The Great Study Home Office De-Crapping is <a href=”<a href=”http://plooble.typepad.com/bleef/office after for real.html” onclick=”window.open”‘http://plooble.typepad.com/bleef/office after for real.html’,’popup’,’width=422,height=316,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0′”; return false”target = “_blank”complete. I can’t remember the last time I felt so light and airy and carefree. I feel like skipping. Perhaps I will. BRB.

The final tally:

Hours spent de-crapping: 19
Giant fricking garbage bags filled: 16
Increase in dust mite-related allergy symptoms: 7000 percent

Hastings is still freaked out by it. He keeps wandering around sniffing everything as though I’d built an addition on the house. “That’s him in the picture examining my chair for evidence of extreme activities.” I mean, come on, dude. Don’t act so surprised. Have a little tact. Of course, I’ve lived here for five years and had him for four, so it’s entirely possible that there are sections of floor he has never seen.

Yet I still have plenty of crap. If you’re considering buying anything – anything at all – talk to me. Need office supplies? I thought I had a home office, but now I realize I have a <a href=”<a href=”http://plooble.typepad.com/bleef/welcome to office depot.html” onclick=”window.open”‘http://plooble.typepad.com/bleef/welcome to office depot.html’,’popup’,’width=336,height=252,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0′”; return false”target = “blank”home Office Depot. I could wallpaper my bathroom with Post-Itsâ„¢.

And for heaven’s sake, don’t buy anything with a cord on it, anything that plugs into anything or anything that has things plugged into it without <a href=”<a href=”http://plooble.typepad.com/bleef/wired cat.html” onclick=”window.open”‘http://plooble.typepad.com/bleef/wired cat.html’,’popup’,’width=211,height=363,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0′”; return false”target = “blank”checking with me first. Need speaker wire? I have enough to wire the Pentagon. Coax cable? What do you want, three feet, six feet? Stereo cables? We will not be undersold. RCA to RCA, or RCA to phono jack? How about a little green thing that connects two things I don’t own anymore? In the market for a mobile phone? <a href=”<a href=”http://plooble.typepad.com/bleef/mobile madness.html” onclick=”window.open”‘http://plooble.typepad.com/bleef/mobile madness.html’,’popup’,’width=390,height=230,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0′”; return false”target = “blank”Step right this way. And if anyone I know buys a telephone cord, he or she will be strangled with it.

I did discover some more fun stuff, though. I had forgotten how many trip journals I’ve kept in little foreign notebooks over the years. Fascinating excerpt:

“My feet hurt, as does my left knee”

Holy crap! I just found a name and address I wrote in my London travel journal in 1990. It sounded familiar, so just for the hell of it I did a web search. Remember Craig Shergold, the sick English kid whose friends and family started a campaign to get him into the Guinness Book of World Records for receiving the most get-well cards? It’s him. I must have seen an announcement of the campaign in its earliest stages, long before he got well and started begging people to stop mailing him. This means I got spammed before there was email. Now that’s bleeding edge.

Ryan just called. It’s 1:35 a.m., but he was just hanging out at OCSC with REM, so that’s worth calling for. He accidentally drank Mike Mills’ beer. Classic. And apparently Michael Stipe is not a sports fan. Go figure.

Other items from the de-crapping:

A quote from Groves at an Evil Wiener show in 1996:

“Don’t forget to tip your bartender, leave promptly when the show is over and buy a fucking t-shirt”

An item from The Chapel Hill News announcing seats available for a UNC program called “Reading the Stars: Astronomy, Divination, and the Cosmos” The headline is:

Space Available in Astronomy Program

A list written on the back of a Far Side calendar page:

Thunderitchy
Mondale
Topless Bar Sluts of the South
Don’t Touch the Dog There
We Live As We Dream, Stallone

I might have been trying to come up with album titles for my non-existent band, Catflap. That last one is pretty funny, but I have no idea if I made it up or not. I’m like that.

There’s more, but I’ll stick it back in the blog fodder file for a night when the well is dry.

Okay, one last thing. I found a rough draft of a personal ad I considered placing in 1994. I was trying to play with the conventions of the genre, and it’s painfully over-clever “”I like long walks on the moon and candlelit dinners on the beach” but I still like the final line, which requires remembering NBC’s “Must See TV lineup from that period:

Friends first, then Seinfeld.

You’d have answered that ad, right?

Is there any point in adding my voice to the chorus of praise for “Lost in Translation? No? Whose blog is this, anyway? I loved that movie for so many reasons, but it was especially poignant for me having lived in Tokyo, oh god, 17 years ago. I was a DJ and program director for an English-language cable radio station called FM Banana, naturally “our weak FM signal was on 87.7, which can be pronounced in Japanese, in a kind of cutesy-poo way they use for this kind of thing, as “ba-na-na”. I also hosted a very small TV show on a very large cable network, Tokyu “sic” Cable Television, which was in its infancy. “They considered putting my face on a t-shirt to give to subscribers, but that idea died a quick death.”

Watching Bill Murray trying to work with a director who speaks no English cracked me up, because I did that. Our director, Menju-san, began his career working as a ticket collector for the massive Tokyu zaibatsu “they own a subway line and an entire suburb, among many other things”, but they made him a TV director because he had a master’s degree in urban planning. Of course. He didn’t speak much English, but he always knew when I had screwed up and would politely ask for another take. It was one of the strangest and most enjoyable times of my life, despite the fact that I was forced into a Santa Claus suit on three “3” separate occasions: once to sing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with a grammar school choir backing me up. Menju-san told me I would be doing that about ten minutes before we started shooting. I have it on tape, and if you’re nice to me, I won’t make you watch it.

Considering the size of Tokyo, I was amazed at how much I recognized in the movie. When Charlotte makes her first foray out of the hotel, she gets off the train at Omotesando, which was my stop for work. When she and Bob have their awkward lunch, it’s supposedly in Daikanyama, the neighborhood where I lived with my parents. But for me, the most evocative moments of the film are the insomnia sequences, with both characters lying awake in that peculiarly-Tokyo pre-dawn light, a siren wailing in the distance. I remember that so well, and it reminds me of walking out of a basement nightclub I frequented called Cleo Palazzi, leaving at 6:00 a.m. once the trains had started running again. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more dissolute.

I know that the phenomenon of Engrish “we called it Janglish” is pretty well covered on the web, but here are my favorites. Somewhere in the house I have containers of all of these products:

a sports drink called Pocari Sweat

a non-dairy creamer called Creap, for “creamy powder

a beer called Penguin’s Bar

a yogurt drink called Pokka White Sour, with the legend “Its sweet taste of sour yogurt will extend on your tongue softly, and be a sweetheart”

I also have an ashtray from a gift shop near Mt. Fuji that features two penguins on water skis. It says, “Let’s Attack Water Skiing!

There is a pro baseball team called the Nippon Ham Fighters.

My train ride to see my now ex-wife, The Mighty Frith, passed an apartment building with a sign reading “My City Home” That’s not funny until you know that the Japanese have a hard time with “ci and pronounce it as “shi” Hearing someone talk about a Honda City was always fun, too. “And the photo above might be a little more amusing now.” Nissan had a domestic model called the Langley “named after CIA headquarters?” and another called the Laurel “which came out “ro-re-ru” and I wondered why they inflicted that on themselves.

It got to the point where the Janglish had to be really good to even warrant a mention. As a newcomer I roared at a t-shirt that said, “Let’s Jogging With Me” and the line of Basic James Rabbit consumer goods “featuring a bunny in a waistcoat looking at his pocket watch and saying, “She should be along here now”, but after a few months those barely elicited a snicker. For one thing, it was a constant bombardment. My father’s morning walk used to take him past the Aoyama Health Club, which had a plaque out front proclaiming, “Where Young Men and Women Meet to Exchange Sweat: Since 1983”

Dang. Now I miss Tokyo. And being 20. I don’t miss Pokka White Sour, though.

There is nothing happening in California there is nothing happening in California there is nothing happening in California there is

It’s no use.

I’m not going to talk about this alot, because I’m sure it’s all over the blogosphere right now, just like it is the TV. I was going to wait to mention it until the results were official, but what am I here, the goddamn Associated Press? Jesus H. Kindergarten Cop on a Hitler-loving bicycle. Bring on the meteors.

I did a web search to find an embarrassing photo of Gov. Conan, and for some reason the one above came up. I think it summarizes the whole issue nicely.

Today, in and around mourning the state of American democracy, I began the process of cleaning up my study “that’s “home office” if you’re from the IRS”, and any of you who have been to Plooble HQ know what an Herculean task that is. “My cousin-in-law John said I should just call it “the garage,” and then it would be fine.” I also bought a sweet but relatively inexpensive Panasonic digital camera “with a Leica lens!” with some of the insurance money I got for the cool, old cameras that were stolen “I wonder how many rocks Mr. Burglar got for my Olympus 35SP rangefinder with spotmeter?”, so I took <a href=”<a href=”http://plooble.typepad.com/bleef/office before.html” onclick=”window.open”‘http://plooble.typepad.com/bleef/office before.html’,’popup’,’width=480,height=360,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0′”; return false” target = “_blank”</before and <a href=”<a href=”http://plooble.typepad.com/bleef/office after2.html” onclick=”window.open”‘http://plooble.typepad.com/bleef/office after2.html’,’popup’,’width=499,height=338,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0′”; return false” target = “_blank”</after pictures. In the before picture you can see my new desk chair, which, I swear to you, is called the “2Xtreme Sports Chair.” I don’t really do anything extreme in it, unless you count, er… blogging. It’s definitely too extreme. This afternoon I wanted to work on my resume, but my chair was out bungee jumping.

You can see some of my first digital efforts to pollute cyberspace in my new photo album. You can find the link wherever the hell the link will be once I’ve created it. I think it’s over there.

One of the fun things about cleaning up my study, in addition to being able to get to the window, has been finding old crap. In the process of spelunking through one pile I found the Harris Teeter receipt from my housewarming brunch in October of 1998. My cashier was Chiffon. You bastards ate $13.98 worth of smoked salmon, by the way. I also found a receipt from a store I’ve never heard of, let alone remember patronizing, called Gadzooks #191. Apparently I bought an S/S BLUE BLUR PLAID for $38.00. I didn’t know I owned any SS clothes. Maybe I can wear it to Arnold’s inaugural ball.

I also found my Dad’s Christmas wish list from probably 1999, in which he expressed his desire for four identical calculators. It actually makes perfect sense when you think about it.

The thing that made me feel especially slovenly and pack-rattish was finding utility bills from 1997 with my previous address on them, which means I must have brought a pile of starter crap with me to the new house. It’s kind of like making sourdough bread.

Coming soon to Fistful of Plooble: ANUSTART.

“That joke is totally swiped from Rebecky.”

Say hello to Knightsfollie Ladiesman, known to his bitches as Mr. Jeffries. Mr. Jeffries is the dog with the longest ears in the world, according to Guinness. Coincidentally, he is the grandson of Biggles, the spokesdog for Hush Puppies. His ears are insured for £30,000. “No word if that’s each, or the pair.” In addition to holding the record, poll results released today show Mr. Jeffries has pulled ahead of Lt. Gov. Cruz Bustamante in the California recall election.

While we’re on the subject of ears, allow me to plug my newest link, www.epitonic.com. In addition to a lot of cool information about bands and music, the site features free mp3 downloads, all with the artists’ permission. And they have extensive “if you like this, you’ll also like this links on each artist’s page, which I totally dig. I visit there a couple of times a month and get enough new songs to make a nice mix disk. Then sometimes I go out and buy one of the bands’ CDs. Hey, the system works!

Knowing as many people as I do who make a living, or attempt to make a living, from music, I never really felt comfortable using the free, unauthorized file-sharing programs. And once I heard the RIAA was targeting people with more than 1,000 shared files “I had 2,400” that added some poignancy to my dilemma. “Nothing like the threat of personal jeopardy to resolve an abstract moral issue.” But I did always maintain one scruple: if I ripped somebody’s album from Grokster and then saw them live, I would buy another CD from them at the show. Hey, I sleep at night.

It should be no secret by now if you’ve looked at the archives that I love absurdity, especially found absurdity. The subtitle of this blog comes from the side of a waxed-paper takeout beer container we handed out in the pub where I worked in London, back when I was young enough for that to be fun. When I left England, I cut the slogan out and brought it back with me. It’s been taped to my computer monitor for as long as I’ve had one. “Keep upright, avoid shaking has always seemed like an admirable goal toward which to strive. Some days it seems more ambitious than others.

Anyway, absurdity-wise, today was a good day.

This afternoon I was behind a pickup truck with a sticker that said, “Windsurfing Has Been Cancelled” Hmm. Enigmatic. I like. I have no idea what that might mean in a, you know, tailgate context. I love it when a bumper sticker puzzles me. My friend Bryon wanted to make one that said, “I’m Thinking About Robots” If anyone had asked him to explain what the hell that was supposed to mean, their guess would have been as good as his, which is what made it so pleasingly bizarre. I much prefer that to seeing a car with the driver’s every opinion chronicled on the back. “Hey, if you want to impose your thoughts on a disinterested world, get a blog.” And dammit, I still take “Kill Your Television personally. You can mess with me. You can mess with my friends. But don’t mess with my TV.

Speaking of TV, Speed Channel has a show at 8:00 featuring “midgets on the asphalt at Indianapolis Raceway Park” I love the Time Warner on-screen guide. In addition to having ridiculous movie synopses, they sometimes truncate the show title to fit the space. One night I had the choice of watching “Mario Eats It or “Solid Gold Jew”

Huh. Something on or around my desk just made a little beeping noise I’ve never heard before. So far the candidates are a switched-off mobile phone, a tape measure and my new laptop. It’s probably the laptop. It loves to confuse me. The motto for the 21st century should be, “Where’s that noise coming from?

After seeing the windsurfer-hating truck, I came home to find an email from Deborah, who signs her name “Joan Cambel” “the Cambels are one of the lesser known Scottish clans, a sept of the McCantspells”. The subject line reads, “I suppose today he fatefully has thorny snags! Gee, Deborah-Joan, I’m not sure who you mean. The only person I know with fatefully thorny snags is Mike Backon. Oh, wait! Look at the text!

Hello Dbt!
I guess you know Mike Backon? I’m sure he alas has solid hitchs! Test this homepage to help him!

Well, if Mike Backon needs my help, I’m there for him. And yes, alas, he does have solid hitchs. In fact, we used to call him Hitch back in school. Not to his face, of course.

Oh, dear. I knew things were tough with Mike, what with the thorny snags and the hitch situation and all, but this is worse than I thought. Oh, Mike, Mike, Mike. Not a porn site, Mike. Couldn’t you have done something decent and honorable, something that would live up to your potential? What about refilling inkjet cartridges, Mike? You always loved doing that!

Man, this has really shaken me up. I hope I don’t run into Mr. and Mrs. Backon tomorrow at the Parents and Friends of People Living with Solid Hitchs picnic. I wonder if they know. Deborah-Joan, if you’re reading this, give me a call. We need to talk.

Okay, anyone who knows me will confirm that I’m a massive dweeb when it comes to gadgetry. I’m also a big fan of Nokia, who provided me with my current mobile phone, which I’m very happy with despite the silly gold faceplate that quickly earned it the nickname the Mr. T Phone. Regardless, I have to draw the line at Nokia’s latest product, the Medallion I. Nokia calls it “a daring choker – designed for dramatic personalities with a hidden side.” Well, maybe there’s a reason to keep that side hidden, dingus.

The idea is that you can upload photos to this device from your mobile phone or your computer, and then wear them around your neck. According to the Nokia site, it has a 15 hour operating time. Which means you have to recharge your necklace every night. No word yet on pricing, but if it’s more than 20 bucks, I swear if I ever see anybody wearing one I’m going to demand that person makes my next mortgage payment.

This has got to be the dumbest thing I’ve seen since a hat in the Hammacher Schlemmer catalog with a little LCD screen you could program to display a short line of text. What would you want your hat to say to the world? How about DIPSHIT? I considered getting one and setting it to read HAT.

Those of you with Nokia stock, this might be a good time to reevaluate your portfolio.