I am fascinated with the Palin family’s naming of their kids.  There’s Track, Trig, Willow, Bristol, and Piper.  Very unique.  And of course, there’s the new Palin grandbaby, Trip.

I’ve given this some thought, and I’ve come up with some more names  along that line just in case any of you were thinking of adding to your families (snicker).

Tofu
Torq
Trick
Tock
Trap
Tide
Tap
Tong (well, maybe only if you’re Oriental)
Tang
Trooper
Tivo
Tarp (very manly; almost as good as naming a little guy Duct Tape)
Thor
Thunder (oh, wait, that’s a horse’s name)

And that’s only the “Ts”. I mean, why not “Hammer”? Cool. Or Piston? Oh, the possibilities!

For girls, I favor Algebra and Tundra.

Apparently, I’m not the only one fascinated. It turns out there’s a name generator for Palin names. If the Palins had named me, I would be “Khaki Salmon”. Give it a try. We’d love to find out what your name would be if you were named by the Palins.

Your Palin Name

The comments on the Palin Name post linked above are hysterical. I think my favorites, though, are “Bomb Locomotive” and “Axe Diesel”. LOL.

Yesterday was warm and sunny. No jacket required. Today was cloudy and sunny. I have on capris and a short sleeved tee shirt.

That’s why winter is such an adventure here. I have the air conditioner on. It’s actually pleasant outside, but humid. The house is stuffy and gummy feeling. I turned on the AC as much to suck out the humidity as to cool it. Next week, I may have the heat on.

Packing to go anywhere in the state for a few days requires taking clothes for all seasons. It’s a gamble as to what the weather will be at any given time from October through April. Last week, we had sleet and ice. This week, people are wearing shorts.

At least in the summers, there is no doubt what to wear and which utility to turn on. The air conditioner generally runs about 18 hours a day. Everyone who can avoids physical labor in the hottest part of the day. Sometimes, even at 8:30 or 9 p. m., the heat from the pavement still rises in palpable waves. Ah, that’s my kind of climate.

My oh my, what a wonderful day!   I’m in the middle of packing for my winter vacation and will be leaving to catch the airport bus shortly.  As usual I’m going to stay in my favourite resort town in the south of Japan (pictured).  My annual hangover awaits.  I’ll be back in a week.  Merry Christmas, everybody!

Not just the fried chicken or the cakes.  No, the best part is being far, far away from that pack of inbred fuckwits in SheepLand, and therefore avoiding cosy little scenes like this.  Have fun, suckers!

Can you hear it?  It’s the sound of my last working day for the year (and comes second only to the huge sigh of relief that I let out on November 4th of this year, along with everyone else that I know).   Today was a doddle.  I taught English to a bunch of my ladies in the morning, and then for lunch we went to a certain French bistro.  I love this place.  It’s the kind of place that’s so good that you hestitate to tell anyone about it, and swear all your friends to secrecy, because you don’t want it to be swamped with wannabe customers and pretentious magazine reviewers.  Fortunately one of my ladies had the foresight to discreetly make reservations two months ago, otherwise we would never have gotten our table today.  It’s a tiny place, seating only seventeen people at most, and offers only two main courses – meat or fish.  The owner/chef is Japanese, but lived and worked for several years in Paris.  His wife is the manager, and their three beautiful daughters are the waiters and wine advisors.  For a mere 25 dollars you get not only a main course, but one glass of wine, unlimited bread, an excellent starter (mine even featured a dab of caviar), a soup, a dessert (seven different kinds to choose from), wonderful coffee, and unsurpassable service.  Oddly enough this place never advertises, and yet is always fully booked.   Never underestimate the power of word-of-mouth, especially amongst well-heeled housewives!

I must admit that I’d grown to hate the ubiquitious French cuisine over the past couple of years, but this place was good enough to make me love it again.   It even made up for my ghastly experience a couple of weeks ago at the stupid big name restaurant (which I fully expect to close within the next year, once people realise what a rip-off it is).   Hooray for small, family-run places!  Let’s raise a glass to them.

Today was the day of the annual Christmas concert.  For the first part of it the kids and I did six festive songs together with Sonbeam accompanying us on piano, then they did their piano pieces (utterly charming!) then he and I performed a stunning rendition of “Up on the Rooftops,” a song which I had never actually sung before (as you know it has three verses and I memorised them all on the train on the way to the venue).   I started out okay, with the help of my trusty tambourine, but at the third verse I got a bit flustered … and, well, you know that Christmas stocking part where you’re supposed to sing “also a ball and a whip that cracks?”  Well, I forgot the words and ended up belting out “also a gun and a big fat crack!”  (It didn’t help much that the next line was “ho, ho, ho, who wouldn’t go!”)  What the hell was I thinking?

Fortunately for me, the only other person in the hall who understood my English was the Sonbeam, who could barely keep the smirk off his face as he tinkled the ivories.

Unfortunately for me, the whole concert was recorded for posterity, and copies of the DVD are being sent to the families of all the kids who participated.   I am praying that none of them have grandmas in the USA.

I got halfway through this before giving up in disgust, somewhere around “today I take my first subway ride in 30 years.”  Oh the humanity!

I know what you’re thinking: who?  Well, Corot is some French geezer who was very good at painting, and was getting up in my face all the time for the past few months, on account of an exhibition of his works taking place in Kobe City Museum this past autumn.  Many people invited me to go, but I couldn’t be arsed because I’d never heard of the man.  Now that I’ve done a bit of research into his life and works, I’m kind of kicking myself.   Life is short, we should grab every chance.

… was these cute little cheese things from France. I bought two trays of them, one purportedly in the style of Provence, and the other flavoured like “Italiano” (not that I’d know the difference).   I think they are supposed to be eaten like canapes, on crackers, but I couldn’t be bothered.