No Clocks, Free Coffee, Dino Sensei

I’m back at my workplace and East Nashville home base, Ugly Mugs.

It’s officially 9 am. I didn’t know what time it was all morning, because I have a new experiment (I just keep coming up with these things), which Parker has officially taken up, when he asked if he could put black electrical tape on my car clock, and then I noticed that he put the tape on the oven clock in the kitchen this morning as well.

The experiment is not really much of an experiment, it’s simply that I don’t like knowing what the time is all the time. I want to know what time it is on my terms. The issue is that if I know the time, I constantly use it to track and evaluate, even when I don’t want to. For example, by seeing the clock in the kitchen, first thing when I wake up, I unconsciously or consciously evaluate my wakeup, and start thinking about what it means. Am I late, am I early, is that good, is that bad, oh I am two hours late to the party, oh I’m early today… all of these thoughts. I don’t want to have those thoughts, actually. Unless I consciously want to.

Then, I had to cover up the clock in the car because that will also tell me what I don’t want to know, which is the time.

Mostly, it’s in the morning, but I find myself looking at the oven clock throughout the day and making all kinds of judgments about it, that I don’t really want to make or care about. It is tied to all kinds of thoughts about time-wasting and productivity. The only time I want to know what time it is really is if I have some plan that revolves around time, that I have somewhere to be at a certain time, basically.

I don’t mind knowing the time in general though, this is a minor thing, so I haven’t been too bothered by it. But the other day I just decided to try covering up that oven clock, because I was getting annoyed by it. I just put a rag over it, same thing with in my car. Well, Parker must be officially adopting and on board with this policy, because he’s covered it with black electrical tape. Now, the thing is that we can’t use it for baking or for the built-in timer, so that might have to change… but at least he’s shown that he’s on board.

In my apartment in Ozu, I didn’t have a clock. I think I had a clock over my bed, that was out of the way for a while, and then I might have even decided to take that down.

It’s kind of fun, when you actually don’t know what time it is. It’s a subtle thing, but I have been living these recent days, mainly in the morning, I wake up and go about my business, usually coming here to Ugly Mugs, and I simply don’t know what time it is, exactly. I have to guess. Sometimes it has been later than I thought, but usually it has been earlier than I thought, which has surprised me.

The no-light policy is going well, except reading by candlelight is a pain in the ass. My candles are not really cutting it, and it is a serious struggle to read by candlelight at night. I have to solve this problem because we have a lot more darkness ahead. I guess I need either a bigger candle, or a lantern. I think it would be incredibly awesome if I had a real lantern with oil. That would put me squarely in the 1800’s, right? I would be a real 1800’s man if I did that. I would love that. Resurrecting arcane technology.

I’ve loosened up on it a bit, because it seems that a little artificial light doesn’t matter too much. Screens are definitely the worst, as opposed to overhead room lights. Screens, phone screens, TV and computer, are definitely bad and will mess you up. They’re just so bright. But flicking on a room light doesn’t seem to do much damage, at least the lights in our house, which are not that bright in the grand scheme of brightness.

It’s weird not wanting to step outside after the sun goes down because of all the artificial light in the neighborhood. There are about 75 bright artificial lights that I can see from my doorstep. It’s kind of shocking how much there is.

Well, I had nothing in particular that I had to write about here, I just thought I should write something to keep you guys in the loop, and keep the practice going. I can tell you this—I got a free coffee this morning.

Indigo is a charming and friendly barista, surely a favorite and beloved individual here at Ugly Mugs, and I knew she was a musician because she asked me about my Gibson swag once, (she said, “You got a lot of Gibson swag, man,”), and I told her about my brief stint there, and she said that she had played Garagefest. If she had played Garagefest, that meant she must have been pretty good, at least not bad, so I knew that she was a decent musician then, and I had been meaning to ask her about it. Well, I didn’t see her working for a while after that, but the other day she was, and I overheard her talking to someone about her upcoming show. I asked her about it when she was on break, and she told me it was at the East Room, right down the street, a cool little venue, and it was Saturday, and thought I might go. I also finally learned her name.

This story could go on for a while… Cutting to the chase, I went to the show and ended up not sticking around, because the first band put me to sleep, and I had a whole ‘nother hour before Indigo’s band, and I couldn’t do it. I left, and I didn’t talk to her but I had seen her, and I didn’t know if she had seen me, but I came in to Ugly Mugs this morning and she was immediately happy to see me and telling me thanks for coming to the show. So, she had recognized me, and we talked about it, I told her that I had a confession, I couldn’t stick around, but I will listen to her music, and I had at least bought a ticket and supported the arts. She said it went well, and they did have a good turnout so I guess I didn’t feel bad about leaving under those conditions.

(I feel like I could give Indigo a plug here: Her band is “Chrysalis”, she said listen to the album, “Dog Songs”.)

Well, we had talked and I thought she might have just forgotten to charge me for the coffee, but she said, in a hushed voice, “You’re good,” and shook her head, and I was like, Oh, I’m getting free coffee! Got it. And I said thanks, took it and ran.

She has a bright and wonderful personality, I’m listening to her right now. She can connect with every single guest, and treats everyone the same. That’s a special person. You know she has a lot of friends.

Part of what I wanted to write about, I touched on here, which is that Indigo had recognized me, and knew that I had been at the show. I had the same feeling then that I had a few days ago, when another Ugly Mugs barista was at the climbing gym, and she works the desk at the gym as well, and I had talked to her and gotten her name… then the other day, I walked into the gym, and someone shouts out, cheerfully, “Steven!!” and it was her. She was sitting there on the mat with her two friends, here as a climber, and she was excited to see me. It seemed that we were now officially friends. The thing about that that was really interesting to me is that I had this feeling of being surprised that someone recognized and remembered me.

I think it reflects something about where I am right now, and my general state, because that is not such a surprising thing, and even it’s the expected thing. Yet, I think that I feel something like a ghost, around here. I don’t know why, possibly because I am spending a lot of time thinking, and being in a mental world. I think that’s really it. It doesn’t feel like I am fully inhabiting the physical world, sometimes, and I also don’t feel that integrated here. It’s like, what am I doing here? I have a feeling of being adrift and loose, to some degree.

I don’t think this is a bad thing. It sounds like it might be, but I don’t feel lost, which would be the bad thing. I just feel ghostly at times. So, when Izzy recognized me, and remembered me, it was like, “Wow, someone recognizes me. I am living in the real world.”

Psychologists, explain this.

I have been spending a lot of time in alternative worlds, reading and writing. That’s probably the biggest part of it. That’s why going to the cafe and being at the climbing gym are good balancing hobbies, because they put me in a social environment and tether me to the real world. Spending time in nature is the same, but that can be solitary. But when I see that caterpillar eating my sunflower leaves, I definitely feel like I’m in the real world, then. I’m watching real life happening.

One more thing about going clockless, that I was noticing, is that you don’t even really need a clock to tell what time it is. If you want to know precisely, a clock is good, but there are a lot of subtle ways that your brain can figure out the realtive time. The temperature, the position of the sun, the way you feel, the traffic and movements of people around you, all of these are indicators. I found that I could have a good idea of what time it was just by looking around me. A good idea, but not perfect.

You don’t need a calendar either, to know what season it is, what month. You can track the temperature, the plants, the stars if you know about that. That’s kind of a cool way of tracking time, I feel.

I wanted to write about…. something…

I’ve lost it.

Well, Sunday was a special day at the climbing gym. I have been working on a boulder for about three weeks now, probably. Two or three weeks, five sessions or so. I’ve watched a lot of people attempt it, many succeed, many fail, and I’ve had several people coach me on it. This climb has been my new nemesis. And on Sunday, a breakthrough happened.

I had been making it up to a certain point, where you make a lunge and grab a hold with your left hand, but I had been unable to hang on after making the lunge and grabbing the hold, because my body is moving that way and I can’t stop myself. It was annoying me, because other people could, and it seemed that the advice here was to “just do it”, but I didn’t like that, and was getting frustrated. That was the farthest I had made it on this climb, this was my new hurdle. And I had had the idea that possibly you could flip your right hand and grab a hold on the right, which would stabilize yourself as you flew to the left, and grab the hold on the left at the same time, but it was tricky to flip your right hand fast enough, and without looking, while you lunged for that hold on the left. I tried that idea a few times and gave up on it.

I had shown up to the gym on Sunday, after being there in the morning with Parker, Dev and Mel, just to socialize, because some of my fingers on my right hand were a little compromised. They all said that it was fine, and that I should try climbing anyway, as long as I didn’t have pain, and stay away from the “crimps” (tiny holds that require pinching), and so I went home finally to eat something, and Parker and I came back, ready to climb. Well, I showed up a bit after Parker, and when I got there, he was talking to a guy, an excited and animated blonde guy, who was apparently famous for his “dyno” abilities. Dyno is climber slang for dynamic move, which is any move where you jump and grab something, or run and grab something, basically. And this guy Max was apparently the king of dynos, and was called “Dino sensei”. I looked down at his chalk bag and saw a picture of a triceratops in a karate gi, so he was actually the dino sensei. And Max showed us several dynos, that were completely mind-blowing.

I told him then that I was working on the yellow one, and he said, yada yada, should be able to dyno this easily, from the start, and then he did a dyno on it, jumping from the bottom, right up to those two holds and grabbing them both simulatenously, right and left hand at the same time. This is exactly what I had wanted to do, and it blew my mind. It was amazing to see. And I was like, dude, you just did it. You just did it. These things were nothing for Max, this dyno wasn’t anything special—he showed us several more dynos that were supremely impressive, massive jumps from the bottom of a climb to the top, skipping everything in-between… but to see him do this dyno on my climb, that I had been struggling with for weeks, it opened up a portal in my mind. It unlocked something.

I had almost had it right. I almost had the right idea, with my double-handed grab, except that I had been thinking to do a double-handed grab from the position that most people were getting into, where they would reach up with a left land, and then put the right hand on a tiny crimp, right next to the left hand, and then make the lunge. I didn’t like that at all, because it made me so scrunched up, although I could get to that position, and I was trying to flip my right hand from there, and lunge over. Well, Max did the double grab, but he didn’t bother getting into that first, scrunched up position at all—he skipped it entirely. He just went from the lower start position, and jumped straight up to those two holds and grabbed them, not bothering at all with all of the rigamarole in-between. That’s what blew my mind.

I immediately copied his “beta” (slang for the way that someone does a climb), and I succeeded on the climb soon after. The only difference was that I ended up jumping and grabbing the right hold first, getting secure, and then reaching over and grabbing the left, because it was hard for me to nail that simulatenous move. But I still just skipped all of that mess and tomfoolery on the way up.

I feel like this was a crucial moment in my climbing development. I thought there was a real lesson here, even in life, because of what had happened. I had watched everyone do this climb basically the same way, so many times, that it had become accepted to me that that was how the climb had to be done. I had had some thoughts of alternative methods, but they hadn’t worked, and I didn’t think much more. I’m not experienced, so I couldn’t see the way, either. I couldn’t see what else was possible.

But Max, his dyno brain, is working completely differently. Max is someone who climbs differently, and sees these climbs in an entirely different way, as he’s looking for the jumps, and how he can simply jump up to the top. I felt like watching him do that jump on my climb, it was like—look, there’s a totally different way of doing this. And that way was the way that worked for me. I had been seeking it, I had been looking for a way like that, and Dyno Sensei revealed it. Dyno Sensei showed me what was possible. That was amazing.

After that, I was unlocked. I feel like it was a big lesson, the lesson of—you don’t have to do it how anyone else is doing it. You can do it in an entirely different way. Just remember that. There are multiple ways to do the climb, and they are not going to be the best for everyone. People have different bodies, different flexibilities and strengths, and they will want to climb things differently.

That’s not true for all of the climbs, some climbs seem to require much more of the same “beta”, where basically everyone does them the same way. But some of these climbs, there are a lot of ways you can do them.

It has been interesting to watch our shorter friends, Yueng Lan and then a few days ago, Maddy, climb, because they have to do things differently than Parker or I, being shorter. They have their own methods, and it’s cool to see what they do.

Maddy has been so far the only person I’ve seen climb a difficult, yellow climb that involves going under an overhang, getting up onto a couple large, extremely clunky boulders, and then jumping high up to the finish. This one has been a puzzler for nearly everybody who’s attempted it, and we actually had a kind of special moment the other day, on that day with Maddy, where almost everyone in the gym ended up gathering around this puzzling yellow climb, and all testing their strength on it, and cheering each other on. We all wondered, who could defeat it? What was the way? It was like we were trying to pull the sword out of the stone. Who was the chosen one?

Well, it looked like, nobody. And after thirty minutes of everyone testing their strength, the dyno-ers, the strongmen and women, the dextrous, it seemed that nobody was going to send it. And we were all disappointed and had given it our best effort (I say “we” but I was just watching, resting my hand). Maddy had come the farthest during the attempts, and if anyone was going to send it, it seemed like it would be her.

Well, after everyone else had called it quits and walked away, Maddy had not given up yet. She was going to take this climb down. Maddy is about 5’2” I would guess, by the way. And that’s important, and it was amazing to see, because she was really showing us that day that being short doesn’t have to stop you. Maddy tried it about two or three more times, after everyone else had given up, and then, she sent it. She cracked the code, by not trying to climb up and stand on the clunky yellow rocks, as most everyone had tried to do, but by getting on the side of them and then using them to jump up to the top, in a dynamic move. She thought that that’s what the routesetter had intended to be done.

It was amazing to see her work it out, and ultimately send the climb. An impressive climb, that I haven’t seen anybody else send yet. And bonus points because she is one of the shortest climbers out there.

It’s fun to watch the advanced climbers do what they do, now that I have some climbing knowledge. You don’t appreciate it as much when you don’t know what’s going on. It all just looks like a bunch of plastic knobs and ledges, and people can either climb them or they can’t. But you start to see the nuances, the techniques, and then you can appreciate how people approach them differently, how they figure them out, the strength and dexterity required to complete a climb, and the creativity exercised by each person in their completion of the climb. And then, a lot of the fun now has been talking with people, about how they do the climb, how they approach it, what’s holding them back, sharing secrets and knowledge. I don’t think I’ve really cracked into this aspect of climbing until just recently.

One thing that I appreciate more now, and can see in people when they climb, is body positioning. Body positioning becomes extremely important, but it’s hard to notice if you don’t have an understanding. Simply having good body positioning will often be what allows you to send a climb or not. Being able to put yourself in a stable configuration, or understand how to rotate or pivot your body, or figuring out what position you need to be in to progress in the climb. Positioning is subtler than strength, but as you go up in difficulty, it seems to be being tested a lot more.

There was a pink one a few weeks ago that was tripping up a lot of people, because it was just so weird. And it wasn’t a strength issue, the reason why people couldn’t climb it. I think it was because people couldn’t figure out how they were supposed to position their bodies. I couldn’t figure it out, I didn’t know how I was supposed to balance on it. I tried moving my body this way and that, I tried sinking down, different foot positions, switching my feet, but it was all weird, and I would fall off. That was a really interesting climb. I didn’t get to send it, either, because they had taken it away. But that one was all about positioning. And I would watch people send it, and it was like, they didn’t even do anything. They did what it looks like you should do. It doesn’t look hard, but I would step up to it and try it again, and simply be unable to do it.

Stuck

Life is such a crazy thing, man. Just think about that for a second.

Such a crazy thing.

It’s 10:36 am. I sit here at my battlestation at Ugly Mugs. And I’m stuck.

I’m not doing what I’m supposed to be doing.

A guy’s phone just went off, an alarm — Daft Punk’s Robot Rock. It was extremely loud. He silenced it immediately.

I am at the tail end of another novelella. NOVELLA, not NOVELETTE. Thanks Ethan for correcting me.

I’ve got it in the chokehold — it’s over. I know it’s over. I know how it ends. It’s all mapped out. And yet, I’m stuck.

Struggling today.

This would be my second main work of fiction, Lucy and the Mingmerang being the first that I would have succeeded on finishing. It’s a battle, man. I’m learning a lot about the process.

It’s a strange thing to spend so much time in an entirely mental, fictional world. You have the incredible power to create an entire world in your mind. To visualize people and things that do not exist, to have them say things that have never been said. It’s like you live in it. But, of course you don’t. But it’s like you do. It feels like you do. And for the whole time that you’re writing it, you kind of do. You’re in it. You’re with it. At least I have been.

I close my eyes and imagine these creatures talking to each other, I think about their personalities, what they would say, what they look like, where they are. It just comes to me. And then, what happens? Where does the story go? Your brain figures it out. Ah yes, then THIS will happen. Of course, THIS will be a wonderful moment. THIS is the natural next step, THIS will be the climax, and THIS is how it ends.

Stephen King compared it to uncovering a fossil. That’s a good analogy. For me it feels like pulling something out of the ether. It feels like you have stumbled upon a thing that already exists, you’ve discovered it, and now it is your duty, if you choose to take it up, to bring it into existence in the tangible world, on paper. That you are meant to interpret and materialize it, like a mediator. The craft being how well you are able to do that. But in the same case as with Stephen King’s analogy, it feels like it already exists, to some degree. It feels like the plot and the main story already exists and you’re just uncovering it as you go.

It’s interesting that it feels that way, isn’t it? This is different from a blog post. I don’t feel like I’m uncovering anything here, because there is no plot. There is no story. This is just creating. I’m not uncovering anything, except you do discover some of what’s in your head when you start writing things down. It’s a good way to see what’s really going on in your mind, because it’s probably going to come out when you write.

I’m having a little struggle right now, but I don’t even know if I should call it a struggle. It’s just that, I know exactly what I’m supposed to write to finish this story, I know everything that happens from here on out, and more or less what I’m supposed to write. That’s why I say I’ve got it in the chokehold, because it’s going down. I know it. And yet, today, this morning — I am having the hardest time getting it down on paper.

It feels like a chore, almost. It’s excruciating.

Usually that goes away when you start, and things are flowing. But today, it has been so difficult. And I have more to write.

So, partially, I’m writing this to see if it means I don’t feel like writing, but that isn’t it. I do feel like writing. I’m wondering if I’m supposed to keep going, NOW, or if it means I should step away for some time.

The thing is, I know what to write, and I have to write it. So does it matter if it’s a struggle, or if it comes freely and easily? The only thing that MATTERS is that it gets written. That’s the only thing that really matters, because if it doesn’t get written, it doesn’t get read. And that’s the greatest failure. It’s that simple.

I have been thinking, from writing Lucy and the Mingmerang, and now working on this story, and trying to get a hold and finish some past stories — about the process.

There is one thing that’s true about it, a very clear and simple truth.

There is no way around, when writing the story. There is no way over, there is no way under, around, there is no hack or shortcut, you can’t skip… you get what I’m saying. There is only THROUGH.

You just have to get through it. That’s how you get to the end.

Whatever it takes.

This is why it takes persperation and dedication. That’s why I feel like the most important thing is that I show up every day and don’t let it go until it’s over. I almost have a fear, I DO have a fear, of letting it go. I feel like I have to attack these things. If you let it go, it can get away from you. Like a fish on the hook.

That’s why I feel like I have to push through this bit, right here. I can, therefore I MUST.

If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t. Because that does happen.

I think I’m trying to hype myself up, here. Maybe that’s what I need in this moment.

It is working.

I need some power in my blood. I need some creative cocaine (or just some Celsius). I need some Writer Juice.

There was a story I wanted to share; this happened yesterday.

I had shown up to do my writing, here at Ugly Mugs. My process has been, for this story, show up every day, first thing in the morning, first and most important thing I do, show up at Ugly Mugs and write. Attack it, and get as far as I can. That has been working, so I keep doing it.

Yesterday from the start was just a weird day. Things were just going differently. You know how those days are. It’s just wacky from the get-go. It was one of those kinds of days, and I can’t even really remember why except that I was feeling so sleep deprived and weird, I didn’t want to get up as early as I did… Well, I made it to Ugly Mugs, and I sat down outside, and I did some warmup writing in my journal, because I felt that I needed it (both of these things are unusual, sitting outside and not immediately diving in). Well, I’m rambling here, but what happened was that I started doing my warm-up writing, and I found that my pen was dying. This was a problem, obviously, and I knew that I only had that one pen. And I thought, “A writer who only carries one pen? Idiot! Idiot!” (Jokingly, of course. Not self-abusing. It was funny.) But, come on. A writer with only one pen?

The thing about this, because I often do only carry one pen, is that I just never expect my pen to die. They last so long and I guess I’m just always thinking, “It’s not going to die TODAY.” And then eventually it dies.

Well, I had a backup in the car, I knew it. I didn’t want to use it, because it’s a piece of crap pen, from Gibson. Just a really low-tier pen, but I had no choice. I went out to the car and got the pen, and I thought for sure that this pen would be good, because I had hardly ever used that pen, because it sucks. That’s why I kept it in the car, for emergencies, and for simple business purposes. However, I had been given that pen, and someone set me up, because when I sat back down to continue my warmup writing, writing about how crappy the pen was, but it really wasn’t even that bad — I got three sentences in and that pen went COMPLETELY blank. Nothing, no ink left, at all. It didn’t even start to fade. It just straight up ran out.

That was a great tradegy, and now I was in trouble. I had to continue my story, I had to do this, it was already a tenuous morning, and now this was happening. I didn’t want to leave Ugly Mugs, but I had to have a pen. Well, the obvious thing to do was ask the baristas if anybody happened to have a spare pen. I went back inside and asked my main man, who I’m 95% runs the store, he’s a cool dude, I said, “Would you guys happen to have a spare pen?” And he says, “Yeah, I think so, over here,” and he reached into a little jar and pulled out a pen and handed it to me. “This is all we’ve got,” he said, seemingly apologetically, and I think he knew that he was handing me a crappy pen. He gave me one of those pens that you wonder why they even exist, the bottom of the line plastic stick pen that are just the absolute worst. I wasn’t going to complain at all, because some pen is better than no pen, and I had just taken it and said thanks, when another barista, a tall, young guy that I have never seen before (so he really must have just started, or been on a LONG vacation, (also why am I capitalizing words like this? I seem to be loving that today)), and the guy says, “Are you doing some writing?” And I said, “Yes,” and he said, looking at me the whole time, “Are you going to be doing a lot of writing?” And I said, “Yes, I would say that I’m doing a lot of writing.” And he said, “Take this,” and still, without taking his eyes off of me, like an absolute boss, he pulls a pen out of his pocket and holds it out to me.

I look at it, it looks familiar — the owner of the store sees it and says, “Is that a Pilot G2???” That sounded familiar, and then I took it, and I realized it’s the exact same kind of pen I use, even down to the point size (07). I was overjoyed, and I said, “Bruh, this is the exact pen I use!” He said, “Just don’t forget to give it back to me.” I thanked him profusely, “Bro, you’re saving me right now,” and he took the crappy pen back from me. I have to tell you that this was an exciting moment for all of the baristas, as the owner guy had been impressed by the Pilot G2, and then I had lit up like a Christmas tree, after being lethargic and sleep deprived, and I had been saved by this hero barista’s Pilot G2. The other tall barista had turned around from the drink he was working on and was smiling, seeing what was going on. It was pretty comical, and I felt like it was a sign, and exactly what I needed that morning. It was a sign from the universe that I was meant to keep writing the story.

I went back to the table, now with a fresh gust of wind, and I had a true feeling of obligation, that I now HAD to write something good, so that I didn’t let this guy down, he trusted me and saved me with his pen. And I thought, little does he know that his pen is being used to write an extraordinary masterpiece, one of the greatest works of literature of all time. This guy has no idea that his pen will be used to write The Wedding Ceremony, the second novella ever written by Steven Swanson when he was 29 years old and broke, living in East Nashville, and going to Ugly Mugs every day, and playing guitar in the park for children, dog walkers, and joggers. He might even want to keep that pen, that pen could be worth MILLIONS of dollars, framed in a museum, as the pen from the legendary blog post about the pen that was used to write the masterpiece. I should tell him, you might want to hold on to that pen, buddy.

I’ll sign the pen.

This is fun for me to imagine.

I gave the pen back to him after my session, and thanked him. I asked if he was a writer, he said, “Not really, but I do some writing. Like in my planner. I need something reliable.” I said he had good taste in pens.

I brought another Pilot G2 today, and I’m keeping it on me until I see him again, to give him as thanks.

I will say, this pen anecdote is exactly why I like working out of coffee shops, and why I like Ugly Mugs, and the more bustling shops. Lots of potential for fun and interesting social interactions. Yesterday as well, I just remembered, something that was also unusual that had happened that morning, before the whole pen business — I walked in, and noticed that there was a butterfly on the woman’s butt in front of me. I wondered if it would fly off, if she would notice it, and she didn’t, and it didn’t. It stayed on her as she ordered her coffee, as she went to put cream in it, and I thought, man, I have to say something. I just have to say something. So I walked over to her and said, “I think you’re going to have some good luck today.” She said, “Why’s that?” I said, “There’s a butterfly on your back.”

Now, I didn’t want to tell her that there was a butterfly on her butt. That would have meant I was looking at her butt. That could have been awkward, of course, I can’t admit that I was looking at a woman’s butt, no way — but she started slapping at her back (which was somewhat horrifying for me to see, because she could have very easily crushed or injured the butterfly with these slaps), but she was just hitting her back, and the butterfly was safe, down on her butt. So I had to say, after watching her struggle, “It’s on your butt.” I had to say it, there was no other way around it.

She then jerked her skirt, and the butterfly finally flew off and hurtled to the ground. She glanced at it, and said, “Is that a moth? It looks more like a moth.” I said, “I think it’s a butterfly.” (It was 100% a butterfly.)

Then, I went to go save it and escort it outside, and I said, that I would do so basically. A guy working in the corner, middle-aged, chillin’, he was interested, and he said to me, as I squatted down to try and catch it, “Is it rare?” I said, “No, I don’t think so, it’s just a skipper.” But then I thought, now, why can’t a skipper be rare? Surely there are rare skippers. The guy said, smiling, “I’m sure it would rather be outside than in a coffee shop.” He was enjoying watching me try to catch it, and I finally got it in my hands, a delicate act, without crushing it. The woman said again, as I was going down to catch it, “Are you sure it’s a butterfly? It looks like a moth to me,” and that was irritating me, I won’t lie to you, that she seemed so certain it was a moth, and I said, “It’s definitely a butterfly.” I thought about telling her that I studied entomology in college and that I could tell her quite exactly why it was a butterfly and not a moth, that I do insect macrophotography as a hobby, so I know what I’m talking about, thank you very much, but I didn’t say that. I just said, “It’s definitely a butterfly,” and thought, please stop calling it a moth.

Girl next to me just sneezed, I said “Bless you.”

+1 social interactions.

I’m feeling reinvigorated. This may have been exactly what I needed.

I’m ready to dive back in; the problem is it is now 11:30 am, I got around slow today, and I haven’t eaten anything, and I’m starving, and I don’t want to go home, and I don’t want to spend money (too much money) on food here, although the PB&J on sourdough isn’t THAT expensive… GAH!

Nothing can be easy!

Moonflower and Hornworms

I’m gonna try writing. It’s what I do. Even though I feel like crap.

I volunteered for a gardening event at Shelby Park today. I didn’t feel like doing it at all. I didn’t feel like doing anything at all, but as it goes with these things, you warm up to them, and then you’re glad that you did do them. Sometimes you just have to get in the groove. It was actually great that I had this to do today.

The crew was a surprisingly large and cheerful one. There was a naturalist woman named Emily that I have remembered, as she was about to start the TN naturalist program, and I talked to her about that, which she said was amazing. She had the true nature-lover and naturalist spirit, and she was interested in all of the things in the garden and the bugs.

Our host Hazel was a naturalist and knew everything in the garden and knew about all of the bugs, too. She was awesome.

There was another woman who was something of a comedian. She was awesome, and she knew about the things in the garden too. She was especially fond of passionflower and was really wanting to raise some. At one point, she was lovingly touching a strand of passionflower and speaking to it, telling it that it was so beautiful. She was cracking me up.

She told us that passionflower is colloquially known as “Maypop”. She ventured to say that it could be because it blooms in May, or has something to do with the flowers making a popping sound when they open (and unless it blooms multiple times a year, which I know plants do, they were just blooming now, so not sure if May blooms as well)… she said that she didn’t really know the lore, and that we would have to find a “real person” to ask. That became something of a running joke, as I immediately used it to riff off of, saying, “Yes, hello, I’m looking for a real person, yes, does anybody know someone who’s real, I really need to know the lore of the Maypop flowers!”

The garden at Shelby isn’t a big one, but it has some interesting stuff in it, and today I saw that it actually had way more going on than I even thought. But the one thing in that garden that I’ve seen and wanted to know about, today was my chance to ask about it, and I took my opportunity. There was a large, sprawling, low-to-the-ground bush, that is a subtle shade of blue, and although it doesn’t have visually striking flowers, and the flowers don’t even really look like flowers at all, the pollinators go crazy for it. As in, I’ve seen like 500 bugs on this bush at a time. They are literally swarming this baby. I’ve been wanting to know what this thing is for weeks now, and so I asked our host, Hazel, what it was, and she told me— Mountain Mint. A Tennessee native. Mountain Mint, how awesome.

She then said that it grows like crazy, and that she would give me some if I wanted it. And she did. She cut off a section, as all you really have to do with these kinds of plants is dig up a chunk, and she put it in a bucket and gave it to me. She gave some to another young guy too, who was very excited to have something to plant. This guy was entertaining me, because he had a real bro energy, and you could tell he was pretty much a novice, but he was really curious and enthusiastic. You love to see it. And him and I scored, majorly, with that Mountain Mint.

I was talking with the comedian lady about how I was learning that all you had to do was ask gardeners about their plants, and they would just give it to you. That they liked to give things to each other. I told her the story of when I was at Bates nursery just the other day, and had asked about the passionflower (maypop) and the worker had gone and grabbed me some seed pods and gave them to me. The comedian lady said, “Yeah, gardeners are real people.” And she said that there’s something in the soil, there’s a chemical in the soil that’s released when you’re gardening that just makes you cool. I thought that was funny.

It’s a very wholesome activity. It almost feels wrong how wholesome it is.

I felt that way with the master gardeners. They were two of the most wholesome people doing the most wholesome things that I had ever seen. I was really overwhelmed by the wholesomeness. Today, I felt like I was too dirty and unworthy, almost. Or that something is wrong with me, to be seeking out and participating in such wholesomeness.

The polar opposite of debauchery.

I took on the role of weeding, now being familiar with what is crabgrass and other grasses that we don’t need in our garden. Being able to identify what’s what is a skill. I could have gone with the strongmen to do mulch work, but as the one guy said, he wanted to do mulch work because he was afraid of pulling anything good out of the garden. And, I’ve done enough digging in my yard. I was not interested in lugging around giant wheelbarrows of mulch.

Pulling away at the grass, down in the ground, it was about twenty minutes, we had been working around this unique plant that Hazel told us was called Moonflower, when I suddenly spied an enormous green caterpillar. Enormous as in, like seven inches long. And fat. I commented on this to whoever was nearby, and they were very excited, it might have been Hazel. Well, there several more of these fatties, striking fat green caterpillars, and she said that she thought they were Hornworms. They had a spike on their butts, so that would make sense. They were going to town on the Moonflower, if that’s what it was.

I looked it up because it was such a cool plant, but I can’t tell if what I looked up as Moonflower was that plant or not. Hazel knew what she was talking about so I’m inclined to say it was. But anyway, as you can imagine, the hornworms were wildly popular. As you would expect for some marked, fat green caterpillars. I was proud that I had spotted them, I wonder if anyone would have. It took me twenty minutes of working around down in that area before I even saw them, and they had been right in front of my face that whole time. It just goes to show you the power of camouflage. They were the exact same dark green as the Moonflower they were on, and they were adhered to the stalks, so they didn’t stick out in any way. You had to look directly at them, not just a passing, sweeping glance with your eyes. I saw one that way, just taking a good hard look at the Moonflower, because it was cool.

You can see immediately that these guys are awesome.

The curious bro said, “But aren’t they bad? Aren’t they like pests or something?”

Hazel said, “They do what caterpillars do. If you’re attached to your plants, then yeah, they’re bad.”

They were chowing down on that Moonflower, but she didn’t mind.

There was a pretty girl here at the gardening event, I have to tell you. And she seemed to be interested in me.

She caught my eye immediately, and she was at my side as I walked around the room, examining the displays and curiosities. I had been looking for the snake in the snake tank, and I couldn’t find it. She was still next to me, and I said, “Where’s the snake?” And she said, “Right there,” and pointed it out. It was a cute and small snake, hiding under the rock water bowl. I said it was cute, and she agreed.

Then when we out in the garden, Hazel was giving us the rundown for what we were supposed to be doing, and I had hung back, the rest of the group funneling into the vegetable patch. This was now my chance to give this girl a good look, because I wanted to see if she really was pretty, and I saw her face clearly, and she was— and then she immediately noticed me and look back at me. I was caught, and I glanced away, but she didn’t seem to mind that. After Hazel was done speaking, she came over to join me in weeding the main garden bed.

It was me and her down there, ripping out that grass, and I wanted to talk to her, so I struck up a conversation. I asked her about gardening, about what we were doing… We talked for a little bit. She smiled me, and I saw again that she had a pretty smile. I couldn’t get much more out of her though, and then I after ten minutes of vigorous tearing, I started to get bored with that particular patch, and there was action going on around the garden (people making discoveries, CD Paddock showed up, I had to ask about the mountain mint…).

I had come back to my post, then meandered more, made jokes and etc., and this girl did laugh at some of the things I said. She didn’t really engage with anybody else there, that I saw. She was quiet. And I didn’t try to talk to her much more, although I did make some comments, such as that we had moved on to the tougher to pull grass, and I said, “Now this is harder work,” as I had commented before on how easy it was to pull out the grass in the mulch. She laughed, but no reply.

So, I was talking with the comedian woman, we were the last ones left, having gotten our mountain mint, Hazel was still in the garden doing work, and we walked up the steps and back through the nature center, and I saw that this girl was still in the center, the only one left, buying something. I walked through, said goodbye to the lady at the desk, the comedian woman had stayed behind, and I was walking back to the parking lot, when the pretty girl called out to me from behind, “What are you taking home?”

I thought it was interesting that she was still hanging around, and I thought it was now very interesting that she was talking to me. I had a feeling that she would.

I told her, mountain mint. And I said that I had been curious about it, and asked about it and Hazel had just given it to me. The girl did not have much to say about it, I don’t know if I ever heard her response. It would have just been, “Oh,” or “That’s cool,” I guess. And then, I was just thinking, what does this girl want from me? Are we having a moment here? And I was thinking what to say next, and I was about to say, “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” When she said, “Well, have a good day.” And I said, “You too.”

I have to tell you, I’ve been thinking this one over. I’m not an egomaniac and am not assuming that every girl is interested in me, but there were cues. And especially at the end, she could have just let me walk away. I just couldn’t really get anything out of this girl. I didn’t know what to do with her! And then, as it goes, she’s gone. I’m sure I’ll never see her again.

I was thinking about it, because especially after her talking to me at the end, and then rather abruptly walking off, I was wondering about her. Was she just a quiet type? Was she nervous?

Mysterious.

What I was thinking about, during the gardening and as I write this, is the depth of subtlety of human connection. The subtle forces at play between people when they communicate, when they interact. Especially romantically. There all of these cues, currents and mechanics that are going on under the surface, with eyes and smells, body language, voice. So few words even spoken to one another, yet so much is communicated.

I also thought about how they say the way to make friends, and probably lovers too, is to see people repeatedly. These things take time. It can take awhile before you really know what someone is about, such as with this girl. What’s her story? I would like to know.

She was interested in planting natives in her garden.

That’s a good thing.

Mountain Mint (an unassuming pollinator powerhouse)

Wearing A Suit

What is the power of wearing a suit?

What is the power in looking extraordinarily dapper?

Why do the chieftans put feathers in their headdress? The most magnificent feathers?

It just works. That’s it.

There is a power in being grungy and dingy. There is a power in not giving a damn. And conversely, there is a power in being immaculate and clean. A different kind of power, in being prim and proper.

It’s really an amazing thing.

We can’t shed these expectations. We can’t shed the affects of our dress. We cannot extract ourselves from our society, from our company. There’s simply no way, unless you live completely alone.

Even in the company of one single other person, your personal appearance will lead to perceptions and inferences on their part, however slightly.

Cats groom themselves. So, you may say that it is unique what we do, but it isn’t. Birds preen. Monkeys groom. It is a natural instinct.

Prior to me busting out the suit for a job interview, I hadn’t touched it for over a year. I remember the last time I put it on, I felt great then, too. And yesterday, wearing my suit downtown, going about business, I felt great again. I felt like the man, although I was sweating and uncomfortable at times, I could handle it. Nothing I couldn’t, a small price to pay for the power of the suit.

My suit is bespoke, 日本製. Made in Japan. I had one custom made only because I did not want to buy a suit made with any synthetic fibers. I also wanted to buy something that was not Made In China. These conditions ultimately led to me having a suit tailor-made, at the mall in Kumamoto City. I still remember the whole ordeal.

It was awesome.

The suit cost about $1000, USD. This suit is not cheap. I thought quite a lot about it. And occasionally, when my bank account has fallen low enough, I’ve thought — I really wish I had a thousand dollars instead of this damned suit that I never wear. How ironic that I have one of the finest suits in the world, and I am this poor! If anyone knew that about me, they would surely think that I was an enormous fool. My only salvation on that front is that I really didn’t buy the suit to impress anybody. I ended up spending this much money on a suit for ethics.

I could have thrifted, sure. I think I tried. If I had gone on this suit quest now, I may try harder to find something thriftable, and then have it tailored to fit me. I don’t know why I didn’t go that route before, except that I know I had landed on the Kikuchi Takeo store, after many investigations into how I could acquire a non-synthetic, non-Chinese suit, and someone suggested I try Kikuchi Takeo. It was on the fourth floor of the mall.

I know I’m a little all over the place here. I’m now halfway between talking about suits and the power of dressing nicely, and telling you the story of how I came to acquire this wonderful suit. I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I am sleep deprived, and overly caffeinated, to tell you the truth. And I’m wearing a suit.

I had the suit made by Kikuchi Takeo, as I’ve now said a few times, and the process was just as awesome as having the actual suit. I didn’t know exactly what I was in for — I didn’t know at all, to be honest. I simply stumbled upon this wonderful thing, custom suit-building. But I remember, when they told me I could build a suit from scratch, and it cost about the same as buying any of the suits they already had. The man showed me the many fabrics that I could choose from — 100% wool, 99% wool and 1% spandex or whatever (probably not spandex), whatever else… And that %1 spandex did make the suit $100 cheaper, I remember. I think so. I was committed to no synthetics, I had to go all the way.

He showed me all the fabrics, the different colors, textures. I was able to feel all of them. They were stupendous. He showed me the various linings, that I could use for the inside of the suit. Again, varied and incredible. Many patterns, some ostentatious, some simple. I chose something simple but with a little pizzaz, I’m looking at it now. Slate gray, with tiny diamond flower-like emblems forming a pattern. For the color, I went with a dark charcoal gray. It was either that or navy. I wanted something really versatile, that could work in all situations, and I already had a baby-blue suit (very synthetic)… I think that’s why I chose gray, as opposed to navy. It was just something different.

I got to choose the buttons. How many, the material, what color. I got to choose everything, people. I’m telling you I had no idea what I was in for. It gave me a great appreciation for suits, now. There are many details. I also chose the lapel-style, I was able to have my name embroidered on the inside of the jacket, and I chose to have a small mark added on the front left of my lapel, for style. I chose the embroidering color and style for that mark, and the final button hole on my sleeves. I think I chose how many buttons were on the sleeves, as well. There are four. Three that are embroidered with the same color as the suit, the dark charcoal grey, and then the final that has the light grey embroidering, that gives it some pop.

I remember that I was quite overwhelmed at the time, as I had not prepared or thought about at all all of these choices that I would have to make, about something that was going to cost me $1000 dollars, and that I would be wearing for the rest of my life (hopefully). There was a lot on the line, in that moment. I ended up having to just totally trust my judgment and hope it was right. In this case, the Takeo Kikuchi guy helping me, and I finally remembered him, my brain had been trying to ressurect his memory this entire time — he was a dapper young man. He had impeccable taste and swag, and he was in his early to mid-twenties. I remember that, because I remember that I trusted his judgment because of this. And I remember that he was very helpful in helping me make this many aesthetic decisions.

I wanted the suit to have formality, but just enough flair. That was the balance we were trying to strike. For that reason, I did choose to have the mark on the front lapel, which was eye-catching, and I also chose to have lapels that flared up at the top. Kind of like Dracula, my brain is saying to me for some reason. I think that this was something I deliberated over enormously, because it was a big decision. This was a mold-breaker, to have lapels like this. I know that. I think after the fact I was reading about suit lapels and they were saying, do not choose the upturned lapels for your suit, they’re over the top, not suited for formality, whatever. Well, I have no regrets.

They took my measurements, I chose out a pair of matching socks, and a dress shirt. White, with some very subtle stripe pattern running vertically. Totally non-synthetic.

I waited a few weeks to get the suit, I went to pick it up, make sure it fit right, and it fit perfectly. And what I have to tell you all is that, in my investigations I had tried on many suits. Many, many suits. In my life, I have worn a few suits. And this suit that I put on, my bespoke, 100% wool suit, I have never worn a suit like that in my life, nothing even close.

Even right now, I wear it, and it feels the same. It feels like I’m wearing a track suit. It’s like wearing pajamas.

That was the #1 thing about all of this suit business that really stood out to me, and still does. I had always thought a suit was just going to be somewhat uncomfortable. I thought that’s how they were. Until this suit, I thought that’s how it had to be. But this suit I wear now, it really is like wearing pajamas. Perfectly fitting pajamas.

How awesome is that? You look great, and you feel comfortable. That’s worth a lot of money right there.

I had wanted the suit in the first place because it was now winter, and all the other senseis at school were wearing suits, and looking professional. I was an ALT, I had my own rules, and I wasn’t required to wear a suit — none of the senseis really were except the top dogs, it seemed. And I had my baby-blue suit, but that was a standout in a school full of black and brown. I wanted something that was on par with the other senseis. I don’t think I ended up getting it, though. By going with this fabulous, bespoke, $1000 suit, that was obviously really nice, I think I ended up going over the top. It was a little too much for a high school teacher, but I paid for it, and dammit, I was going to wear it.

I knew it was going to be a big deal the first time I wore it to school. It was always a big deal when I dressed up. Sometimes I would put on the blue suit for fun, but generally I had stopped wearing it, and opted for muter dress. Well, I wore that suit to school, and it was all any of the classes wanted to talk about. They were shocked and awed. They had never seen Steven-sensei looking so nice and fancy before. And it confirmed that I had probably gone over the top.

The other senseis were amazed by it too. I was very proud to tell everyone that it was 日本製、nihonsei, made in Japan. I’m still very proud of that.

Digging up the old Japanese suit, yesterday, and wearing it for that interview made me remember the power of the suit. I kept it on when I went to the coffee shop afterwards, to do some work. I was feeling like getting work done, as being in a suit lends you to feel, and I had work to do, so I kept it on. But I did feel a little silly, ordering my coffee, wearing full formal dress, suit and tie, and then sitting down and typing away on my laptop. I felt overly dressed. But, who cares?

Today, I decided to wear the suit again. I have business to do. I have a great suit. Why not? But I opted for a black t-shirt instead of the shirt and tie. A little dressed down, like a tech CEO. That’s better.

I’m also wearing Doc Martins because I don’t actually have any formal dress shoes. I thought I had a pair, I know I had a pair. What happened to them? This was giving me a good laugh, when I realized that I would have to wear my Martins to the interview, and that I had gone the whole nine yards, suit and tie, and couldn’t finish the look. But I’m sure that they didn’t even notice. And the boots actually work great with the suit.

Well… that’s what I wanted to say about that…

The psychological power of the suit. Of clothes. It’s a real thing.

I think that for me, a big part of wearing the suit is the element of power that comes with it.

A nice suit is an embodiment of some kind of power. It suggests wealth and status. Con men know that – they’ll wear a nice suit even if they don’t have a dollar in the bank. Grifters know that. The image is important.

It’s interesting that I feel changed when I’m in the suit. That it has that effect on my personal psychology, too. I think that I am very aware of impressions and perceptions, and so part of the putting on of the suit is that I know it is going to impact people’s perceptions and impressions of me. People are going to change how they treat me, for better or for worse. And I think that I almost feel… false, in the suit. I feel like it is almost manipulative. Is that true? No…

What is it, then? You know what it could be?

It’s perhaps that I feel people are expecting something of me, when I’m in the suit.

People are expecting me to be well put together. They are expecting me to have decorum, and confidence. They are expecting me to be smooth and successful. To be professional. Don’t you think?

I think so. And that means that that’s what I have to be.

But then, isn’t this a matter of rising to the occasion?

Or, I don’t have to be that at all. Really, I should be myself, and I should be the same, whatever I’m wearing.

That’s the key.

I wonder how much of this is truth, and how much are my own thoughts and feelings about wearing the suit. What I did want to tell you is that yesterday, trying to find my target parking lot amongst fifteen different parking lots in downtown Nashville, I ended up in the wrong one. I couldn’t get out of the lot without having to pay, even though I didn’t park there, and I pushed the Call For Help button many times, to no avail, and I was pissed off, etc. etc. I went in and talked to the hotel staff about it, asking if they could please let me out, and not have me pay $11. Well, this saga ended up being rather convoluted, and I could not leave the lot, as they were having issues with the machine, and I was then going to be late… I ended up having to resolve it later.

As I approached the counter to handle this issue, I had the thought “They are more inclined to treat me kindly and take me seriously because I am wearing a nice suit.” And it was true that they did both of those things. They were nice people, and I would bet that they would have treated me the same, whatever I was wearing. But, isn’t it interesting that I had that thought?

There is quite a lot of psychology going on here.

I look at myself in the mirror wearing this suit, and I see a totally different guy.

Who is that guy?

People see that too. Parker said this morning, seeing me walk out of my room wearing the suit, “Woah. What’s going on?”

And my man at the coffee shop, the grunge-lover said, “You’re looking good today!!”

This is another element to the suit-wearing. When you’re this dressed up, you stand out. And when you stand out, you inevitably invite and draw attention, like it or not. As these comments show, people will notice, and they might even say something.

This attention-drawing element is another interesting one, for me. I generally like to fly under the radar. It even makes me uncomfortable, to have eyes on me. God forbid anybody thinks I’m cocky or smug! God forbid anybody thinks I’m a jerk!

Well, why shouldn’t I strut my stuff every once in awhile? Why shouldn’t I stand out, sometimes?

I wonder if this is something extraordinarily beautiful people have to deal with. Famous people, too.

Well, enough about that.

Now I have to write more Bob Schmingus.

Bob Schmingus and The King of the Rats: Part 1

(Readers, please recall that Bob Schmingus is a top cat agent who has recently saved America from a humilating loss at the hands of the Chinese King Liu Wei, who wished to purchase MacDonalds and rename it MacWangs.)

Bob Schmingus had just returned from his recent successful adventure, convincing the King of China, who had recently desired the purchase and renaming of the iconic American restaurant chain MacDonald’s to MacWangs, and was enjoying his reward of 20 boxes of Fancy Feast. He was lounging on a beach in the Carribean, at this moment, shades on, feet up, and licking his paws clean, when his phone rang.

It wasn’t his usual ringtone, Ain’t Talkin’ Bout Love by Van Halen. No, it wasn’t that, but it was a familiar ring: The Star Spangled Banner. And that could only mean one thing.

The President Of The United States was calling.

Bob Schmingus sighed. This wasn’t exactly what he wanted right now — he wanted waves and sun. That’s why he came to the Carribean, duh. But when the Prez calls…

He took the call.

“Talk to me, Jim Bob,” said Bob.

“Schmingus, I told you not to call me that. My names Carl. At least call me Carl, if you won’t follow the proper formalities.”

Schmingus chuckled. He couldn’t help himself. He loved messing with the President.

“Alright, Carl Bob. What do you need? Surely can’t be more trouble with the King of China? After we just had such a pleasant time together?”

“Ugh…” Groaned the President.

“It is.”

“Come on. What a guy! Isn’t he ever satisfied?”

“He’s a wily one. We can’t keep heads of tails of him. And we’re in for a long time with this guy… I hate to think about it.”

“So what’s the deal? I’m not exactly his babysitter here. That’s for the Chinese ambassador.”

“I know, Schmingus… I know. But… you know how to work him.”

Schmingus smiled. It was true.

“He respects you,” continued the President.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Birds of feather. So what’s his deal now? What geopolitical problem are we solving today? Wait, don’t tell me. He wants to buy Burger King and rename it to Burger Kang?”

“You know Schmingus, I understand why you two get along. You must have the same brain. That’s exactly what he’s trying to do.”

“You’re kidding me.”

The President sighed.

“I wish I was, Schmingus… I wish I was.”

Bob stared out at the lolling waves through his black Raybans, but he hardly saw them anymore. His mind was on the mission.

His mind was on China.

“He’s offered 100 trillion dollars for it. They’re thinking of selling. We could block them, but, the legalities, the politics… We need it done quick. You know what’s at stake—the geopolitical blowback, we could lose the culture war—”

“I get it, Pres. It would be a national tragedy, the loss of an American gem, yada yada. What’s the pay?”

“Same as usual.”

“I want Friskies, sardine and anchovy this time.”

“You keep Burger King American and you’ll have whatever flavor of Friskies your little paws could possibly desire.”

“I want Greenies too. Ten boxes.”

“Dammit Schmingus, you glutton! Don’t you ever tired of your hedonic binges? Don’t you ever want something more fulfilling? For a mind so brilliant, you live like a heathen!”

“I like this lifestyle. It suits me.”

The President was silent for a moment.

“There’s something else, Schmingus.”

“Uh oh. I don’t like that.”

“We’re teaming you up for this one.”

Schmingus bolted up, knocking the half-eaten tin of Friskies off of his lap and into the sand.

“Teaming? There is no teaming. I don’t do teams. You know that.”

“This time you do. The situation is getting dicey in the East. You need backup.”

“Like Hell I do!!”

“Dammit Schmingus, I’m not your damned butler! I give you the orders, and you aren’t going alone, dammit, and that’s that!”

Schmingus took a deep breath. The President was really testing him on this one.

“Just tell me who it is, Pres. And it better not be a woman. I’m not looking for any romance—”

“It’s your old pal, Schmingus. It’s your old Navy buddy.”

“No.”

“No one can fly a chopper like him Schmingus. He’s just what we need for the job—”

“NO!”

Schmingus was enraged, and without thinking he slammed his phone shut and hung up.

Immediately, he had regrets. He just hung up on the President of the United States. Not exactly recommended procedure. But…

The President was out of his mind. To suggest that he, Bob Schmingus, international ace, detective, dealmaker, assassin and schmoozer? Go to China with his greatest nemesis and archrival?

Schmingus had kicked his fallen can of Friskies and had thrown himself back on his chair, stewing with rage, when his phone buzzed.

“Pickup point Gorganzola. 11pm.”

— Carl Bob

Bob Schmingus wasn’t sure if he would go. But in the end, he wasn’t one to walk away from a trip to see the King. No he wasn’t. China was one of his favorite countries to work with. Something about the Orient that appealed to him. And he wasn’t going to give it up just because of that damned bastard Boldchungus… the grin that must be on his face right now.

Boldchungus probably hated the assignment as much as Schmingus did. He didn’t play with partners either. How did the President get him on board? Must have offered him a lot of Friskies. Greenies, Churu treats too…

They had that in common, at least. They were both greedy, thrill-seeking bastards.

Schmingus packed his essential gear, a lockpick and his trusty Barret .50 cal, and headed to the pickup point.

Someone was there to meet him.

Standing by the chopper, a model 450x SteathKite, with quad-lazer rotors and a radio-drive cloaking device (a top of the line stealth chopper, undetectable by all modern equipment known to man—or at least, America), and looking as smug as a bug in a rug, was Charlie Boldchungus.

That smug asshole.

“Well, well, well… Little Kitty’s gonna get his paws wet again, huh?”

“Save it, jackoff,” growled Schmingus, throwing his Barrett in the SteathKite’s storage hold. “I’ll rip that loose tongue right out of your mouth. What the hell does that even mean, anyway?”

“It means whatever I want it to mean,” Boldchungus retorted. “Tell me, how did the old man get you on board? What flavor of Friskies was it this time? Sauteed Salmon? Pink Antarctic Krill?”

Schmingus rounded on him in a flash, claws unsheathing.

“At least I don’t work for some god damned Fancy Feast. Pathetic.” Bob spit on the ground.

“You can’t buy taste.”

Boldchungus looked on with his iconic, smarmy grin spread across his face.

“Oh, and you’ve got it, do you?”

Charlie’s eyes screamed disdain. He hated being with Schmingus as much as Schmingus did being with him.

“Listen to me,” said Boldchungus, glaring at his arch-rival. “We don’t have to do play this stupid game. You get me in, you get me out. We both get paid. We don’t have to say as much as kum-ba-yah to each other.”

Boldchungus laughed, and climbed up into the cockpit. “Whatever you say, captain. Me, I’ve decided. I’m going to enjoy this.”

“I’ll enjoy it when I’ve got my Friskies,” muttered Bob, hopping up in the co-pilot seat. “And not a minute before then.”

Bob and Charlie went way back, if you can’t tell.

They were two of the hottest hotshots known to catkind. Two of the top feline agents in the entire world.

Six billion cats on Earth, and only a handful could do what these two could do. Part of an elite ring of feline actors, they were employed by governments and private businesses and wealthy individuals worldwide to carry out their respective desires. If the price was high enough, chances are you could find a cat to do it. Some stayed loyal to their countries — others only called a place where they could hoard their Friskies or Fancy Feast home.

Bob Schmingus and Charlie Boldchungus were both American cats, so to speak, and they had stayed loyal—for the most part. Boldchungus was known to run a mission or two for the French. Schmingus got the occasional call from the Japanese Prime Minister, the King of Danes, and Moldovan High Crown.

And, there is some speculation that he might have worked for the current King of China, King Wei. That might be why he had such close ties with the King. But, currently, it’s only speculation…

As far as Boldchungus goes, he was a top-flier. Boldchungus lacked the charisma, the geopolitical brain, intellect and charm of Bob Schmingus—that’s mainly why he despised him. But, of course, there was Lucina—better not to dig that up, not just yet. But what Charlie Boldchungus lacked in brains, he more than made up for in grit and sheer damn luck.

Charlie could find his way out of a truck in a deep muck, blindfolded. He had saved one the world’s top energy executive from an assassination attempt by shooting the assassin’s bullets out of the air. He had managed to find his way home after being buried alive in a Mongolian bunker twenty-three thousand miles deep (he was the only survivor). And in one of his most legendary feats ever, he was said to have flown his helicopter through another helicopter.

No one even knows how that could be possible, really. But he did it.

Why did Schmingus hate Boldchungus then, aside from the fact that he was an insufferable idiot?

It all goes back to the Iran incident…

But that’s for another time.

The Last Gigachad

Alright y’all. You’re invested. You want to know. Who is the sixth Gigachad? Have they been found?

They have been found.

It’s this b**** (please excuse my language).

Meet Florges. フラージェス. (Furaajyesu).

If you aren’t immediately on board, let me break it down for you. There’s something you need to know.

First of all, she is NOT a Grass-type. It’s a trick. Certainly you would think she must be. I thought she would be. She is not, but she has Grass-type moves. So she can still defeat measly Water-types.

She is only Fairy-type, which is still a great type, and also by not actually being Grass-type, she doesn’t open herself up to weaknesses to Flying, Fire, Bug, Ice… Grass has lots of weaknesses. So that’s good. (Except it doesn’t really matter at all because the game is so easy that I can beat it with my eyes closed at this point.)

Florges is stunning. We see that. And she comes in many colors.

Mine is yellow.

Now, she obviously has charisma and charm. This is a charming Pokemon right here. We can all agree on that. Right?

She has major Queen energy. A diva and a queen. Not too soft or feminine for my team of gangsters. Just the right amount.

I think she adds a certain element of polish and refinement, and a dash of feminine energy. Not that Tinkaton isn’t feminine, but Tinkaton has a little more of a crazed, insane energy. And Soubureizu is a scary, no-nonsense killer. Florges is rounding out the team, even while she blasts you into smithereens with concentrated moonbeams.

Which, yes, she can do.

To be a real Gigachad, you can’t just be swaggin’. You have to be strong.

She’s strong.

Florges can summon the full power of the moon and bomb her foes with it. That is a very satisfying thing to do, I’ll tell you, if you’ve never had the pleasure of doing it yourself. And as if that were not enough, she can also harness the power of the sun, and fire a magnificent destructo-beam of solar energy into her opponent’s face.

She also has insanely high Special Defence. Insanely high.

When thinking about who could be the sixth and final Gigachad, I had a feeling that this Pokemon (Flabébé) might have been the one. And it did turn out to be her.

This is the first version of Florges. And here is the second.

Neither Flabébé nor Floette suggest what incredible power and beauty lies in their final form. I wouldn’t have thought this thing even evolved. Who would have imagined that this soft-looking flower child had it in them to become such a regal, majestic queen?

And look at her now!

The story of Flabébé just goes to show you: everyone deserves a chance. Any one of these little darlings can have the greatest glow-up of the century. You can’t write them off right out of the gate.

I mean, remember this guy?

It’s the classic story of the nerdy kid in school who ends up becoming a billionaire, and cool. And perhaps there was one kid who saw their potential and stuck with them in those dark days. Dorameshiya (Dreepy) is that kid.

With the addition of Florges to the roster, the full team of Gigachads has been assembled.

Real Gangsters, 100% Swaglords, Escaped Convicts, Ultimate Gigachads

You can see how THE QUEEN rounds out the team vibes. Every other member of the gangster squad—Gaburias, Doraparuto, Soubureizu, Dekanuchan, Manyuura— all of them look like they could’ve just busted out of Poke-prison. They’re hard.

But Florges? You would be totally surprised to find out she was an ex-convict. What kinds of henious crimes had she committed? You would look at her in awe and wonder to what extraordinary deviousness she had been up to that landed her behind bars.

I imagine she would be running mob rings, leaking information, embezzling monies and generally doing a lot of double-crossing.

So… The Gigachad Army is complete. What now?

This is about the end of the Pokemon arc for me. I’ve almost entirely stopped playing the main game, and have spent all of my recent time scouring the land for the truest, greatest gangsters, most notable and worthy Gigachads. And now that I’ve got them, there is simply no one that can stand in my way.

I’m near the end of the game. The story is picking up—it’s actually pretty good for a Pokemon game. There are many characters (too many), and you should have never given them your phone number because half of them are calling you all the time. The other half magically show up whenever it’s time for the plot to move, and they usually all decide to do this at once, so that for most of the game you have absolutely no story progression and minimal dialogue, and then you unsuspectingly walk into a room and are inundated with 400 lines of complex plot conversations.

From some of these lengthy dialogues, last night, we learned that the delinquent children who created a gang called the Star Gang (スター団) or Star Army, the truant children who are no longer attending the school (of which you are a new student), have all dropped out and formed the gang because they were severly bullied at school. It’s something of a twist, as you are led to believe that they are just ne’er-do-ells and don’t want to go to school.

At the defeat of the fourth gang leader, the previous school’s principal shows up, and he further elaborates on the great tragedy of the bullying, and his failure as a principal, and how he destroyed the records, which was horrifying information for the current school principal, who is accompanying you undercover, trying to get the kids back to school…

I missed exactly why the last school principal did destroy the records. This was on dialogue line 355 and I was starting to get tired of playing at that point.

There is one reason to keep going, and that’s to figure out who the mystery character カシオピア is, Cassiopia. (Which, isn’t that a great name? Cassiopia is an amazing name.)

All game, you have been getting calls from this mystery person, who has recognized your extraordinary potential, as everyone did somehow after you won your first three Pokemon battles, requested your assistance in taking down the Star Gang, and who pays you for it. I remember in the beginning that you are given the option to refuse to help her, which I think I took, but somehow you end up working with her anyway, because she’s part of the plot. Well, we all want to know who this mystery woman is and what she’s up to. She could even be a he, that would be a twist. She could even be the principal! And he had contrived the whole bullying episode to create a scandal and oust the previous principal. Now that would be juicy.

It’s good to have some mystery and intrigue in your story. What’s the deal with Cassiopia? Who was the bully that ruined the lives of so many kids at the school and led to the creation of the notorious and renegade Star Gang?

I haven’t formed many theories and haven’t cared much about the Star Gang. I’ve been Gigachad hunting. But now that I’ve got the squad… we might just have to see how the game ends.

The Fifth Gigachad

After a long night of candlelight adventures, involving a deep dive through my mental and emotional state, reading old journals and having reflections on life and my purpose — I knew there was one thing I wanted to do for you today, upon my waking. There was one mission I had to fulfill as my duty, on this Wednesday, in the middle of August, in the year 2025, one quarter of the way through the 21st century, what is most likely to be known to humankind as the greatest century in human history.

I have to tell you something. First of all. My two dollar candle (it was $1.99 at Kroger) is STILL going. I must have gotten forty or fifty hours of burn time out of this baby. Unassuming and unscented, it looks like a glass of milk, with white wax, and it sits in a literal glass cup, that looks like any regular, cheap glass drinking cup. It cost two dollars at Kroger. Yet it is the most superior candle I have ever spent my money on.

George Washington spent $15,000 (in modern monies) in candles to get through a winter. That poor guy. He had a large estate. I wonder how many candles he had. What was he getting up to?

I was thinking about him because I feel blessed that my fire light is cheap as heck, in the modern world. And I was thinking about him burning candles in the winter because I’ve been thinking about how this candlelight thing is going to go when the nights are fifteen hours long.

I’m ready for it.

We need torches.

So, again after writing all day yesterday about finding the Fourth Gigachad, Soubureizu, I am now fully in on this Gigachad quest. Today, you don’t need a huge entire Pokemon Gigachad discussion. You don’t need a full story. You already know the criteria for making it on the Gigachad squad — you certainly read my last blog post. You are invested now, I know, you know the backstory, the failures of the giraffe and the dolphin and the scarab beetle.

And if you read my post TWO posts ago, you may remember that I said I had a lot of eggs in THIS guy’s basket.

This is ドラメシヤ, Dorameshiya, AKA Dreepy.

Let me tell you about this thing.

As I first began my great Paldean adventure, it wasn’t long before I started to spy a strange icon pop up on the radar. There’s a little minimap in the game that shows you what Pokemon are around, and I started to see, occasionally, a giant triangular head, with big yellow eyes, and with blue and green coloration. Whatever this Pokemon was, it had my interest, and based on the colors and the fact that I always saw it by rivers made me think it must have been some kind of frog creature. I guessed it would be Water / Grass type, most likely.

Every time I saw the icon, I went to it, trying to find one of these mysterious creatures. I had been hunting for it, couldn’t find it, couldn’t find it — and then one day, I finally did.

It was not what I expected. A whispy little green weakling, floating in midair, with big yellow eyes.

What the heck is it?

Interesting Pokemon, though. And it was not a frog, not Water or Grass-type at all. No, it was Ghost / Dragon. That was the most shocking thing. Ghost / Dragon? A dragon ghost? Okay. Before, it had my interest. Now it had my attention.

Pretty much all Dragon-types are powerful. And the fact that it was also a ghost? Something good has got to come out of this thing, right? Something really good. That was my thinking.

What was Dorameshiya’s secret? I was very curious. I kept it around, and I trained it. I trained it. I tried to fight with it. But here was a problem.

Dorameshiya is the weakest Pokemon in the game, by far. No contest. Even worse than Karabou, the fire knight child, even worse than Teddiursa, the cute little teddy bear.

Teddiursa. An absolute monster-beast compared to Dreepy.

Dreepy could not kill anything, Dreepy could not hang around with anyone, in any fight. Dreepy was 100% useless. Could not even finish someone off.

I would set up a Pokemon for being taken down. Surely, I could put Dreepy in, after weakening it, I could bring in the Dreepster and have it get the finishing blow and get a little extra exp. Right? Surely Dorameshiya could handle things now.

No. My Dreepy must have been KO’ed about fifty times.

Long story short — I completely gave up on using Dorameshiya or getting anything out of it at all. He was simply not a part of the game. He was just on my team, growing, waiting, slowly leveling up and doing nothing, all in the hopes of future greatness. I stuck it out with this yahoo until about level 42, and then I started to feel suspicious, that he was STILL stuck as a runt, that far along. Surely, he should be evolving now. Surely he must stop being an unbearable weakling, like, NOW.

I did my research, WITHOUT any spoilers (so I didn’t know what the evolutions would look like, because that takes a lot of the fun out of it), and the omnipotent internet gave me some answers. It told me that I didn’t have to do anything fancy. No trickery, no cursed armor. You just had to stick with this loser until level 50. And then, for the final form, level 60. SIXTY.

Come on!!!!

But you know, if they are going to make you wait that long, the longest you ever have to wait for an evolution in the history of Pokemon — the payoff MUST be good. Right? It MUST be.

Still, I was bored of sticking it out with Dorameshiya. I put him away and turned to other Pokemon, tried many others. But no one was making the cut, except Tinkaton, and then Soubureizu.

And then yesterday evening, I knew what I had to do.

I had to know if Dorameshiya was going to be the fifth Gigachad.

I evolved him into the second form. Now I had some hope.

Now, look at what we got here. ドロンチ. Doronchi is quite a step up. And that’s a cool name — Doronchi. We are starting to have a Pokemon here.

Dorameshiya just went and got its older brother. At least he looks like he could handle himself somewhat more, and he could. Doronchi could actually fight now, although it was still nothing powerful.

This was encouraging. Who would follow Doronchi? We had to get to level 60.

It was a slog, I’ll tell you. It was taking quite a time to get from 50 to 60. And for those last few levels, I just decided — I was all in. My primary objective was getting Doronchi to 60. I had to know.

Could he be The Fifth Gigachad?

I have to tell you guys, I was somewhat afraid of knowing the truth. I was afraid that all of my investment would not pay off. I was afraid of being let down.

I had put so much time and energy into this weakling. I had him for most of the game. And now I was about to have my answer. Gigachad or no?

Well y’all.

I’ll let you decide.

ドラパルト, AKA Doraparuto, AKA Dragapult.

Is this The Fifth Gigachad?

This is definitely the fifth.

Look at that slant in the eyes; look at that squint. What a sassy Pokemon! A giant salamander tail! And what’s up with the hands? Why does it hold its hands like that? That’s just goofy.

Something about it is giving cat. I don’t know what it is.

This Pokemon is a trickster. This Pokemon is full of swag. And he’s using his children? brothers? sisters? as ROCKETS?? Do you see the Dorameshiya in the slots on his glider thing?

As soon as he evolved, he learned ドラゴンアロー (Dragon Arrow). That involves him launching a bombardment of his Dorameshiya children at the enemy Pokemon.

Come on. That’s badass.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Doraparuto is The Fifth Gigachad.

And you don’t even know about his STATS yet.

The stats are out of control.

Speed 200. Yes people, 200. At level 60. Unprecendented. Never before has a 200+ stat been seen. But he’s not just fast.

Attack 183. Very high. Special Attack 157. Still great. This makes him a dual-threat attacker. All shall fear him.

So, yes. Charisma? Swag? Absolutely. Power? Out of this world.

Confirmed Gigachad.

Welcome to the team.

Now, we just need one more to complete our team. We can have backups, sure. There doesn’t HAVE to be a limit on our Gigachad army. However, you can only have six Pokemon on the team at a time. That means that a true Gigachad gangster squad of hitters will have six at any time. And here we have five.

We have to find one more.

The sixth will be tricky, because they really do have to be a strategic choice. The current lineup of slammers is ballin’ out of control, but they do have one glaring weakness, probably two real weaknesses.

Pokemon strategists. Do you see?

If you are advanced, you may see hundreds of flaws in this plan. Well, I am not advanced. I’m basic. But I see two problems.

I simply have no way to defeat a Water-type.

That’s it. And any Fighting-type that knows a Dark move will give me a run for my money.

Can we have such a glaring weakness on our team, and truly have them be a gangster squad, if they can be so easily stymied by a measly Water-type? Is this acceptable? I don’t think so.

The sixth Gigachad therefore must be someone special. They must be an enemy of the Water-type.

I laid in bed last night, the question of The Sixth Gigachad occupying my mind. Yes, we need someone who can defeat our Water-type nemesis… yes, they have to be swaggin’, they must have unbridled raw power… Could it be an Electric-type? Is there a Grass-type yet untapped? Who can answer the call?

Swag and charisma, swag and charisma…

Could it be…

No, surely not…?

This one?

Tinkaton Lore // The Fourth Gigachad

HANNA BEE COFFEE

I am at a new coffee shop, next to a quaint, charming bookstore here in East Nashville. Not at the traditional and beloved Ugly Mugs, because they are closed for a staff summer party. That’s great—

Oh. I just saved a child’s shoe. It was a Croc.

Something tumbled off a mother and child standing in front my table. She didn’t notice. The child was just starting to realize it had lost something important, and was trying to figure out how to tell Mama, when I picked it up and brought it over to her.

“Ma’am,” I said, the dad realizing what’s happening.

(I’m watching them right now, they just took the shoes off, put them back on. I think this might be a reoccuring problem for them.)

(They just passed me and the dad said, with a twinkle in his eye, “Thanks for the recovery mission.”)

I had said, “Shoe down,” to the Mom. She smiled and said thanks, and put the shoe back on. I’m saying shoe, but it was a Croc. With a dinosaur on it.

I’m not at my usual cafe, as I was saying, my favorite, because of the staff party. That’s alright. I’ve been meaning to check this Hanna Bee Coffee out anyway.

My rating? It’s alright. It’s like all of the other cafes, bar Ugly Mugs.

Ugly Mugs has risen up and taken the crown for a few reasons. I can see now and am reflecting on exactly what sets it apart. If I had to break it down…

It’s a large space with a variety of seating. Tables, large wooden table, individual circular tables, square tables, a counter, another taller counter by the window, a couch, and there’s outdoor seating as well, in a nice yard space on the side.
Lots of light. Most of the store is windows. 3/4 of the walls of the store are windows, ceiling to floor. Awesome.
Staff. Staff are friendly and cool. That’s always a plus.
Community. There are all walks of people hanging out at Ugly Mugs. Remote workers, business people, friends, students. Everybody fits in.

So there ya go. The cafe that I’m in right now, as with many of these cafes, at least when I go seems to be mostly or entirely remote workers. (It makes sense with the times that I’m usually at these cafes, though. During normal 9-5 work hours.) The other people don’t stick around and hang out. The cafe I’m at right now is all remote workers, or students studying. Everyone has a laptop. Including me.

My Osaka Tully’s was a lot like Ugly Mugs. Large, lots of seating options, different crowd of all walks, entirely surrounded by windows, floor to ceiling, and a good staff. Bustling atmosphere.

Now I have a problem, which I can remedy easily, at this current time, which is to find an outlet. Eventually I will have to charge this laptop.

I like where I’m sitting right now, but no outlet…

TINKATON LORE

Tinkaton really is a gem. I can’t stop thinking about her.

I wanted to know more about her origins and her Japanese name, Dekanuchan. Truly, this Tinkaton is an interesting and captivating Pokemon. What is her story?

I feel there is a clue in her name, as there usually is. I’m especially wondering if her name holds a reference to her weapon. The deka is probably dekai, でかい meaning huge. And chan is just the cutesifying suffix that we put on things, like inu-chan, to make them cute. Puppy-chan. Now it’s cute.

It’s the nu part that I’m not sure about.

Dekanuchan’s middle form name is Nakanuchan. 中 Naka just meaning middle, probably. So, what’s the nu? Nuchan?

Kanuchan is the name for the first form of this Pokemon. Doesn’t that sound cute? Kanuchan. There was a girl in my English Club named Kano and I would call her Kano-chan. Kanuchan reminds me of that. So does that Ka mean anything? Or kanu?

There is one more clue about her that is significant — she is a Fairy type. That suggests that she is based off of a yokai, a Japanese fairy/spirit. There are thousands of yokai out there, and I don’t recognize her as any yokai I know. They’ve either made one up or are using an existing yokai as inspiration.

Alright. Time to get the TRUTH.

Okay. I just did extensive research (about 20 minutes worth). Here’s what I’ve dug up.

It appears that the Kanuchan/Dekanuchan Tinkaton line is not necessarily based off of any one character, and not a Japanese yokai, but rather is a production of brilliant creative synthesis. There was probably some inspiration drawn from from Iberian folktale creatures, especially the mouros, which would make sense as the Pokemon Violet/Scarlet world is based around the Iberian Peninsula.

Mouros may have been a primary source of inspiration.

From a Myth and Folklore Wiki: “The Mouros are a race of supernatural beings from Galician, Asturian, Leonese and Portuguese mythologies.”

(Galician? Asturian? Leonese? Do you know about those? I only know one of these words, Portuguese. Must be some deep lore.)

We can see from this picture, clearly depicting them in the act — they are small, and they are plundering. We know that Dekanuchan is also a fun of plundering, as her Pokedex entry said she loves to do.

They also have those tiny bodies and massive hands. I can see the resemblance.

Further supporting the theory of Mouros inspiration is that they were goldsmiths, and concerned with the extraction of gold from the earth. This seems to be part of Kanuchan aka Tinkatink’s character creation, as a “tinkerer” or “smith”, or simply a metal enjoyer. And you can see her hammer looks like it was forged from scrap. Perhaps she made it herself?

So, this all makes sense, and now we have the question of the ka in the name. Kanu, nakanu, and dekanu. I put “kanu” in my Japanese dictionary, and we have our answer.

That first kanji, 鍛, means forge, or temper. The second, 冶, means smithing. And Kanuchi is a reading of these two kanji, 鍛冶, and is a family name (so the dictionary says). The dictionary is also telling us that 鍛冶 is typically read as kaji (かじ).

So our beloved Tinkaton, Dekanuchan, is based off of an Iberian goblin blacksmith creature, and her name is a play on smithing and metalworking. There is actually some wordplay happening in her name, with kanu being a reference to kanuchi, and then nakanu being made of naka, meaning middle, and she is the middle evolutionary form, and kanu, the kanuchi element — and then for dekanu, again being deka as in dekai, giant, and still with that kanu as in kanuchi. Kanuchan itself almost sounds like Kanuchi. You can imagine a Japanese person out there with the family name Kanuchi that is already being called Kanuchan as a nickname.

There you have it, folks.

This is the Tinkaton lore. As the kids say, that’s the tea.

(I have to reference this article, In-depth article of Tinkatink inspiration sources, because this good man did extensive research on Tinkaton’s possible inspirations and historal background. I could only handle about twenty minutes of Tinkaton origin research. This man must have spent hours on it. Thank you for hard work Aashish Victor, you good man.)

Man, isn’t this how life goes? This is exactly how life goes. I’m still at the coffee shop, and I needed that outlet. My laptop is now approaching critical outlet-needing time. I’ve had my eye on an open table with an outlet, a table that has remained open for the entire duration of me writing my Tinkaton lore story—but as I said, I liked the spot I’ve been in. I’ve been watching this open table, knowing that I will want to make a move over there eventually, but no one seems to be wanting to take it, it’s been available for the last hour, and THE MOMENT I STAND UP TO MOVE OVER THERE, a group of friends sits down and takes it.

Come on!!!!!!!!!

How classic. I knew that would happen, too. I knew it.

This post is surely long enough already. I’m kind of stalling on anything I’m really supposed to be doing, like reviewing my Japan memoir one final time and making the last edits, before trying to send it to some people and get it published. I’m stalling on that. I don’t know why — I have a mental block.

I’m also in limbo about a potential job. It’s a weird place to be. I’m sitting in-between projects, in-between jobs, in a limbo state. I would prefer not to be, I’ll tell you that.

And, it’s raining.

(My limbo has been somewhat resolved. Official interview incoming.)

It finally rained today, after fifteen days of blazing sun.

I feel like a real farmer now, because I had been praying for, hoping for rain, for my good plants that need it, need a deep soaking and watering, my seedlings and juvenile sunflowers and zinneas.

This morning, sitting outside in front of the house and enjoying our coffee, as is our household tradition, Parker tells me that it will rain today and tomorrow. Today, 5mm, tomorrow 15. Well, we got the rain. Sweet, sweet rain!

And we got more than 5mm. Unless it takes a ton of rain to get even 5mm, I think we got more than that. That’s good. We needed it.

It has been drought conditions here in the last two weeks. Scorched earth. People’s Hydrangeas are going crispy and wilting. I seem them all around the neighborhood. I read that Hydrangeas need a lot of water. They are not native. (Well, four strains of them are.) I think the main varieties that we are using are not native to the US. I only see the same one or two types of Hydrangeas in the neighborhood. They have all been suffering in this drought.

THE FOURTH GIGACHAD

Now I will tell you about The Fourth Gigachad.

Tinkaton was the third Gigachad. On my team of serious ballers, of total Gigachads, Tinkaton was the third true boss to earn a lasting spot on the team. Tinkaton is not going anywhere, with her sass and power, and giant 100 kilogram hammer. That left us with three more spots on the roster. So yesterday evening, after writing up for you about Tinkaton, and going about my other life business, I found myself laying on my couch, and thinking.

Thinking hard.

Who will be the fourth Gigachad?

We found them.

Before I reveal to you who has next stood out from the pack and earned their spot on this team of true swaglords, I will tell you some of the failure stories. There have been quite a few failures.

It takes a lot to make it on this squad — to be an absolute Gigachad. I thought carefully about what exactly it takes. What do the success stories have in common? Why did Tinkaton rise up? Weavile, the ice-weasel? Garchomp, the sandshark?

I decided that it all boiled down to two essential characteristics.

Swag (charisma, personality).
Power

Swag but no power? Not good enough. Power but no swag? Can’t be on the team.

Here is the roster so far. Feast your eyes on these embodiments of Swag and Power.

Before I landed even on these three, there were many investigations.

I had very high hopes for this guy.

I spotted him rolling around in the desert, rolling his ball of mud (I thought it was poo, of course, as he resembles a dung beetle). It was a beautiful sight.

Cute and charismatic, and he was actually strong, for a tiny little dung beetle. He had one evolution, which I figured would be a Ground type, which at the time I needed. In my mind he was just going to become a larger, more badass dung beetle. Possibly with armor, rolling a spiked ball, anything like that. Maybe he would become something like Heracross, with a big horn and a powerful rolling ball.

I had much hope for this dung beetle Pokemon. He showed a lot of promise. I worked hard to evolve him, running around in a field for 1000 steps, having him roll his little ball around for about ten minutes, before he was ready to unleash his true power. Well, he finally was evolving, and I was excited to see what kind of a Gigachad beast he would become.

Imagine my shock and horror, when THIS is what came out.

Excuse me??? What the hell? A Psychic type??? A Scarab beetle???

You might think it’s cute. That first picture makes it look cuter than it is. It game it does not have a cute little face like that. It’s just floating in there, rolling its giant magic pink orb around in the air. It’s stupid. Not badass. Not an armored wrecking ball roller. A floating magic scarab Psychic beetle? Come on.

I was horribly disappointed.

I tried out quite a few other hitters, including this giraffe.

What an incredible Pokemon. Rikikirin. Rikikirin is huge, towering over most other tiny Pokemans.

Rikikirin is awesome, has some personality, definitely. But Rikikirin is too slow. Too slow. Take a hit, get smacked, good game. We just can’t have that.

Unfortunately, it was the same with my shiny green teddy bear.

Look at this guy. He LOOKS like a Gigachad. Yes he does.

This Pokemon has the air of a gangster. He is clearly up to no good. You don’t want to mess with him; he’s taking no nonsense. And mine was shiny. Very rare. (That’s why he’s green, he’s usually brown.) My Ringuma is the only shiny Pokemon I’ve ever had, because they’re so rare. And yet…

This Gigachad contender went the same way as the Rikikirin. Poor Ringuma was TOO SLOW and TOO WEAK.

Sad!

Here’s the deal. If you’re going to be slow, you have to take a hit. You have to be able to get smacked, and then turn around, say “Who threw that piece of paper at me????” menacingly, laugh and then clobber whoever smacked you. That’s how it has to be. You have to be able 1. Take the hit and 2. Knock them out.

At least, you have to be able to knock them out. If you can take 20 hits, you can take your time in knocking them out, fine. But if you can’t handle getting beat up, then you at least need to turn around and obliterate your opponent in a single strike, after letting them whoop on you.

Well, Ringuma couldn’t do that. He couldn’t take it and could just barely dish it out. Rikikirin at least would do serious damage. It could shoot two lazer beams from its eyes. That’s powerful.

(I just did some research — apparently this giraffe is a powerful Pokemon in competitive. Rikikirin may have some untapped potential, it’s true.)

Now, I did have another top contender, that was extremely powerful, and majestic. This Pokemon was a go-to of mine for a long time.

It’s a White Ermine. How amazing is that? This is モスノウ, Mosunou. Like, Moth Snow.

The only real problem with Mosunou was that it I got bored with it. It was too strong. It could hardly ever be killed. It was an absolute beast. It one shot everything. How incredible. But… where’s the charisma? Where’s the personality?

Not enough charisma. Mosunou could possibly make a reappearance, except it has been replaced as an Ice-type by the significantly more charismatic Manyuura. (Weavile.)

マニューラ. Sorry, Mosunou.

Manyuura aka Weavile is actually a legitmate gangster. It’s Pokedex entry:

“They travel in groups of four or five, leaving signs for one another on trees and rocks. They bring down their prey with coordinated attacks.”

A pack animal. That’s gangster.

So, who is the fourth Gigachad? You want to know.

I was on the couch, racking my brain. Who has what it takes to be a Gigachad? Who has potential? Thinking, thinking…

And then, Parker’s words hit me.

I had been telling him about my team, keeping him in the loop. He knew about Tinkaton’s glory and beauty. He was aware of my hope and faith in the pathetic weakling dolphin Pokemon. He knew of my disappointment in Rotom, of my anger and betrayal by the Psychic scarab dung beetle.

Parker had been following my progress and giving me answers to Pokemon questions that I didn’t want to look up myself, because I didn’t want spoilers. And so, he knew that there had been a Pokemon that I liked from early on, that I had a good feeling about, and it was this’un.

This is カルボウ. Karubou. In English, Charcadet.

Now, this little guy has some charisma.

I was immediately attracted to this Pokemon, for obvious reasons. Fire? Awesome. A knight? Incredible. We love Don Quixote. We love knights. Knights are cool. Flaming knights? Even better. And if the first form is this cool, well then how about the second? There was no way that this Pokemon did not evolve into something amazing, so thought I. I kept him in my party, I trained him, I fought with him… (I should say her, because mine was a girl.)

What happened with my little Karubou was this: I simply forgot about her. Parker’s research revealed that Charcadet needed a special item to evolve, and you couldn’t get it until later in the game, and I tried to get it, but it was too convoluted, and long story short, it was too long before I could evolve this swag little gangsteress, and I couldn’t keep it around, because unfortunately, it was so, incredibly weak. Unusably weak.

I had put her away, stored her in the bank, until another day—and I had all but forgotten about Karubou, until I was lamenting my struggles on finding the coolest, most Gigachad Pokemon for my team, and Parker then hit me with, “What about that one Pokemon? The teacup Pokemon.” (Because you had to defeat teacup Pokemon to get the shards to trade for the item to use on this guy to make it evolve… Convoluted, I know.)

Long story short, people, this is the story of The Fourth Gigachad.

I remembered my little Karubou, I now had the teacup shards, I went and hunted down the stranger in Pikke town, got the special item, the cursed armor, Noroiyoroi,ノロウイヨロイ. I gave it to my little fire knight child, and held my breath.

Now, ladies and gentlemen — here is the reveal you’ve been waiting for.

Behold; The Fourth Gigachad.

Come on!!!!! Come the hell on!!!!!!!!

Two swords???? NO hands??? Blue flame????? Ferocious look in eye????? A ghost??????

When my Karubou evolved into this baby, Soubureizu,ソウブレイズ, in English Ceruledge, I have to tell you.

I audibly gasped. I jumped up off the couch.

I’m serious.

Come on y’all. This is a Gigachad right here.

Visually, aesthetically, I could tell that this was an absolute top contender for being on the gangster squad. But there is another test — it’s not all about looks. Ringuma failed that test.

Soubureizu had to prove itself on the field of battle.

I had high hopes, and it turned out, yeah. She’s actually strong.

I mean, if you have two swords instead of hands, and your head and eyes are on fire, and you’re a ghost, you should be strong, right? How could you be weak? It simply wouldn’t make any sense. And that is true for Ceruledge.

Soubureizu is a true hitter. And her typing is perfect, a Ghost/Fire-type. What about the story? What does the Pokedex tell us about this mysterious anime-character-esque killer?

“An old set of armor steeped in grudges caused this Pokémon’s evolution. Ceruledge cuts its enemies to pieces without mercy.”

There you go. A flaming ghost knight with swords for hands, cutting her enemies to pieces mercilessly.

Welcome to the team, fourth Gigachad.

We wonder — who will be next? Competition is fierce. Only two spots left.

Could it be… this guy?

Investigations are ongoing. Stay tuned.

There’s A New Farmer In Town // New Favorite Pokemon

I decided to sit at the long wooden table today, at Ugly Mugs. I haven’t sat there in a long time. Today, I wanted to. I’m feeling social and active. A couple sat down next to me and started chatting. Right from the get-go, she wanted to talk to me. The lady said, “Hi,” catching my eye. I said “hi”. Then she said, “We aren’t disturbing you, are we?” Or, actually, she said, “Should we go somewhere else? Are we bothering you?” I said, “No, not at all!” This was the truth. They were not bothering me of course.

Well, two of their friends showed up, and they were very chatty, and I had the sneaking feeling that more of them would be on the way. They were now taking over the table, mostly they had claimed the table. There was still a little space for me. But then, just a few minutes later, more of the party arrived, and I realized, they needed this table, and the right thing for me to do was to give it over to them. I was not going to deny them what they needed, what was the inevitable course of reality. I said, “I’m going to give you guys the table,” and they laughed, and I said, “I had a feeling there were more of you coming,” and the chatty lady said, “Are you sure, you can stay if you want!” And they said, “But he probably has work to do!” I said, “Oh yes, I have a lot of work to do….!” Hiding my screen from them, which would have shown them copious tabs of Pokemon investigations. Yes, a lot of work to do.

I have resumed my morning routine of waking up at the crack of dawn and going to the coffee shop. It took a few days to get back into it. Last night was a struggle, and I could not fall asleep for the life of me, even though I was tired during the day, at the end of it. I was ready for bed. Why does that happen? You’re ready for bed, you lay down, thinking, alright, time for sleepytime, and then, suddenly you’re seized with incredible energy, thoughts moving a mile a minute, your creative genius is exploding, and you want to do a hundred things at once. Everything except sleep, which is what you came there to do. Well, that was happening again last night, and as I am doing the no artificial light thing still, what could I do? I didn’t want to read.

I listened to records. I listened to most of my Superheaven record, Jar. My favorite thing about Superheaven is the chords they use. They have awesome chords. 90% of my love of Superheaven comes purely from loving the chords, and the guitar tone. It really is that simple. I then put on Holiday by Madonna, a great song, but you realize, not heavy at all. Light and dancy. And then, I knew what I wanted to hear – some Tame Impala. Brand New Person, Same Old Mistakes, or whatever that song is called, that is one of my favorite songs of all time. Whenever I hear that song, and I’ve heard it a thousand times, I still stop and listen. It’s a perfect song. It captures me completely. It hits so hard. It’s a song that comes on at cafes sometimes, always the best song that can possibly come on in a cafe. There is something about that song, probably many things, that just grab hold of your ear and your brain and don’t let go. From the absolute beginning of the song, it catches you. Slow, mysterious, groovy. Unlike most things that are being played on a cafe radio.

I can keep going here, I am extremely caffienated. What now?

I think this is the part where I tell you about my new favorite Pokemon.

If you don’t care about Pokemon at all, stay with me. You are still going to love this. Highly probable.

Pokemon can evolve. You knew that, right? Please tell me you knew that.

This is the first version of a Pokemon I’ve found in Pokemon Violet.

Do you see this thing? It’s called Kanuchan in Japanese, or Tinkatink in English. Yes, Tinkatink.

This is how it looks in the game. It looks miserable. What is it holding? Is that a beer bottle? What is this little thing? I first found this Pokemon and thought it was weird, and thought maybe it could be cool, but it was incredibly weak. I really don’t have a lot of time for weak Pokemon, I never have. They have to have a lot of promise, like they have to seem like they will evolve into an enormous powerful dragon-beast, or shark or something. This little pink twinkletoes was not promising, even though cute and charismatic. I had to pass.

Then, much later, I encountered the second version.

Yes everyone, meet Tinkatuff. She’s tough now. She’s scrappier. Her chunky iron beer bottle has now become some kind of exotic club. That’s good. But she’s still tiny.

She’s still weak. How can she have a place on my team of Gigachads? (Including the likes of such greatness as マニューラ and ガブリアス.)

Gaburias and Manyuura (Garchomp and Weavile), certified Gigachads

I could not imagine having her on my team of real gangsters, even if I wanted her around. For her pink charm and her Fairy typing. Every slot is valuable on a team of serious gangsters. You see that we have a dragonic sandshark and a dark weasel killer. Small pink fairy child with club still does not seem like she will make the cut, cute as she is. So, I still wrote this Pokemon off.

However, something happened.

This is a redemption story. This is the story of the ugly duckling, people.

I was on the mountain with the Psychic gym town, on the plains of the mountain. I found Tinkatuff, in Japanese Nakanuchan, in the ruins at night, with Bronzor the giant floating bell with eyes, and I was at that time running tryouts for my team of Gigachads. I was having another round of tryouts, and I was seeing who were the real beasts, and who I wanted on this team of hitters, absolute slayers, and I thought, let me evolve this Tinkatuff. Let me see what this Tinkatuff is all about. I will give her a chance.

Well, ladies and gentlemen. You will not believe your eyes. It is the greatest glowup of the 21st century. We are still early in the century, but I don’t know if this glowup can be beat.

IT’S TINKATON.

デカヌチャン!!!!!!!

How enormous her hammer is! And look at her hands! Massive paws, to hold that beastly hammer! Who would have thought that measly hump of iron would ever become a thousand-kilo slammer????

I never would have expected it. Tinkaton, she glowed up. And she immediately learned a move called デカハンマー, Dekahanmaa, which I took to mean, Giant Hammer, and I surmised that it might possibly be a move where she slams something with her newly acquired, enormous thousand-kilo hammer.

When I first unleashed my new Dekanuchan’s Gigaton Hammer move on a poor, unsuspecting wild Pokemon, I was extremely hopeful that it was in fact going to be a giant hammer attack. Imagine how pleased and enthused I was to see it was exactly that.

Gigaton Hammer

I’m including the above picture because I want you to see just exactly how ferocious this Tinkaton is. Before she even begins her attack, she first unleashes a massive wave of power and energy — she opens her mouth and screams, before charging forward, leaping into the air, raising the hammer and slamming it down, literally obliterating her enemy. It was everything I wanted to see.

I have to tell you, in my Tinkaton excitement I did some exaggerating. I lied to you. Her hammer is not actually 1000 kilograms; it’s 100 kilograms, that is about 220 pounds, and we know this because the game tells us so. From Dekanuchan’s Pokedex entry:

“The hammer tops 220 pounds, yet it gets swung around easily by Tinkaton as it steals whatever it pleases and carries its plunder back home.”

And now, we learn a very interesting fact about Tinkaton here that I did not know, which further enhances her charm and character, which is already outstanding. She is a THIEF.

So small, yet so powerful. And a conniving thief, raiding and plundering? Dekanuchan earned a top spot on my team of Gigachad gangsters.

Who will be next to take a top spot? We really have three slots left for true gangsters. I have been putting Pokemon through the workouts and trials.

I have a lot of eggs in this guy’s basket.

Dorameshya, AKA Dreepy.

Don’t let me down, buddy.

I titled this “There’s A New Farmer In Town” because I have been gradually becoming more obsessed with planting, farming, and gardening. I couldn’t sleep last night, I had too much physical energy, and you know what I decided to do with it? I went out in the yard and dug up my grass.

I had to do it. I have seeds to get down. Butterfly Milkweed. And it was actually a great time to tear up the lawn, at 11 pm at night, because it was cool. It was nice to able to do some yard work without feeling like I’m dying in the sun. That was awesome.

Butterfly Milkweed (*Asclepias tuberosa*)

A neighbor across the street was coming home and I happened to see them turning their head 180 degrees around to watch me as I dug in my yard, bathed in the glare of the copious amount of artificial light in the street outside of my house, shovel in the hand. He was certainly wondering what the hell I was up to. I imagine that if you ever see someone digging with a shovel at night, you’re going to have some suspicion about that. Who can be up to any good with a shovel at midnight?

A 29-year old man, laying in bed with thoughts of Dekanuchan and gardening. Alpha male? Probably not.

Quack Hits

I meant to say, Quick Hits.

“But what could it do, if any danger came?” Alice asked.

“It could bark,” said the Rose.

From Through The Looking-Glass, 1871, Lewis Carroll

Quick hits:

We write for joy. We write for fun. That’s why we write, ultimately. It is for joy.

Sometimes to convey information. Sometimes to persuade. But the best writing is that which comes from an act of love. It is play. That’s the best. So says Stephen King.

I have sat down to do this and found that I don’t really want to do this. So it goes.

“So it goes.”

– Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut.

I went on a run today. A wild run. I ended up in the middle of the woods running on deer trails. I stopped one centimeter before running through an enormous spider web, complete with large, scary black spider in the middle, at face height. It was like meeting a tripwire. I stopped just in time. I felt out around the edge, not wanting to just destroy the poor beast’s hard work and livelihood, but having to pass through this way, being in dense woodland forest, and I felt around the edges of the web, the invisible space, to see if there was some way I could pass without entangling myself in threads. I did find a large patch of open space, and I contorted myself through it, hoping very much to not bring the spider down upon me. I then resumed my running.

I could not believe that I had absolutely no ticks on me after this wild run. Through long grass, for a mile or more, I had mud, some scratches, various other debris, but surely, thought I, there must be a tick or twenty on my body. And there were NONE. Moving too fast? Too much sweat? No ticks in that grass? I couldn’t believe it.

It’s good to run hard through the woods. Makes you feel alive. I ran through about twenty deer, ten different pairs of two or three deer, on that run.

Tragedy struck this morning. Or, it struck last night. I discovered the tragedy this morning. My sunflowers had been ravaged. They had been doing so great, too. Well, they were ravaged. Not even a trace of three of them, only craters left in the ground from where they had been savagely ripped from the earth. The second largest, uprooted and mangled, left a carcass on the soil. If sunflowers had blood, there would have been blood everywhere. The largest, my prize bonnet, or whatever people said in the old days, my prize pig, bit clean off from three inches up. Three measly leaves and a smidgen of stem left. Well, at least they gave me that. Can it rise from the ashes?

Mysteriously, the two that have made it out of my second planting were left untouched. Perhaps they are being saved for later? Allowed to fatten before the slaughter?

Who was the culprit? We will never know. I suspect a rogue deer that haunts our neighborhood.

I’ve seen her.

I have had a growing history of reading people things from books, offering personal heartfelt readings, generally when in the comfort of my abode. I have read or attempted to read many a story to my living mates. Two nights ago, at a party, before heading out into the night, we sat around in the living room, eight of us young modern American people, and my roommate Smosh said something that I will never forget. I remembered it just now, I was reflecting on the significance of this event just moments before I started to write this piece, because it was truly extraordinary, and has put him in my good graces forever. He said, in the midst of the revelry, the group now gathered around the couch and table, all conversing, he said to me: “You should read us some poetry.”

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it first. Smosh, you wonderful man. I ran the three steps from the living room into my bedroom and grabbed my book of Poems of Fun and Fancy. And I read the poems.

Some of them.

I first chose to go out on a limb and try a new one. That was as an experiment. But it was not a great success. Everyone (my sister) just wanted to hear A Letter To Evelyn Baring.

Smosh then said, “I thought you would read us a Japanese poem.”

I went and got my Japanese poems.

I read the first poem I came across, which happened to be from The Exile Of Godaigo, about an exiled emperor of Japan in the late 1200’s.

tsui ni kaku

shizumihatsubeki

mukui araba

ue naki mi to wa

nani umarekemu

If it is my fate

To terminate thus my days,

In the depths of ruin,

Why was I ever born

Sovereign supreme of men?

After only one week, possibly ten days of avoiding all artificial light bar fire in the evenings, my circadian rhythm has completely reset. I have woken up at the crack of dawn on nearly all of these days. And now, the sun goes down, and I am sleepy. I am still often having surges of energy and late night mental wanderings, but I resist the urge to indulge them. I think it takes some time to fully adjust. This morning I woke up at 5:30 am, and for the first time, I felt like I was waking up regularly, as in, I did not feel that I wanted to go back to bed.

Parker came into my room last night to show me something on his phone. He had been working on some art for his Spotify. I allowed him to show me, he said, in an attempt to persuade me to evaluate his art, “I’ll show you on the lowest light settings.” Well, to my fully adjusted nighttime eyes, that “lowest” setting was still blinding, and when he flashed that screen in my face, I immediately recoiled, and I felt my eyes rapidly contract in my head. It was like I had just looked into the sun. I felt like I had just been doused with cold water.

I talked to a girl at the barcade, the night of the party. It was towards the end of the night. I had gone over to the machine to play Q-Bert. I got the second highest score, that night. Someday I will claim the first.

There was a girl standing alone at Burgertime. She was pretty. I had the urge to talk to her. I walked over to the machine next to her, and said, “Are you winning?” She said, “Oh, I’m just waiting for my friends, they abandoned me.” I said, “Oh.” (Or something like that.) She said, “I don’t even know what this is,” gesturing to the game in front of her. I looked at the title, saw that it was Burgertime. I said, “It’s Burgertime!”

She said something about how her friends were always going outside to talk to the bouncer or something. I said, “What do you think they’re talking about?”

She thought for a moment.

“Drugs.”

I laughed. She said, something about how they’re always talking about a “plug”, and she put emphasis on that word, somewhat mockingly, lighthearted mocking. I think she rolled her eyes.

She then asked me, “Are you winning? Tonight?”

I said, “Eh. I’m not losing.”

She was really looking at me now.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

I could tell she meant where I was really from.

“Elkhart Indiana… Northern Indiana.”

I don’t remember if she had any real response to that or just acknowledged it.

(Actually, I remember. She asked what brought me to Nashville.)

“How about you?”

She was from Nashville. She said, “right down the street” and she made a gesture suggesting that she really was talking about right down the street.

I said, “You can tell I’m not from Nashville?”

She said, “Mhm.”

“How could you tell?”

“Your stature.”

That was not what I expected to hear. I didn’t really know what that even meant.

“My stature?”

“Yep. And the way you talk.”

I ain’t no southern boy. That’s for sure.

Somehow, then, for whatever reason she told me that she had broken up with her ex that night. I don’t remember why she was telling me that. It was pretty matter-of-fact. She didn’t seem too devastated about it. But I remember that she phrased it as, “My ex and I broke up tonight.”

I said, “You’re already calling him your ex?”

She nodded.

I thought that was interesting. Can you say, “My ex and I broke up?” Not really, right. Because you can’t break up with your ex. You’re not dating them anymore.

I didn’t go into that right then. I said, for some reason, I guess I just had the feeling, “Have you broken up before?”

She nodded.

This was about at the end of the conversation. I’m wondering why I didn’t offer any words of solace or comfort. She might have asked me right after that what brought me to Nashville, but that doesn’t seem like it would have been the follow-up question. I think that came earlier in the conversation. There wasn’t much more said though, before she said, “I’m so sorry, but I really have to go now, my friends are waiting for me. It was nice talking with you, though.”

And she touched my arm.

I said, “Go on!”

Not in a way that suggested I wanted her to go. But it was time for her to go.

Maybe I was supposed to say, “It was nice talking with you too.” I don’t think it mattered too much what I said, then.

I now had permission to go ham on Q-Bert.

I had an epic run. In the very first game, I lost two lives like they were… pieces of candy… that you don’t… want, on Halloween. (I want to come up with an original and unique simile here. I don’t have it.)

I lost my first two lives like they were tadpoles… in a pond. Because frogs have so many babies…. they’re disposable… do you know what I mean?

Oh my god.

I lost those first two lives, and then I was on the ropes. I had one life left. And somehow, on that one life, I ended up going so far. It was all I needed. I was rolling hot on that one life.

I was in the perfect place, mentally, for crushing Q-Bert. I was the right level of invested. I didn’t care too much. I wasn’t too drunk. I was just a little buzzed, a little desirous of doing my best. The alcohol was unlocking some Q-Bert skill in me.

Then, my sister came over. She started talking to me. Something happened. I got riled up, I got distracted. And I made my one, final life Q-Bert jump off the cliff.

What a tragic ending!

I watched as my Q-Bert fell into the abyss. There went my final life. And for the night, that was my attempt at the top score. I did no better than that.