In about a month, I'll be posting some pictures of my weight loss gathered from the last year. As it currently stands, I'm floating around between 68-69 kilograms (150-152 pounds). This has pushed me into the normal area of the BMI, and though you can go on and on about the supposed accuracy of that system, it's been a mental finish line since I was about 100 kilograms.
Because of this mental finish line, I've decided to take a break this past week. By no means have I stopped exercising. After almost 11 months of constant exercise, resting for one day sits on my brain like a metal chip. It drives me bonkers. But my body needed a rest. I pushed it hard in the last month and dropped almost twenty pounds. (Bravo to my little brother, who accomplished a likewise feat and is now headed to the Minnesota state wrestling championship. Huzzah!)
I've been told I look good and I should maybe ease up as well. But the thing is, since I've lost almost 50ish kilograms over the course of a year, I'm interested in seeing how far I can push it, to see just how big a change can be wrought. I'm going to keep losing weight: tomorrow begins the marathon training and some excess flab I still have will be eaten up in the process. It'll be my first marathon, and because of that it's only a half-marathon, but I'm already excited and it'll be the culmination of a year of dieting and exercise.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Dad
"The thing is, parents want their kids to go off," Spike said. "You shouldn't feel guilty. He was proud of you. All you boys. You were all different and unique and he was proud."
"I know." My eyes were fixed on Spike's hound dog face.
He nodded and his jowls jiggled. "You shouldn't feel guilty."
***
The pet shop was run by one woman. She was attractive and pleasant, somewhere between 25 and 30, but the dinginess of her store, smells of dead animals and shit, and any flirtatious comments I might have composed turned over in my mouth.
But Zach knew her, went up to her easily. "Can we see it today?"
She stood up without and went over to the rabbit cage. Her black lab panted along after her. "Sure. I haven't fed him yet. Your friends coming?"
"Naw, just us."
Without a glance, she reached in the rabbit cage and grabbed a juvenile rabbit. She closed the cage and went over to the seven-foot albino python, coiled in a display case.
We watched as she slid back the rear of the display and held the rabbit inside. The python darted forward and clamped it's lipless mouth around the rabbit's head. There was a small scream then silence as the python wrapped around and commenced its smothering ritual.
The rabbit made occasional twitches. Occasional squeaks. The python had struck it in the eye and it was bleeding.
It took ten minutes to die.
***
I hefted the books onto the counter.
The librarian looked pleased. "They're are certainly a lot of them."
"I have a couple more boxes in the car. Mostly they're paperbacks. A lot of science fiction and fantasy. We're cleaning out my dad's house." I paused for a beat. "He passed away recently."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thank you. It's okay." This was my normal response to that sentiment, though I didn't know what was "okay" about anything.
There was a pause. "These were your father's?"
"No, they were mine." I smiled. "He wasn't much of a reader. Just me. Let me get the other books." I turned and went back out to the truck.
***
"Hold on to something," Zach, from the passenger seat. My muscles went taut as the truck hydroplaned across the iced road.
The truck went round and we went into the ditch and rolled over onto the passenger side. Cigarette detritus fluttered through the air. The card my brother bought his girlfriend for Christmas disappeared and was forgotten. Later he would write a makeshift card on computer paper and scrawl, "I bought a card but I was in a car accident."
There was no more danger. "You okay?" one of us said and the other answered with "I'm fine." The driver's side door wouldn't open and I told Zach to go for the rear driver's side. He went back and I unbuckled, following after as he opened the door and crawled out.
As we waited for the tow truck to come, we watched a white truck pass by and hydroplane into the ditch.
***
My Son
*Mark Humphrey to me show details 4/5/07 <Reply
Hi Josh daddy here how are you doing.
Leave me an e-mail to tell how it is going.
Stay in distance touch!!!
FOR I LOST OUT ON SPENDING TIME WITH YOU
WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG
I LOVE YOU DAD
***
After a full minute embrace, she broke away and I watched her go.
"Why'd you hug her?" Miraiya asked, her voice quiet.
"Should I not have hugged her?" I looked at the woman's retreating back.
"That's Heather, Josh." A bare smile came onto her face. "You didn't know who she was?"
"No. I only met her once, couple years ago. I'd forgotten."
"That's funny." She hugged me and I hugged back.
***
Seth and Loni picked me up from the airport. I walked up to Loni and it was a few seconds before her eyes focused on me.
"Josh," she stood up and embraced me. "I didn't recognize you. Are you okay?"
"Oh. As well as can be expected, I guess. Not great." I turned to my taller, lanky cousin and we both hugged.
"Let's get out of here." I said.
"Are you hungry?"
"Not at the moment. Do you have a phone?"
"Yes." She handed me her cell.
I called up mom and told her I made it all right. We talked quietly about my brothers and the family.
"I have clothes for you to wear. I bought some." I nodded and I said I loved her and I'd call her back in a bit.
I handed Loni her phone. "Can we stop at a suit store? I want to buy a couple." I didn't add, "I want to do this right."
***
I cleaned. I studied Japanese. I wrote in my blog. I wrote thank you notes. I exercised. I burned CDs. I read a book. I watched a movie. I played word games on my DS. I went out with friends.
But when the time to sleep came, stillness came with it.
***
Ayamu>> Just so you know, wopa's been cleaning house and breaking pearls. So you should watch out.
Munin>> I'll remember that next time my father dies and I'm going through a depression.
Ayamu>> Oh. ; ; I'm sorry. I just don't want to see you kicked.
***
"Hey. That's my Grampa Mark's computer."
"Yeah." I said.
"Don't break it."
"'kay."
"Can we do Dora?"
"Come sit on my lap and we will. Where's Dora's webpage?"
"I dunno."
"Okay. We'll find it."
***
"Minako-sensei." I said.
She turned, a face of polite, tired interest. I had told her I was running home to check on a family emergency. "What has happened?"
"My father has died."
"What? How?"
How? Who's fault? His? Someone else?
"Car accident." I swayed. I'd read about knees buckling under strain or sudden, emotional weight. I didn't think it actually happened to flesh and blood people. I must have looked a little drunk. Punch-drunk? Is that what this feels like?
"Do you want to sit down?"
"Yes." I took a computer chair and stared at the floor. "I need to go back to America."
"There's a typhoon coming. You have to be out on the one o'clock ferry or you may be stuck here for the rest of the day."
"Okay." I said. "I need to call my travel agent." How happy he would be, upgrading my trip from an inexpensive Thailand venture to a last-minute American return.
"I will call the board of education and tell them what has happened."
"Thank you."
***
INT. PINE RIVER 1ST LUTHERN CHURCH -- MIDDAY
JOSHUA is at the podium of a church filled with mourners. The HUMPHREY FAMILY sits in the first rows, all together. His brothers, MATT and ZACH are there, crying with his MOTHER.
JOSHUA
I want to thank you, on the behalf of my
family, for your thoughts and prayers.
He pauses here. He had decided, after this thank you, to speak without rehearsal. He wanted it to come out raw. He wanted it to hurt.
JOSHUA (con't)
I want to say. I love you, dad. I love you
so much. I haven't been around for the
last couple years. We haven't seen each other
at all. I want you to know. I knew you were
proud of me. Of all of us. But I want you to know.
I was proud of you. I love you dad.
He's crying now, the second time he's allowed himself tears, like he's been saving them for just this moment.
But I wasn't around. So I need to know.
I want to ask anyone who knew Dad to
come up and please tell us about him.
Tell us something about him. Because
I need to know so badly.
He steps to the side, his chest heaving, and he waits.
***
10/24/2007
Okuma-sensei performed magic tricks tonight for the kindergarten class. He did this without effort, and all the kids loved him. His own son looked a little embarrassed. I wanted to to tell him: "Enjoy it, kid. Not all of us get awesome, caring, well-adjusted fathers."
I was jealous. I try to think of special times with Dad but I usually just draw a blank. Christmases, Easters, those I remember. But I remember precious few times where Dad and I were just doing something together. If I ever did anything with Dad, it was through work, always him trying to connect with me that way. It probably didn't help that I had no interests like his. I wonder if that ever frustrated him?
***
Matt was asleep on the couch as I put together crates of books and wrestling trophies. He'd gotten drunk the night before. His way to mourn, I supposed. Zach spent his time with his friends or down in his room.
I sorted books by stuff I wanted to keep and stuff I intended to donate to the Crosslake library. It was a new and privately-funded, hardly a blink on the literary map. But it was something to do with the endless amount of fantasy novels I'd never read again. I'd hand off those worlds to someone who would enjoy the trip.
The house was quiet and it made my stomach churn. We were going through all our stuff and his stuff and I didn't like it. Didn't like being there in that silent house, shifting through old records and books, opening safes and peering into small places where there was more likely to be heaps of mouse shit rather than anything that might be considered a stash.
He had liked to buy me books. He hadn't known what to buy, not unless I told him, but he had liked to. And I liked to read them. Mom had said he was happy when I asked for books, but sometimes I didn't ask, even when I wanted them. Sometimes I thought that he would say what a silly thing it would be to spend money on. But he never did. Then I was old enough to buy what I wanted and it never came up again.
Hardcovers. Paperbacks. Falling-apartbacks. I thought of the novel I wanted to write but probably never would, the novel that shifted and morphed with whatever book I was reading. Maybe it was time to start—to really start—and get it out of me. Get it off of my brain, where it lingered like a picked-at sore. But there was other writing to do first, wasn’t there?
***
“Have you written about it yet?” Reynolds sipped his coffee. I looked beyond him, out through the Klas Center front window and onto the Hamline main square. Last night I’d seen Turner, went over to his house and visited, which gave me more pleasure than I was willing to admit.
“Not yet,” I said. “I want to, but don’t know where to start.” I thought back to a post I blogged, with moments and beats and different styles.
“I want to write about how he died.”
***
"I'm going to call the cops." She wouldn't go away. Not ever.
"Oh yeah. You do that." He watched her turn and walk from the bar.
He stared at the counter then followed after her. He ignored her shouts and got into his truck and peeled out of the parking lot.
His eyes flicked up to his rear-view mirror and he saw her mimic his exodus and follow. He focused back on the road.
If she'd just stay away, maybe everything would be all right, but his phone was ringing now, and he knew just by a look into his mirror that she was calling. Trying to reach him. She could forget about that.
"Just stay away." He muttered.
He sped up but she kept pace. Eyes on his side mirror now, she was riding much too close to him.
The phone was still ringing and he grabbed for it and he was going to tell her to just get the hell away from him, it was over and he was done. His eyes were away from the road and then he was rolling and rolling and rolling—
"I know." My eyes were fixed on Spike's hound dog face.
He nodded and his jowls jiggled. "You shouldn't feel guilty."
***
The pet shop was run by one woman. She was attractive and pleasant, somewhere between 25 and 30, but the dinginess of her store, smells of dead animals and shit, and any flirtatious comments I might have composed turned over in my mouth.
But Zach knew her, went up to her easily. "Can we see it today?"
She stood up without and went over to the rabbit cage. Her black lab panted along after her. "Sure. I haven't fed him yet. Your friends coming?"
"Naw, just us."
Without a glance, she reached in the rabbit cage and grabbed a juvenile rabbit. She closed the cage and went over to the seven-foot albino python, coiled in a display case.
We watched as she slid back the rear of the display and held the rabbit inside. The python darted forward and clamped it's lipless mouth around the rabbit's head. There was a small scream then silence as the python wrapped around and commenced its smothering ritual.
The rabbit made occasional twitches. Occasional squeaks. The python had struck it in the eye and it was bleeding.
It took ten minutes to die.
***
I hefted the books onto the counter.
The librarian looked pleased. "They're are certainly a lot of them."
"I have a couple more boxes in the car. Mostly they're paperbacks. A lot of science fiction and fantasy. We're cleaning out my dad's house." I paused for a beat. "He passed away recently."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thank you. It's okay." This was my normal response to that sentiment, though I didn't know what was "okay" about anything.
There was a pause. "These were your father's?"
"No, they were mine." I smiled. "He wasn't much of a reader. Just me. Let me get the other books." I turned and went back out to the truck.
***
"Hold on to something," Zach, from the passenger seat. My muscles went taut as the truck hydroplaned across the iced road.
The truck went round and we went into the ditch and rolled over onto the passenger side. Cigarette detritus fluttered through the air. The card my brother bought his girlfriend for Christmas disappeared and was forgotten. Later he would write a makeshift card on computer paper and scrawl, "I bought a card but I was in a car accident."
There was no more danger. "You okay?" one of us said and the other answered with "I'm fine." The driver's side door wouldn't open and I told Zach to go for the rear driver's side. He went back and I unbuckled, following after as he opened the door and crawled out.
As we waited for the tow truck to come, we watched a white truck pass by and hydroplane into the ditch.
***
My Son
*Mark Humphrey to me show details 4/5/07 <Reply
Hi Josh daddy here how are you doing.
Leave me an e-mail to tell how it is going.
Stay in distance touch!!!
FOR I LOST OUT ON SPENDING TIME WITH YOU
WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG
I LOVE YOU DAD
***
After a full minute embrace, she broke away and I watched her go.
"Why'd you hug her?" Miraiya asked, her voice quiet.
"Should I not have hugged her?" I looked at the woman's retreating back.
"That's Heather, Josh." A bare smile came onto her face. "You didn't know who she was?"
"No. I only met her once, couple years ago. I'd forgotten."
"That's funny." She hugged me and I hugged back.
***
Seth and Loni picked me up from the airport. I walked up to Loni and it was a few seconds before her eyes focused on me.
"Josh," she stood up and embraced me. "I didn't recognize you. Are you okay?"
"Oh. As well as can be expected, I guess. Not great." I turned to my taller, lanky cousin and we both hugged.
"Let's get out of here." I said.
"Are you hungry?"
"Not at the moment. Do you have a phone?"
"Yes." She handed me her cell.
I called up mom and told her I made it all right. We talked quietly about my brothers and the family.
"I have clothes for you to wear. I bought some." I nodded and I said I loved her and I'd call her back in a bit.
I handed Loni her phone. "Can we stop at a suit store? I want to buy a couple." I didn't add, "I want to do this right."
***
I cleaned. I studied Japanese. I wrote in my blog. I wrote thank you notes. I exercised. I burned CDs. I read a book. I watched a movie. I played word games on my DS. I went out with friends.
But when the time to sleep came, stillness came with it.
***
Ayamu>> Just so you know, wopa's been cleaning house and breaking pearls. So you should watch out.
Munin>> I'll remember that next time my father dies and I'm going through a depression.
Ayamu>> Oh. ; ; I'm sorry. I just don't want to see you kicked.
***
"Hey. That's my Grampa Mark's computer."
"Yeah." I said.
"Don't break it."
"'kay."
"Can we do Dora?"
"Come sit on my lap and we will. Where's Dora's webpage?"
"I dunno."
"Okay. We'll find it."
***
"Minako-sensei." I said.
She turned, a face of polite, tired interest. I had told her I was running home to check on a family emergency. "What has happened?"
"My father has died."
"What? How?"
How? Who's fault? His? Someone else?
"Car accident." I swayed. I'd read about knees buckling under strain or sudden, emotional weight. I didn't think it actually happened to flesh and blood people. I must have looked a little drunk. Punch-drunk? Is that what this feels like?
"Do you want to sit down?"
"Yes." I took a computer chair and stared at the floor. "I need to go back to America."
"There's a typhoon coming. You have to be out on the one o'clock ferry or you may be stuck here for the rest of the day."
"Okay." I said. "I need to call my travel agent." How happy he would be, upgrading my trip from an inexpensive Thailand venture to a last-minute American return.
"I will call the board of education and tell them what has happened."
"Thank you."
***
INT. PINE RIVER 1ST LUTHERN CHURCH -- MIDDAY
JOSHUA is at the podium of a church filled with mourners. The HUMPHREY FAMILY sits in the first rows, all together. His brothers, MATT and ZACH are there, crying with his MOTHER.
JOSHUA
I want to thank you, on the behalf of my
family, for your thoughts and prayers.
He pauses here. He had decided, after this thank you, to speak without rehearsal. He wanted it to come out raw. He wanted it to hurt.
JOSHUA (con't)
I want to say. I love you, dad. I love you
so much. I haven't been around for the
last couple years. We haven't seen each other
at all. I want you to know. I knew you were
proud of me. Of all of us. But I want you to know.
I was proud of you. I love you dad.
He's crying now, the second time he's allowed himself tears, like he's been saving them for just this moment.
But I wasn't around. So I need to know.
I want to ask anyone who knew Dad to
come up and please tell us about him.
Tell us something about him. Because
I need to know so badly.
He steps to the side, his chest heaving, and he waits.
***
10/24/2007
Okuma-sensei performed magic tricks tonight for the kindergarten class. He did this without effort, and all the kids loved him. His own son looked a little embarrassed. I wanted to to tell him: "Enjoy it, kid. Not all of us get awesome, caring, well-adjusted fathers."
I was jealous. I try to think of special times with Dad but I usually just draw a blank. Christmases, Easters, those I remember. But I remember precious few times where Dad and I were just doing something together. If I ever did anything with Dad, it was through work, always him trying to connect with me that way. It probably didn't help that I had no interests like his. I wonder if that ever frustrated him?
***
Matt was asleep on the couch as I put together crates of books and wrestling trophies. He'd gotten drunk the night before. His way to mourn, I supposed. Zach spent his time with his friends or down in his room.
I sorted books by stuff I wanted to keep and stuff I intended to donate to the Crosslake library. It was a new and privately-funded, hardly a blink on the literary map. But it was something to do with the endless amount of fantasy novels I'd never read again. I'd hand off those worlds to someone who would enjoy the trip.
The house was quiet and it made my stomach churn. We were going through all our stuff and his stuff and I didn't like it. Didn't like being there in that silent house, shifting through old records and books, opening safes and peering into small places where there was more likely to be heaps of mouse shit rather than anything that might be considered a stash.
He had liked to buy me books. He hadn't known what to buy, not unless I told him, but he had liked to. And I liked to read them. Mom had said he was happy when I asked for books, but sometimes I didn't ask, even when I wanted them. Sometimes I thought that he would say what a silly thing it would be to spend money on. But he never did. Then I was old enough to buy what I wanted and it never came up again.
Hardcovers. Paperbacks. Falling-apartbacks. I thought of the novel I wanted to write but probably never would, the novel that shifted and morphed with whatever book I was reading. Maybe it was time to start—to really start—and get it out of me. Get it off of my brain, where it lingered like a picked-at sore. But there was other writing to do first, wasn’t there?
***
“Have you written about it yet?” Reynolds sipped his coffee. I looked beyond him, out through the Klas Center front window and onto the Hamline main square. Last night I’d seen Turner, went over to his house and visited, which gave me more pleasure than I was willing to admit.
“Not yet,” I said. “I want to, but don’t know where to start.” I thought back to a post I blogged, with moments and beats and different styles.
“I want to write about how he died.”
***
"I'm going to call the cops." She wouldn't go away. Not ever.
"Oh yeah. You do that." He watched her turn and walk from the bar.
He stared at the counter then followed after her. He ignored her shouts and got into his truck and peeled out of the parking lot.
His eyes flicked up to his rear-view mirror and he saw her mimic his exodus and follow. He focused back on the road.
If she'd just stay away, maybe everything would be all right, but his phone was ringing now, and he knew just by a look into his mirror that she was calling. Trying to reach him. She could forget about that.
"Just stay away." He muttered.
He sped up but she kept pace. Eyes on his side mirror now, she was riding much too close to him.
The phone was still ringing and he grabbed for it and he was going to tell her to just get the hell away from him, it was over and he was done. His eyes were away from the road and then he was rolling and rolling and rolling—
Thursday, February 07, 2008
6 Months Hence
I turn in the paperwork today to end my tenure as an assistant language teacher. I'll be leaving Japan, and I will miss it, but the last month has really impressed upon me that, even though I enjoy teaching here, I'm also quite done with it and want to move on. This last month I gave myself the chance to consider renewing my contract, but ultimately couldn't do it.
Depending on any plans, I should be back in the states come August or September.
Depending on any plans, I should be back in the states come August or September.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!!!
I was looking forward to going to Elina's house for a sushi party on Saturday night, but because it turned out I had to work on Sunday, this plan was dashed. This was quite the blow for the party, since I planned to bring my Wii along and bust it out during the mid-party festivities. This is a special weekend for Wii players in Japan. While all the fanatics cry about it in American forums, the Japanese (and me, by default) are busy playing Super Smash Bros. Brawl.
Since I had Friday afternoon off, I joyously went to the city (boat, bus and footwork) to pick myself a copy. I'm always afraid of spending money in these instances, since Japanese media outlets are a cornocopia for japanaphiles. The gaming store has CDs, manga, DVDs and games from the NES era to the present day. Really anything I could ever want or hope for. They have this classic gaming corner with all the RPGs I grew up with, but in Japanese. Chrono Trigger? In the original Japanese? I sigh a lot lately, but I sigh there out of pleasure.
But Smash. Nintendo has got to be on the greatest streak in the world. It's perfect. The story mode, once you get past the audacity of its fan fiction qualities (Link meets Yoshi in the woods, Fox has tea with Zelda and Peach, Link and Zelda team up with Ganondorf despite his obvious desire to do them bodily harm), serves as a Nintendo grand tour. I came to admire it after awhile. There is no dialogue or explanation as to why these characters are together, yet they're distilled to their essences and play out their destinies according to their own internal logics.
The story mode took about eight hours to complete, and there's still more to it that I haven't quite puzzled out. But between the event matches, the single and all-star modes that you need to push 35 characters through, the stage builder, the trophy and sticker collection and the blessed online brawling, there's simply a wealth of activities.
A note about online brawling: I've never felt more satisfaction at having my ass handed to me. Despite my love of video games, I'm not that great a player, and it's telling in the online arena. But since it's anonymous and there's no ranking that would place me as the #1,673,294 brawler, I've found it's the best way to improve your game. I've seen characters used in ways I hadn't anticipated (someone trounced me and another brawler with Zelda last night using mostly long ranged attacks and some amazing evasion skills), and altered my play style accordingly.
Fun times, and I'm playing it a month before it's released in America. And I can't help gloating a little. It's too much fun not to.
Since I had Friday afternoon off, I joyously went to the city (boat, bus and footwork) to pick myself a copy. I'm always afraid of spending money in these instances, since Japanese media outlets are a cornocopia for japanaphiles. The gaming store has CDs, manga, DVDs and games from the NES era to the present day. Really anything I could ever want or hope for. They have this classic gaming corner with all the RPGs I grew up with, but in Japanese. Chrono Trigger? In the original Japanese? I sigh a lot lately, but I sigh there out of pleasure.
But Smash. Nintendo has got to be on the greatest streak in the world. It's perfect. The story mode, once you get past the audacity of its fan fiction qualities (Link meets Yoshi in the woods, Fox has tea with Zelda and Peach, Link and Zelda team up with Ganondorf despite his obvious desire to do them bodily harm), serves as a Nintendo grand tour. I came to admire it after awhile. There is no dialogue or explanation as to why these characters are together, yet they're distilled to their essences and play out their destinies according to their own internal logics.
The story mode took about eight hours to complete, and there's still more to it that I haven't quite puzzled out. But between the event matches, the single and all-star modes that you need to push 35 characters through, the stage builder, the trophy and sticker collection and the blessed online brawling, there's simply a wealth of activities.
A note about online brawling: I've never felt more satisfaction at having my ass handed to me. Despite my love of video games, I'm not that great a player, and it's telling in the online arena. But since it's anonymous and there's no ranking that would place me as the #1,673,294 brawler, I've found it's the best way to improve your game. I've seen characters used in ways I hadn't anticipated (someone trounced me and another brawler with Zelda last night using mostly long ranged attacks and some amazing evasion skills), and altered my play style accordingly.
Fun times, and I'm playing it a month before it's released in America. And I can't help gloating a little. It's too much fun not to.
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