Monday, October 17, 2011

Donny the dentist

I came over to Japan to see what it had to offer. More precisely, I came over for a rest.
I needed it. After going flat chat for 2 years I had reached the end of my functional piece of string.
Never before I had functioned for two years, I doubt I will again.

I spent the majority of my teens and young adult life being non functional.
At the point I crossed over into adulthood (approx 29 years of age) I had myself a little breakdown, the mother of all dysfunction and started rebuilding until low and behold I looked just like everyone else!

Anyhow thats what bought me to Japan. I needed a rest. Jetstar that under privileged airline went beyond themselves
and afforded me my own line of seats with which to sprawl out on for an entire 8 hrs. They wanted to charge me for movies and television to which I resisted and I read S.E. Hinton's The Outsiders and kept swinging wildly between opinions that hoodlums did not speak like that to each other at any stage of life , and god bless the socially downtrodden and what a wonderful young adult depiction of adolescence it was!!

Anyhow, flawless was delivery from Narita airport into my little dark hotel room on a Friday night in one of the premium cities of the world! I was free....and I felt it. Out I headed to get mildly drunk so I could partake in that thing Ive missed since functionality became my bed partner...sleep. I was going to sleep like a motherfucker on this trip. I was a golden boy I tells ya. Pure in thought and all the corners tucked in nicely and to be in a city that appreciated such stylings too... do impress me.

Anyhow down the dark steps of my favorite sake bar I trod and after some awkward exchanges between customer and owner I force my way agreeing to whatever conditions he just set down for entry and I start to drink and check my phone which has no network until i get the feel of things around me.

3 or 4 sakes later and a bowl of soba Im ready to leave and head to bed when a strapping young gent whom later identifies himself as Donny the dentist from Glasgow rolls in and it's only polite for me to stay and have another sake with him. He's got a trendy pair of overalls on and chest hair popping out from beneath his singlet and blue eyes that offset his olive skin. Dark hair and a thin Scottish accent that I can easily understand and admire. We talk and drink. About the riots, Brighton, Bristol, dentistry, Melbourne and other get to know you things. Lovely.

He tells me about a tiny little club right around the corner from here that is supposed to play great tunes, not techno which Donnie doesnt like and he presumes already that I will be coming with him. Im powerless. Once someone has presumed something of me I normally give it. Had he asked genuinely Id have found the ability to decline, but he presumed and I accepted. It's how most of my drug taking took place in my 20's.

Anyhow we trundle down to the club and Donnie is right! It's amazing!!! Tiny, full and great music from the 50's. Im at home. Im drunk well and truly now but not messy and Im with Donnie who is chasing women all over the dancefloor only to exclaim to me with his lips tripping over themselves in his generic Scottish accent that 'i'll take that as a no then'....the lady eventually turning down his request for god knows what. Donnie, careful I's not that type of club. People are here to enjoy themselves not be chased around by a dentist.

Anyhow I eventually leave Donnie and spill out into the street, really drunk now. Damn it...all that transience from the plane ride bought undone in a matter of hours!! Im a useless white male I think to myself. All the philosophy, the commitment to tranquility bought undone by one strapping 25 year old dentist from Glasgow! Damn you Donnie! Damn you.

The next day I receive an email from Donnie. I must have passed it onto him at the height of my intoxication. It is brief and says he feels like boiled dog shit. I read on and he says the usual...if you're ever in the UK look me up and vice a versa...Then it signs off with this.

'As a tip, you should check to see if the toilets in your hotel have the arse jet wash system that the ones here do. Never come across them before but it really seems to help with the hangover.'

I laughed heartily, returned to my hotel and immediately took a seat upon my toilet and took Donnie's advice.
He was dead right. It really did help.

Thanks Donnie. For all of it. Arse jet and all

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Tarax Creamy Soda

Just remembered I entered a competition with Tarax Creamy Soda
around 1985 where it said every entrant would be notified of the
result by May 5th. I know that because it was my birthday.

I remember I would have known if I was the winner of about $700
for my 8th birthday. But noone notified me, win or lose.

I wonder if this was the point where I started reading the crucial part of instructions/directions incorrectly?

Monday, October 3, 2011

Celica Girl

Once I was completely obsessed with this girl called Celica Girl.
Pretty much stalked her without ever really breaking the law.

Didnt have the heart to go straight up to her and put my heart on the line.
Actually, didnt know you were allowed to do that. So...did the next best thing and followed her. Eventually enough casual bump ins did the trick, co-ordinated my Fri night with hers, casually, no date required here and then prepared to make our moves on the dancefloor. I think Deni Heines provided the soundtrack to our love.

They've over worked the dried ice on the dance floor so we wait until it's cleared
and I can make out Celica Girl's long legs amongst the other riff raff. There she is.
She has flow from where Im at it seems. I move slowly, pretending I haven't seen her yet, sipping my Midouri Illusion like it's an aged wine.

She'll see me first. Like Michael Hutchence I move through the cloud and into her space. Im here Celica Girl. Im here. I look up from my shaker. Legs and arms akimbo. She's looking right at me. I hadnt seen her smile before. She looked better melancholy, thought I. That's alright but what the hell is this octopus doing in front of her waving about like it's been poisoned??

My god. It's her. God dammit, the bloke on the smoke machine has gone fucking nuts. I cant see a thing. Just these limbs of hers.

Flapping like a chicken.

And that was it. Celica Girl was flapping like a chicken on the dance floor. She was actually doing the chicken dance and she wasnt meaning too. I remember now. It wasnt Deni it was Tori Amos, and the girl I had painted into a corner as being my saviour and whom could do no wrong was doing wrong. Very wrong. Smiling like a nomad and giving it all to me but flapping like a chicken.

Im not proud of what I did next but it's instinctive. I waited for the knob to hit his smoke machine button one more time - gas the place out and in the haze with a whirl of arms and legs darting in and out I vanished. Into the Piano Bar.

Propped my Illusion up on the Grand and joined the back of the group for another fucking rendition of the song about filling up at the gas pump or whatever the fuck it is.

All the while.....Chic...I mean Celica Girl's arms and legs cavorting at the brink of my memory.

Sunday, October 2, 2011


Watched the footy. Drank some cans with Silence.
Went home bathed some kids and BV rang up and said
why not come out with him?

He picked us up from 7/11 and we hotfooted it to soul night.
Soul music is shit. I dont wanna get happy when Im dancing and
happiness whilst dancing is not conducive to finding someone to dance with or around.

It's like exercise where people head off on their own trip and get all blissed
out at the beats. So soul music as enticing as it sounds is not mine, nor BV's and barely Silence's bag....

I want down and dirty. Get down low and leap frog ya way into the pasture. It's a competition to see who can get the lowest. Probably BV...but let's all try.

Got home at a reasonable hour, BV showed me one...just one bloody old mate from high school on Facespace who shagged it over to Dublin and 2 hours later I snapped out of my daze with a snickers on my chest staring at some Musleena Mary Consarda who'd got married in Israel and was kissing her baby boy.

Fuckin Faceneck mate. A dangerous old place to be if you aint immune to the past and all its trappins