commands with a simple chattering fatwa. Oh, and they wanted me to publish a book about the Zapatistas, the only humans whom they admired and wanted to enjoin. Being a smart-ass, I felt the need to inform them that Central America’s Capybara might give them a go for the their money, but it didn’t seem to diminish their interest in joining their Mayan heroes any. I suppose my heartwarming story could be cleverly inserted in the forward of their precious book. Take that, liberators! Maybe I’ll escape into the Guatemalan jungle someday when I tire of my savior-ness and raise an army of those mutant Guinea pigs.

Slapping wildly at the tail whiskers I felt pinning my astral eyes open, I miss-shot and propelled the alarm clock off the night stand. It grazed the wall and slid down to the pine floor with a blasting ring. The sound knocked me from the bed, and I scrambled on my back, clawing my way up the mattress. ”Commeee oooOOonNN! What happened to Good Time Charlie Secret Squirrel? I don’t need the Punch Out, Grenade Launching Badass Vignettes!!” I screamed face down into my pillow. “This ain’t The Matrix for treebunnyrats, now is it!!? What the HELL do I owe YOU? Ya fucking prickless hosers!” I turned over just in time to execute last nights’ tequila chow-mien all over my million-thread count Milan sheets. Atonement, thy name be Denver omelet. Seriously, I wanted breakfast in spite of my mental and gastric distress, hoping it might magically make the nightmare disappear. Rockwell, you must have had some son of a bitching constitution, but I digress. There is no fighting the stuff of dreams; you have to let it percolate. So that’s what I did.

Now, no one can adequately explain the experience of true and violent transformation, but these squirrels —these DAMN SQUIRRELS—knew how to mind-meld or something. It was all E.T., or Mr. Spock, or some such nerd convention wet-dream. It may seem to be the imaginings of a hustling junkie lunatic, but I can assure you that something real occurred in my sleeping state. Squirrels are mean and clever, they’re everywhere, and humans can only see whimsical pests and acrobats. We have been sadly misguided. I, for one, do not take nature for granted any longer. For all their supposed inferiority, the squirrels terrified me into a profound religious experience. It was strange to be foisted up as a savior of humankind, sacrificing myself for the betterment of life on earth. But I have accepted the omens and learned to channel my considerable imagination towards more revolutionary aims. Total wank, but in the end it doesn’t matter how or why, only that we evolve.

Like a good boy, I obeyed the commandment to never look back on my Estate, and my penis remained as glorious as ever. Instead, I had the property bulldozed. Built in its place, there is now a tribute to my inventiveness: a huge phallic, winged staff encircled by golden twin squirrels.  I hate that it reminds me that if I hadn’t been so busy with decades of exploits I might have spared my mother a syphilis psychosis and death. Even though I was bat-shit rich by the time she finally confessed her diagnosis, it was too late in the course of her disease to be reversed. I couldn’t even bring her home from the asylum. In the end, she died in shitty room 14, just one room across from my favorite room 12. Perhaps I would have had a wonderful sober mother if I had been slightly more efficient and selfless in my insanity. I suppose I wouldn’t be the same either. Paradox always makes it dangerous to speculate, there’s just so many ways to not get born. I never visit my great monument, inscribed in her name and what she and I could have been. It’s still too haunted. Though, it is good to know the squirrels are playing among my old ruins. At least I didn’t cause them to go the way of the beaver. Ha ha, beaver.

I know everybody would love to hear how I’ve become a new man since but some things don’t change so much. In my continuing travels, I am still compelled to flash old ladies, eat bloody steaks, scam on freaky broads, snort troughs of coke, and subject my neighbors to ear-splitting Ramones albums at 2 am. And I don’t ever try to convince anyone that I have seen The Kingdom, Amen. In fact, I can think of some interesting schemes to put those Jesus-knockers to more profitable use. But I will behave, for now. 

Oh, and please don’t think me rude after all this time we’ve spent together– I never introduced myself fully:  my name is Tyranny Shepherd –hyphen Rockwell–and I have come to deliver the world from sanctimony with my Sisyphean hubris. Or, to be more realistic, help everyone get laid. Powers for good, not evil, right? Right on.

Oops, she did it again.  Inca threw an iggy-sized hissy fit in the bathtub again today.  I put her in while the water was low, and she immediately fish-tailed all over the place.  The bathroom is soaked!  She continued to swim around frantically and perform the “dead lizard’s float” underwater while giving me the dreaded stink eye.  After her last tantrum, I learned to let her stay underwater if she wanted to.  She did come up for air, sometimes just poking her nostrils out like a crocodile.  It’s hard to see in the photos, but her skin is much darker than her usual bright, beautiful green.  The last time she did this in response to my yellow, patterned PJs.  I tried taking off my shirt (warning, topless lizard bathing is not recommended if you pick your ig up!) or covering it with a different colored sweatshirt, but nothing helped.  We survived, and she’s back in her enclosure exploring her backup bathroom option.  We’ll see if she forgives me long enough to NOT make a huge mess.

now that I have bathed completely!!!…yes, “completely” implies that yesterday coz of water scarcity (or to be more definite coz of warm water scarcity),I wasn’t able to help this ritual reach its destiny…it was limited to the upper division of the body that contains brain, the chief sense organs, and the mouth (as defined in merriam-webster)…it’s not as if I care about these organs or rather believe in performing this ritual daily to remit a sin, but to set myself free from an obligation which this ugly world so very much emphasizes on from the moment I was born…. though with the bolt of this new year I absolved for 4 days continuously after which there was a hiatus of days I can’t recant… but yesterday was an important day as I was well prepared to sprinkle my parched job hunt(actually to get that coveted dream job which was a bonus for some unlucky guys who are yet to quench their thirst and was a dream also for those some (un)lucky guys who already had a job)….now digressing a bit from the bathing part I am feeling like shedding some light on this job part…
Mu Sigma business solutions: Do The Math…wow…a pure-play analytics company with their colloquial tag line for “You Figure It Out” which isn’t even 5 years old and is a already a pro in the fledgling analytics industry with 25 of the Fortune 500 companies, including Wal-mart, IBM, Microsoft and many more, yelping for help … Yup…this is what those 4 persons giving the ppt told us… actually it was three coz one geek was constantly fiddling with his laptop and would give us some erudite examples whenever the fatso (the one who did all the talking) asked him to…said he was busy sending some files using our college campus wi-fi to their clients so that they won’t get pissed off…yeah..but may be I was when I was rejected…though the ppt was neat with some “Did You Know?” facts and figures video downloaded from You Tube(they acknowledged that they also did the same) and the DIPP analysis….the only frustrating thing was that they were in so much of a hurry with the plethora of questions hitting them that they forgot or may be deliberately dodged the most important thing, which for the students is how much will be their compensation when the company would suck the last drop of blood from their body and the infinitesimal wisdom left in their mind….
Now getting myself back on track and moving the timeline to the point before Mu Sigma arrived,I thought it wasn’t a bad idea after all if I could get myself rid of that xtraaa thing, don’t know if it breathes or not, which my long hairs are so very adept at harbouring…The In expugnable Dandruff…
and here I am, sitting in front of my laptop hitting on the keyboard, after a long day’s toiling going futile and the short night’s delight beefed up with a couple of f.r.i.e.n.d.s’ episodes, and a feeling of the integral after I soaked the remaining half of my body with tepid water….while completing this sentence there were some murmurings inside my stomach which sinews the abrupt end of this Vichyssoise of Verbiage…..

Photo credit I What it means to take a holy dip

After the Bath, Woman drying herself ~ Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas

Ten o’Clock

She shouldered the weight of
her responsibilities by day with
proficient hands and simple faith,
treading lightly over stones immoveable,
through fields of sugar cane, sweet
but unyielding, skirting swamps of
quick sand waiting to suck her into
herself should seeds of regret find
fertile soil.

Her days were like this, bequeathed
to others, but the night….

The night was hers to covet
within a tub of steamy froth,
the earthy scent of tea olive
soap on a sea sponge
harvested from the Gulf, lather
from neck to breast,
from breast to thigh,
from thigh to toe.
Vapor rising as if from Vesuvius’ peak to mingle
into worlds imagined. Hercules
could not have been a more ardent
enthusiast of the goddess-born bliss
of her bath ~
(voyeur though he may be)

and within the vapor of her bath each night
rose also
her dreams, finally escaping
the daily incarceration of duty
to fly…

~

This poem inspired by Read Write Poem, Prompt #109.

Before beginning her showbiz career, Amy Smart graced the fashion industry as a model in France, Italy, Tahiti and Mexico. Even as a small-breasted female celebrity in Hollywood, she has always shown to be an icon of style and has been successful in his career as an actress.

For women like Amy Smart, here are their tips for finding a good swimsuit. Although many think that a challenge to do so, considering that most swimsuits tailored for women with largeBreasts, but can actually be an easy task when you know what to look for.

Small breasted women should remember to try again, all in shopping for swimsuits. Just like shopping for jeans, shopping for swimsuits requires some proof before an obstacle to perfect. Be patient when you try on different types of clothes.

Small breasted women should avoid all-rounder data have bikini swimwear style. Since these materials lack trunks, is the tendency for the markerdisproportionate shares of women and to emphasize a great middle distance. A good alternative would be to take a skirt or sarong pareo exotic aesthetically complement around the body with small breasts.

Thinner and smaller breasted women can also try tankinis that work well for their type of organization. However, make sure that it is a form suitable type. The tendency of a baggy or lose is to hang up, the body, which looks unattractive.

Another good choice would be a bathing suit.Go for clothes that fit close to your body. There should be no differences between the seed and skin.

The bandeau top is also a popular choice, because the lines can and hide the lack of division.

Hello Kitty is one of the most famous and beloved characters known in the Sanrio collection. He has many friends, including her father, mother, Mime, Tim and Tammy, Mory, Cathy, Thomas, Jody, and much more! Hello Kitty lives in a world where everyone has a love, care of the family, with great manners and many friends.

In this imaginary world, Hello Kitty lives with her family, which includes his mom, dad and twin sister Mimmy. It 'was one of the most popular fictionSanrio characters in the collection, which is a Japanese company. Hello Kitty, when it was introduced, which became very popular among Japanese students, and finally made his trip to England and America.

Hello Kitty, even though he was born in Japan, is English and his family lived in a suburb of London. Her weight is said to be three shiny apples and most of their favorite food of his mother's apple pie. Hello Kitty has many different activities, such as travel,Listen to the reading, music, eating cookies, making new friends, and collecting all kinds of cute items like sweets and goldfish! Hello Kitty is getting a kitten, even if it was on 1 November 1974.

Hello Kitty is so popular that they also made her the star just an animated television series in Japan and America. In addition, he plays the lead role in Hello Kitty Animation Theater, the popular remake of the classic fairy tale features. Hello KittyProducts are in a wide range of goods and products show bookbag like Hello Kitty, Hello Kitty towels, and the Hello Kitty digital camera field. With products ranging from soft toys to animal lush handbags, digital cameras and the clothing industry has recognized the brand Hello Kitty as a logo on the globe. Further increase the popularity of Hello Kitty products are photos of celebrities sporting Hello Kitty products, with a credit card, Hello Kitty.

New image in the january photography contest

The Florida Chamber of Commerce is having a small problem with it’s tourism advertising. …
Bathing suit weather photography picture

King David said, “all men are liars.” Actually he said, “In my haste I said, ‘all men are liars.’” King David certainly wouldn’t be very popular today. Nor would his son Solomon. Solomon was born of Bathsheba and King David. Of course their first-born died within a few days of his birth. That son was conceived in a hot flash of passion. I understand “hot flashes of passion”. David should have turned away or, maybe he should have left to join Joab and the Armies of Israel on the battlefield. Bathsheba was beautiful beyond description. Would you have left that wonderful sight?, would you have turned away from that beautiful creäture bathing in the twilight, in that sultry air? Why was she bathing on her roof, Uriah’s roof? Uriah was where King David should have been. Needless to say, King David was where Uriah should have been. Uriah is truly one of the only admirable men in the bible. So, King David and his cousin Joab arranged for him to die. Simple as that. Uriah co-operated. Bathsheba co-operated, King David operated, Joab was complicit.

King Solomon said, “For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow”. I’m sorrowful, more knowledge, much knowledge, maybe. I don’t want to go there even though surviving to this age has required some “good”, even “wise” choices. Decisions based on knowledge might be attributed to wisdom. Always play dumb to avoid criticism, never let your wisdom be a cause of conversation. Hardly anything is worse than being accused of intellectual pride so, keep your mouth shut unless of course you are a “King”. I don’t believe in “wiser”. I can’t avoid grief. Do I grieve? Yes, over the simplest of things like : my car won’t start, this table is dirty, or, “why are you late again?’ Funny huh? I’ve reached a plateau, a safe area, were only small things annoy me.

I refuse to get upset about anything that doesn’t need my immediate attention. Apathetic?, pathetic?, no, just mature, reasonable evaluation, no big deals. Nothing to fear…inevitability, where’s my faith? How will this grand, last act play itself out? “The Terror of the Situation?” Peaceful , confident, or , surley and pitiful? Maybe I’ll take a walk into the desert, watch the flowers after a spring rain while the waters recede. Spring is near, the winter solstice has come and the orbs are moving slowly but surely toward me, all is in my favor. Don’t fret, get another burger, grab a beer, watch another foot-ball game on the wide-screen, daydream about your neighbor’s wife. Think about how it could have been if only this, and only that; but, if it could have been, it would have been, but it couldn’t so, it wasn’t. So it goes.

I saw a man this morning in a restaurant. He looked like he had spent the night (a cold night) curled up in some shrubbery somewhere near. He walked in speaking to himself, ordered food, and sat down near me. He began to sing along with the music coming from the speakers in the ceiling. I thought when he passed me on his way to the counter that he looks a little rough but not “out-of-it.” What does it hurt to sing along as you eat your sausage biscuit? Actually, it seemed like a form of Thanksgiving, happy, content. I said, “hello.” He said, “hello.” Wonderful. His eyes were clear, his coveralls clean. He could have used a shave but no more than I. So, he ate his biscuit and drank his water from the paper cup. He sang, he chewed, he sang some more, chewed, drank his water, became quiet, finished, cleaned the table, glanced my way and walked out the door humming.

So, them prairie dogs are screaming out there in the cold and dark night. The sky is dreadfully clear, no moon, millions of visible stars. You know if we could see well enough the sky would always be bright. When they focus their telescopes there is always something in the way, nearer or farther. So, those dogs out there have been underground for six weeks now. I hear them in the night, I think they send scouts out to forage, some get caught by the foxes, some probably make it home. I hear them signaling each other as though they sometimes get lost out there foraging. They have to go further away from home in this snow-covered, icy landscape. I’ll hear one barking on my right, then, a bark farther away in another direction. I always, at first, think that it must be one dog complaining but then I sense the calling and responding like, over here, over hear. And the foxes listen and watch. I hope some of them dogs make it home. They probably vomit what they have consumed on their journey and feed their friends and family.

I saw some men this morning in a restaurant. It looked like they had come in for an early lunch from one of the office buildings near here. They walked in, ordered food and sat down near me. They began talking about what they had seen on Television. I thought to myself as they passed that they were tired, stressed out. Red eyes, puffy red skin, 3 of the  4 overweight. I didn’t say hello as they all avoided eye contact, pre-occupied maybe, or pretending. So, big guys: two tall, one medium, one short. The short guy had the biggest hat. They had super-sized meals along with very large drinks. They chatted, chewed, chatted, wiped, chewed, chatted some more. They drank, chewed, wiped, chewed, drank, chatted some more. They became noticeably louder as the pounds of meat, fries and soda settled in their stomachs. They finished, left the mess on the table, glanced my way and lumbered out the door burping and coughing. So it goes.

So, wisdom? Don’t get near old women on parapet walls throwing stones.

Before starting her showbiz career, Amy Smart graced the fashion industry as a model in France, Italy, Tahiti and Mexico. Even as a small-breasted female celebrity in Hollywood, she has always shown to be an icon of style and has been successful in his career as an actress.

For women like Amy Smart, here are their tips for finding a good swimsuit. Although many think that a challenge to do so, considering that most swimsuits tailored for women with largeBreasts, but can actually be an easy task when you know what to look for.

Small breasted women should remember to try again, all in shopping for swimsuits. Just like shopping for jeans, shopping for swimsuits requires some proof before an obstacle to perfect. Be patient when you try on different types of clothes.

Small breasted women should avoid all-rounder data have bikini swimwear style. Since these materials lack trunks, is the tendency for the markerdisproportionate shares of women and to emphasize a great middle distance. A good alternative would be to take a skirt or sarong pareo exotic aesthetically complement around the body with small breasts.

Thinner and smaller breasted women can also try tankinis that work well for their type of organization. However, make sure that it is a form suitable type. The tendency of a baggy or lose is to hang up, the body, which looks unattractive.

Another good choice would be a bathing suit.Go for clothes that fit close to your body. There should be no differences between the seed and skin.

The bandeau top is also a popular choice, because the lines can and hide the lack of division.

The Week. #2. A few minor changes.. “The tube of the week” has been added, simply the video on youtube that I find most interesting of the week. “The last week” is just a post from the previous week that is worth re-mentioning.. enjoy. And also, more than one post can be posted under a topic. Updates every Saturday (Click image to read full post, works like that every week).

The graphics

Star Wars x Adidas x MiLK Poker Cards by MiLK

A free gift from the MiLK magazine this week. Simple deck of poker cards filled with essence of Star Wars. Small pips, black backs, air cushioned. The texture and smoothness is almost at the level of Bicycle cards by the US Playing Cards Company. Small pips increased the blank areas on the card, making the graphics stand out more than usual. Replaced the clubs with the Adidas Originals logo, Kings with Darth Vader, Queens with Yoda and Jacks with Stormtroopers. Beautiful use of threshold and black and white on the royal cards. 5 or 6 extra cards featuring the outstandingly designed shoes. Link to photos -> http://picasaweb.google.com/sl05ned/StarWarsXAdidasXMiLKCards#

The technology

Ricoh GXR

Ricoh has recently released their new digital camera. The GXR. This camera is somewhere between a normal Digital Camera and a DSLR. Currently two interchangeable lens, A12 for macro shots and S10 for normal shots. The sensor is contained as part of the lens. Gives 10 and 12.3 megapixels images. (More specs, click link below) The body of the camera is purely for battery, memory card and the screen purpose. GXR has a flash itself but a larger one can be fixed to the hot shoe, as well as a view finder. A tele conversion lens and a wide conversion lens is available to be fixed on. It’s said that other adaptors will be released. Pricing at around $3900 HKD for the Camera Body, $6000 HKD for A12 Macro lens and $3000 HKD for S10 Lens. Link -> http://www.ricoh.com/r_dc/gxr/special/ http://www.ricoh.com/r_dc/gxr/

Nexus one

Tons of rumors about the “Google Phone”. Finally released earlier in the week, named Nexus One. Runs on Android. Weights around 130 grams, 59.8 mm think and 119 mm tall. Clean design, by HTC. 3.7 inch display, 800 x 480 px (for those of you who are thinking of wallpapers, already..). 5 megapixels camera WITH flash AND video function(, Apple..), Wi-Fi and Bluetooth (More specs, click link below). Sleek and simple design to the appearance of the phone, hides the clickable buttons and ports really well, yet fitting all product semiotics. A Telfon coated back, not sure why.. but it is sure in my “next phone i’m gonna buy” list. Link -> http://www.google.com/phone

The fashion

Nike Air Jordan 1 Retro High Silver 25th Anniversary with Aluminium Briefcase

Shipped in an aluminium case, the Air Jordan 1 High 25th anniversary special edition. Grayish-white pair of shoes, the Air Jordan logo and the Jumpman logo backed with silver fabric. Clean, matte coloured pair of shoes, made more for collection than to be worn. A specially designed logo features on the tongue, can be read 23, for Jordan’s jersey, and 25, for the 25th anniversary. Nothing more can be said about the shoes. Click the image and amaze yourself with awe. Link -> http://kix-files.com/2010/01/nike-air-jordan-1-retro-high-silver-25th-anniversary-with-aluminum-briefcase/
from Kix-Files

The extra

:Chocoolate x A Bathing Ape popup store@Hong Kong Times Square

:Chocoolate is celebrating their 3rd anniversary by launching a crossover campaign with A Bathing Ape. Products include hooded sweaters, zip-up jackets, sweaters in black, gray, white and green, red, blue. Mesh caps in black and white, all printed with the crossover logos. Some products come in a special paint bucket with the logos printed on them as well. Pop up store located in Times Square, Causeway Bay, Hong Kong, from the 12th to 17th of January for six days. Watch out!
from MiLK

The tube of the week

Parkour Motion Reel – by glyphmedia

The last week

Star Wars x Adidas

The long-waited Star Wars x Adidas campaign has finally launched. Featuring stunning shoes, t-shirts, zip-up jumpers with essence and spirit of Star Wars within them. From characters like Anakin, Yoda, Darth Vader to spaceships like the Millennium Falcon, X wing fighters, all amazingly detailed. A limited edition Star Wars x Adidas x MiLK magazine deck of poker cards are up for free, only available in Hong Kong. Link -> http://www.adidas.com/campaigns/deathstar/content/Default.aspx?

Before starting her showbiz career, Amy Smart graced the fashion industry as a model in France, Italy, Tahiti and Mexico. Even as a small-breasted female celebrity in Hollywood, she has always shown to be an icon of style and has been successful in his career as an actress.

For women like Amy Smart, here are their tips for finding a good swimsuit. Although many think that a challenge to do so, considering that most swimsuits tailored for women with largeBreasts, but can actually be an easy task when you know what to look for.

Small breasted women should remember to try again, all in shopping for swimsuits. Just like shopping for jeans, shopping for swimsuits requires some proof before an obstacle to perfect. Be patient when you try on different types of clothes.

Small breasted women should avoid all-rounder data have bikini swimwear style. Since these materials lack trunks, is the tendency for the markerdisproportionate shares of women and to emphasize a great middle distance. A good alternative would be to take a skirt or sarong pareo exotic aesthetically complement around the body with small breasts.

Thinner and smaller breasted women can also try tankinis that work well for their type of organization. However, make sure that it is a form suitable type. The tendency of a baggy or lose is to hang up, the body, which looks unattractive.

Another good choice would be a bathing suit.Go for clothes that fit close to your body. There should be no differences between the seed and skin.

The bandeau top is also a popular choice, because the lines can and hide the lack of division.

Sometimes, the best remedy for a serious bout of jet lag can be something as simple as a long, hot shower. The kind of shower that steams up the entire bathroom, and melts away the stress from a transatlantic journey.

That’s exactly what I needed after traveling from San Francisco back to London. Especially after lugging my 67 pound suitcase, plus backpack, about half a mile from the tube station to my house—through the snow.

Unfortunately, our house was having a problem with some of the plumbing. One of the pipes on the outside wasn’t attached properly. If we turned the water mains back on, water would come flooding out of it.

The person who was supposed to fix it that day didn’t show up. Great.

So what do you do when you’re in desperate need of a shower, and there’s no running water? Yes, my friends, you take a snow shower!

Showering With Snow: Amanda’s Handy Tips

As the great Scottish mountaineer J.H.B. Bell once said:

“Whoever indulges in a snow bath on a mountain crest will continue his progress along the ridges with renewed zest and vigour”

Inspired by my trip to Nicaragua last summer, in which we took bucket showers (the village of Goyena has no running water), I decided to apply this technique to snow.

The following are my handy tips for those of you crazy desperate enough to want to try this:

Step 1: Gather Snow We had plenty of clean snow in our backyard, so I gathered up as much clean snow as I could into every available pot.

Step 2: Melt Snow Using every burner on our stovetop, I melted down the snow. As it starts to melt, you can add more snow to maximize the amount of hot water you’ll get in each pot.

Step 3: Make Snow Transportation-Friendly Rather than taking each small pot back and forth, up and down the stairs to the bathroom, it’s better to pour the hot water into a larger container and take that up.

In this case, my large container was a big, unused plastic bucket. I poured all of the hot water into it, and carried that up to the bathtub.

Step 4: Gather Bathing Supplies To actually clean yourself, you’ll need a small hand towel (or a loofah), soap/shampoo of your choice, and another small container for rinsing your hair.

I used a mug, but if you’re feeling cannibalistic, why not try a ladle?

Step 5: Wash, Rinse, Repeat Now that you have all of your supplies gathered in the bathtub, you’re ready for a snow shower!

Use the mug to pour hot water all over yourself, making sure to get your hair as wet as possible.

Then, dip the small towel or loofah into the bucket, and pour soap on it. After you’re all nice and soaped up, dip the mug into the bucket and rinse yourself off.

Now it’s time for washing your hair. No matter what length your hair is, it’s best to just dunk your whole head in the bucket. Once it’s soaking wet, you can shampoo away!

Use the mug to rinse out most of the shampoo from your hair. If you’re feeling particularly indulgent, you can use conditioner at this point.

Finally, the best part of all, you can now take the whole bucket and pour the remaining hot water all over yourself.

Congratulations! You’ve now taken your first snow shower!

Now go forth and enjoy your renewed zest and vigour!

Well, it’s 2010. While the world was arguing about whether we should call it ‘two thousand and ten’ or ‘twenty – ten’ (clearly the latter), I slipped off to Onneyu Onsen (an onsen is a hot spring bath resort) outside Rubeshibe in Hokkaido. My first and long-awaited onsen visit, and it was the in-laws’ treat.

It was snowing heavily (the first of what looks to be a bad January – 110cm the other day), the roads were turning white, and some poor soul had lost control of his car and it plunged into the roadside ditch. Clearly we arrived safely, but the journey wasn’t without its thrills.

I was glad to get through the doors to the hotel to warm up, but then i grew alarmed: had I stumbled into some sort of pantomime? The hotel staff were wearing face paint as they went about their reception duties, and one was in drag (albeit a female yukata, but still drag). It turned out that they were having a special New Year’s event and we had a small indoor festival to look forward to that night. But that could all wait… You don’t go to an onsen and ethuse about the sideshow. No, you go to get in the bath!

The Baths

The first thing that struck me was the fact that I would be bathing with my father-in-law, and while I previously said that you shouldn’t be afraid of nudity in the bathhouses, this felt a little more personal and uncomfortable – until I got soaking that was. With the 45°C water and the slight whiff of sulphur, I quickly got over my embarrassment and started to enjoy it.

The water temperature was surprising. Sitting beside the entry point of the spring water was so hot I couldn’t bear it. While the average temperature ranged around the mid-40s, the temperature by the tap (or whatever you might call the trickling stream of geothermally-heated water) had to have been in the 60s or 70s.

There were several baths of varying temperatures and infusions but also, most importantly for me, a rotenburo (outdoor bath). Rotenburo are the quintessential element of an onsen visit. With the outside air in the minuses, it was instantly relaxing to sink up to my shoulders and watch the steam drift along the surface of the bath. Protecting our modest from the balcony above and from the falling snow was a bamboo wind-shelter, but it was hard to really care about all that. The only thing I had to worry about was the sub-zero naked walk back inside (a sprinkler sprayed hot water pouring onto the stone path so that it didn’t feel too cold underfoot).

At midnight until 10am (check-out time), the bath areas switched. So the next morning I was able to go to the ‘female’ side (of course, having switched with us, there were no women there). Whereas the previous side was like a cave: no windows, stony walls, with a damp atmosphere, the other side was bright and airy with windows facing onto the town (with opaque tint to hide the naughty bits from the outside world (although I imagine there is a telescope shop doing quite brisk business down there). The baths were mostly the same, but less roughly designed. There were also two rotenburo. The first had the same swimming pool-like features, plus a reclined area for lying in. This side also faced the town, but a large bamboo screen hid everything from the outside world (although I could see through the small gaps). The second rotenburo was the best: it was quite small, but it had a rock garden around it, and the trees were close enough to touch. Someone had made two little snowmen and placed them on the rocks beside the pool. As I sat in there, my mind drifted off. Eventually though, the conflicting temperatures between my head and my body were tiring me out, so I got out. However, that bath really made my holiday for me.

The one thing I knew about but had never encountered in previous bathing locations was young children. At first I was a little disconcerted about seeing a parade of young girls accompanying their fathers into the bath. I could hear The Sun and the Daily Mail readers preparing their torches and pitchforks… But I realised that it didn’t really matter. If anything, the propensity for Japanese fathers to bathe with their daughters and mothers with their sons might help create a healthy attitude toward nakedness, something severely lacking in modern Britain or America. Then again, thinking about some of the sexual mores created here, this attitude might not really be a good thing.

The Meals

After the first bath, we went for dinner. The hotel served a buffet-style breakfast and dinner, although other courses were apparently available (in a different hall). Everyone (about 50 people) gathered in the dining hall, a large tatami-floored room and helped themselves to sushi, noodles, meat, and particularly crab. I’d only eaten crab from the shell on New Year’s Eve for osechi, the New Year’s feast (outside Hokkaido, people eat osechi on New Year’s day), but these ones were much bigger and meatier than I’d ever seen. I ate my fill and drank beer by the litre. The quality was good, but at breakfast I resented the lack of kocha (normal tea, to us Brits). I can’t function without my morning cuppa, and I spent the better part of the 3rd trying to stay awake.

The Rooms

The room was wonderful. Above the genkan was the washbasin. There was a washlet toilet in the bathroom, along with a bath and shower (in case you couldn’t go into the public one, I guess – infectious diseases, period, disability perhaps). As I write this, it occurs to me that that was the first bathroom toilet I had seen in Japan since I came here to live. Typically the toilet is stuck in a small room of its own for several reasons: hygiene – the toilet is dirty, hence you don’t put it where you want to clean yourself; mould – it’s hard enough to keep the shower area clean; and finally, convenience – most Japanese houses seem to have only one toilet, and people sometimes bathe/poo for eternity.

The next room was the living area. A big coffee table stood at the centre, surrounded by zabuton (cushions). There was a TV, a kettle, some matcha- (powdered green tea) making facilities, and two armchairs. This room was separated from the sleeping area by sliding doors, and while we ate dinner, the staff pulled our futon out of the cupboards and made our beds. The whole area was tatami and, despite being uncomfortably warm, it was very pleasant.

The Festival

As I mentioned before, the hotel held a festival inside the building. After dinner, we went to play some traditional games. We all gave hoopla a go, and Keiko did exceptionally well. Emasculated by my loss, I moved on to the pop-gun gallery. With my exceptional shooting ability, I scored a surfboard-shaped lighter (which I had to leave in Hokkaido) and a toy sword (which I will be giving to one lucky child in the near future). I then attempted the most heinous game known to man: you have to cut a shape out of a thin sugar wafer using a drawing pin and a toothbrush without breaking the internal shape. It’s very, very difficult. Nothing happened when I scraped and brushed, so I turned to brute force, using the pin to snap parts away, hoping the counter-sunk edges of the shape would cleave nicely. Of course I was wrong though, and Keiko and I dropped out with only cardboard-tasting broken pieces of sugar wafers for consolation.

The next event was a geiko oiran parade. Keiko said something about one of them coming from Tokyo, but I’m pretty sure the main ‘girl’ was a guy. Either way, he or she had 50cm geta (traditional outdoor sandals) and walked with sweeping motions along the corridor as people snapped pictures of her/him. At the end, our whole family sat in front of her/him, plus two (other) girls [Keiko has told me they were all guys!] for a souvenir photograph.

We couldn’t stick around, however, as we were worried we would miss the opening of a cask of sake (they are opened with a hammer). Unfortunately, we did miss it, but the sake was free and so I wasted no time in gulping a few down. Meanwhile, the hotel held a draw for a range of prizes: weekends in other fantastic hotels, crab, sweets, and fish… there were so many prizes and seemingly so few guests that it looked like everyone would be a winner. Everyone around us seemed to win and we had some really close calls, but even with two rooms to our name, we went away with nothing (well, not quite nothing, I had some more sake to compensate).

The final stage of the festival was mochi-tsuki, (making rice cakes). I had a go at this last year, and I’m glad I did because it seemed that the hotel wasn’t letting just anyone have a go. We watched two burly hotel staff pound the rice into a sticky mess, and then ate the fruits of their labour: Keiko ate them with a little kinako, but I stuck to the anko (I’ve really taken a liking to anko - a sweet bean paste).

Final Impressions

The one thing that really struck me on this visit to Hokkaido, and to the onsen in particular, was the complete absence of obvious foreigners. That wasn’t to say that there weren’t any, clearly there were: I saw eikaiwa all over the place and the faces of ALTs in the local news-zine. There were undoubtedly Chinese and Koreans around, that particular area of Hokkaido has received a tourism boom after a few Chinese and Korean movie and drama features, but they could slip bar far less noticeably than I.

I sat down to eat my mochi in the hotel on a bench by myself. A couple of kids came over. The two kids sat down on the bench beside me, and the youngest, a girl of about 6, kept looking at me. I turned to her and smiled (my time spent teaching kids has made me far more friendlier towards the younger ones), but she continued to stare. A few moments later she swapped places with her brother.

A little while later, their grandfather strolled over and crouched down on the floor beside them, so I scooted over to the other bench (Keiko’s father had left and thus made some space) and offered the seat to him. As he sat down, the boy turned to his grandfather and said “Gaikokuji wa me-“. He didn’t get to finish his sentence as his grandfather shushed him. I assume that the kid was about to say that foreigners were pretty rare, he might (if I heard wrong) have been trying to say something else, but either way, he was just a little kid so I told the grandfather that it was okay. In the bath that night I bumped into the same kids, all of us stark naked, and they didn’t bat an eyelid. Every time I give up my seat, every time I try to help someone out here, it’s with full knowledge that I might be helping to break the stereotype: not all hakujin (literally, white people) are loud and self-centred. We’re not going to bite, and some of us can speak Japanese. I hope that just that small change in those kids’ attitudes will have stronger effects later on, but who’s to say.

Later the next day, as we went shopping for souvenirs in Kitami (a small city), a woman stared at me so hard she even craned her neck as we passed one another. That, to me, was a bit offensive (unless she thought I was cute/sexy, in which case, ewww). One of the benefits of having a Japanese wife in Japan, particularly one from the countryside, is that you really do get off the beaten track. As foreigners penetrate deeper into Japanese society and gain wider and more personal exposure, we might make some changes for the better here.

Anyway, OnneyuOnsen: check it out.