I saw mr. Jonkheer today on a train station in Nijmegen. I've known mr. Jonkheer for about six years. I met him when I was buying a postcard in a bookshop, to be sent to friend abroad. He commented on the painting that was on the postcard, or something like that.

I have seen mr. Jonkheer maybe six times over these six years, but I see him everywhere: in a fruitstal in Amsterdam, stealing fruit, on the train... I saw him getting kicked out a bar in Deventer once. I don't know if he's technically homeless, nor do I know what he is on (but he is obviously on something).

I know that he is from Middelburg, where his parents ran a chocolaterie, coincidentally on the same squarewhere my great-grand parents ran a bakery. I know he is smart man and that he worked on cancer research in the late seventies.

And that he got dumped by his sweetheart, and lost it.

He looks like a cross between Sir Richard Bishop of Sun City Girls and a merchant in the Lords Seventeen. He speaks incoherently, but isn't unintelligible when you really listen to what he says.

I usually give him some money. I have to put it somewhere, on a bench, a windowpane, and he'll take it from there; he doesn't like it when you get close. Today I give him two euros, and he in return gave me a pack of American Spirits. There were two left in it.

Salut, mr. Jonkheer.

my fucking back hurts so much right now i could cry.

but i have to be at work because the m-f ing judge won't continue the motion, so my opposing papers are due today. i will show up at the oral argument on friday in a fucking fine mood, for sure.

-typed while standing up, since getting up from a chiar is agony.

the$inmusicisallmine wrote:my fucking back hurts so much right now i could cry.

Try taking four ibuprofen every four hours. This worked much better than any precription painkillers I could get my hands on during my pre-surgery back fallout last year.

The annual lovebug infestation has started. My room was filled with them this morning when I woke up. It is annoying for three reasons: there are bug carcasses all over my room, my car has remnants pasted all over the windhshield and it reminds with great frequency that I am alone. If Plecia nearctica can find love, why can't I? Huh?

Today I decided to go on a three week natto binge starting tomorrow. Until October 8th I will be eating this at least once a day:


I am doing this in preparation for the arrival of a few Japanese friends. I am going to impress them with my ability to enjoy this horrible food. I attempted and failed this task while in Japan three years ago but now i think I have the resolve to succeed. Kampai!

Jon

Barbo wrote:Today I decided to go on a three week natto binge starting tomorrow. Until October 8th I will be eating this at least once a day:

A few of us were talking about Natto on Saturday night, and how it's not nearly as bad as stinky tofu.

burun wrote:A few of us were talking about Natto on Saturday night, and how it's not nearly as bad as stinky tofu.

I never had the pleasure of trying stinky tofu when I was in China. Had I know about it at the time I would have insisted. I tried everything else I could get my hands on though. I ate at every street vendor and kiosk I could find. My digestive sysem was a wreck but it was well worth it. I tried to find the oddest foods I could. The coagulated blood cubes were the hardest to handle.

I now have a mission to find stinky tofu. Thank you for reminding me of this legendary delight.


Jon

Late last night I turned on the TV and there was a documentary, entitled Guys and Dolls, featuring men who have relationships with 'real-life' rubber sex dolls. The men interviewed were, for one reason or another, unable to form relationships with living girls.

One of the men, a 39 year-old factory worker from Virginia, owned two such dolls, which he'd unnervingly dressed as school girls. Both dolls looked a little worse for wear.

I couldn't fail to notice the Master of Puppets poster on the wall of his bedroom. This was an irony he was altogether oblivious to.

Man, Brits get THE BEST TV.

One fellow at work has grown a moustache and goatee and introduced a wave to his hair. Theories abound; some people think it's to make himself look less camp (yeah, grow a goatee. Noone will think that's gay). I think he was going down some French, beatnik intellectual route myself. Either way, since it became clear that the results were more in keeping with this guy:



and since he had to endure a day of jokes about his cavalier attitude, and Dogtanian, and such and soforth, he has taken the decison to shave it off tonight.

Shame.

Sometimes I'll leave a running grocery list out in the kitchen at work, just in case someone uses the last of something.
Somebody put snakes on my grocery list.