Had a dream the other day that I couldn’t get into a library without waiting in line, and I wasn’t even sure what for, and even when I did, I stayed because I didn’t have much of a reason to enter, anyway. Later that evening, I’d spend our entire time at the harvest moon festival in front of a food truck for a shitty $16 plate of 불고기-topped noodles, prompting me to prayer:
Now I lay me down for the day,
I pray my Dreams take me away;
For Life’ll still suck when I awake,
I pray my Dreams give me a break.
All that I ask is something new,
The smallest change from my Day’ll do;
All that I ask is to be free,
From all the Fears restraining me.
It’s $15.50 now, an over 200% price increase from 20 years ago. I still like it, and if it were available locally, would probably add it to my lunch menu (as I’ve tried with 짜장면, though parking at the plaza is a deterrent) because the “teppan” alternatives exceed the $20-mark. Used to come with minestrone-style soup, too.
Why are you hearing it now, you ask
Maybe you’re closer to here than you imagine
Maybe you’re closer to here than you care to be
I only heard the first part recently so I thought it was a recent remix’s addition, because oh man, are those lyrics incisive compared to the rest of the song.
I haven’t been running much lately, but last night I had a dream I was on the street around the block and awkwardly encountered Steven Devadanam (pardon my spelling, it’s been a while) with his toddler child, but before I could think of an excuse not to have to catch up, a man came rushing past, a terrified look on his face. We saw no one or thing in pursuit, but Steve wasn’t taking any chances, picked up his kid and took off down an alley; I saw the wisdom in his act, but didn’t consider that my lagging behind them would endanger us all, because my legs weren’t providing the speed they used to. Do they ever in these situations?
And worse, I’ve been craving donuts, which must’ve made me dream about visiting Will at his new place of employment in a big office building, which had inside its own Japanese chain of specialty donut-hole pastries. This business catered only to companies large enough to house and sustain their branches, and struck me as a brilliant concept, until, of course, I woke up and remembered those sad little shops closed after hours in the Minneapolis sky-walk connections.
Not the ₩100 blue baseball ones I remember from the 80’s (the sticks would tell you what you hit, single, foul or struck out), but these fucking things kept me from succumbing to the heat earlier this summer, or it was the A/C at all the 7-Elevens and (Nice to) CU’s I got to duck into for them. I mistakenly bought the squeeze pouch version first, but comparing them now I find myself preferring it, maybe less for environmental reasons than for my ever-regressing dexterity.
Along with Ichiran in Japan (I’ll never forget waiting in 35° heat at the Ikebukuro one across from the soapland, only to find an older machine inside that doesn’t take cards), our daily dining establishment on this past trip. And now all I’ve got are my Farmer Boys Cobb Salads whose Mountain Dew refills I’d gladly exchange.
I’m certain I’ve never written about this place, since I only first stepped into our location this year. (There’s been some competition from the Panini Kabob Grill around the corner.) Last week I upped my “lines” of their 130K Scoville red sauce on my platter to six, and it cost me most of the following day.
Which got me thinking again about my three pillars of taste, and how the human flowchart will eventually force me to give them up, only one at a time, if I’m lucky. Jin compared them to Ultima’s Principles of Truth, Love and Courage (which of course combine to form the Eight Virtues, because they needed more than just three cities and dungeons) and gave me the idea for a comic where I’d meet their personifications, possibly represented by Geri Halliwell , Gene Wilder and who else but that fucking nightmare from Star Trek. They’d have to emerge from within me, since I’ve already used the cosmic pantheon for my Lance Reddick one—I’ve really got to get to work to drop them all someday like a Netflix season.
Even the Doctor said Trump was inevitable (in contrast to the optimism that Superman is), but I worry about living to see a day when we as a people can look back and heaven forbid, learn why. It’ll also be interesting to try and trace—forensically, of course—where some of his nonsense originated, whether it was Q-scripted and fumbled, anyway, or the product of a media-muddled “mind.”
“Have you been in Five Guys, Callum?”
“Oh, at least.”
I suppose it is funnier that way, so I’ll give [Inside No. 9 writers Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton] a pass, as clever as their writing usually is. Plus, the use of the River Styx mythology in [latest series opener] “Merrily, Merrily” reminded me how each go on the rower could be my last. I had always imagined achieving a threshold S/M to cross over into dream-life, but maybe it’s more like the Flash outrunning the Black Racer. What happens when Charon can’t pay me? One thing’s for sure, if I can’t cough up the fare, it might very well be because Five Guys cleaned me out. Over $20 for a single burger, small fries and a drink?!
For an extra-Asian sugar high, Yi Fang didn’t have anything on Tea Station, but at least it was consistent between the two Bay Area locations. The camaraderie during a miserable project must’ve sweetened the memory, that’s my lesson from our 50-mile round-trip to Rowland Heights this past weekend. No stamp cards, discounts for buying a refill cup, loyalty programs—they’re just not worth it without them. And the eggs and corn from 辛巴樂 were packed in too much water. Remember how I used to stop by the one in Arcadia for sausages? Worst of all, some dbag Chinese (from the dashcam footage of him unloading his shaved kid and the “GZ FMLY” plate, what other language uses those awful j-sounding z’s in their names) parked their thrashed Model X obscenely close to our car with two empty spaces on the other side, asshole.
I was on a plane, though the velvet decor and roomy aisles were more like a theater’s, and wandering around there were spacious corner sections with luxurious sofas reserved for VIP’s like basketball players. Upon returning to my seat for the second leg of the flight, there was a rush when more of them became available from no-shows, and the woman I had been sitting next to, a Brit named Sandy with long brown hair, got up and made for another across the way, which I took personally as I thought we had developed an amicable relationship; in fact, I had only made that trip to track down someone who had insulted her honor, big Black athlete or no. My loss was consoled by the arrival of another attractive girl.
It’s $15.50 now, an 
Along with Ichiran in Japan (I’ll never forget waiting in 35° heat at the Ikebukuro one across from the soapland, only to find an older machine inside that doesn’t take cards), our daily dining establishment on this past trip. And now all I’ve got are my 
Even the Doctor said 
