So my birthday ranged from terrible to livably okay. As I said before, Yoko and I both have colds, so we had to cancel our plans to go to Nagoya, which weren’t all that ambitious in the first place. Instead, we wandered around Tajimi. We discovered a new Italian restaurant, which was good, but we kind of got into an argument there and spent half the time in silence.

After that we wandered around for awhile before deciding to just rent the Ghostbusters movies, eat some fancy cake at the local fancy cake shop, and go home. We also bought a bar for our closet. The kind that uses tension to support itself so you don’t have to make any holes.

Well, two video stores didn’t have Ghostbusters, and the third store did. But as soon as we left the store it started pouring rain, presumably making us even sicker since we were on bikes. Fearing this, we decided to skip the birthday cake and just go home.

Ghostbusters and Ghostbusters II were good, but not really BIRTHDAY good. When I was a kid I used to watch Ghostbusters II every single day. When you turn twenty-five and you still haven’t thought of anything better to do, it puts you in a bit of a dark mood.

Also, though, have you ever noticed that the plots of both Ghostbusters movies are terrible? The performances are so good and visual effects so charming that you hardly even think about it. You really have to respect the actors, and in particular I think Sigourney Weaver has an incredible ability to make the most ridiculous concepts halfway convincing. I won’t refer to the original Alien because that movie is magical in pretty much every way, but Sigourney pretty much single-handedly saved Aliens, and pushed Alien 3 to “amazing” status (in my mind).

And to those who say “What about Alien: Resurrection? That sucked!”, well, that’s just a sign of how incredibly sucky that movie was. Even she couldn’t save it. Especially since they made her a mutant clone monster.

I guess I’ll have some kind of “makeup” birthday when we’re both feeling better, if that ever happens. This cold just hit the two-week mark.

Today I’m twenty-five. This song pretty much sums up birthdays anymore. Please listen. It’s awesome. Also, funfact: it was in the Mallrats soundtrack and never released on any other album.

Yoko and I both have colds, so there will be little to no festiveness tonight, but there’s not a whole lot to do in this town anyhow.

It is Sunday and I’ve been sick. You know, a cold gets described as all these things, but ultimately it’s just a sort of variety show for snot. How many ways can snot impede your life?

Actually it’s more like watching snot reenact the migration of American pioneers across the Oregon Trail. It starts in nose country, and spreads out towards either your throat (uh, Louisiana?) or your godforsaken ears (the West Coast). Everyday it makes a stop in a new place, enduring (er, causing) whatever trials may come along with it.

Today we’re in ear infection country. These Apaches can’t be reasoned with so get the muskets. They’ll never take us alive.

I don’t think I’ve had an ear infection since I was about seven. Back then they used to make you drink foul, white liquid. Now WebMD is just telling me to tough it out. Luckily, Tough It Out is my middle name.

A new song!

You know the spiel–amateur recording, sorta sounds like crap. Try listening on headphones.

Here’s the lyrics.

There’s no way to stop the rain,
It persecutes the driest plain and overfloods the paths that we have walked for days and days
And there’s no use in recreating melodies nor memories,
No I want something more unique to fill my nights and days

We have got to get out of this mess, yeah
So why don’t we find someplace that’s a little less stressed than this?
‘Cuz I just want to forget all of these crazy days
So why don’t we go up North where we can chill?

There’s no way to bring that rain when water’s all gone down the drain
The grass is always greener where it dances with the grain
And window panes nor cellophane shall block views of the inhumane
So let’s find someplace more opaque and wander in the maze

We have got to get out of this mess, yeah
So why don’t we find someplace that’s a little less populous?
‘Cuz I just want to forget all of these crowded days
So why don’t we go up North where we can get away?

In the Snow Country
We’ll forget this all
In the Snow Country
In the Snow Country
We’ll forget this all

There’s no way to beat the sun
It cuts the rules for everyone
And lords itself above us with the promise of the day
And I’m not blamin’ anyone for poison that has touched this tongue,
No I’m just saying toxically I’ve got to get away

‘Cuz we have got to get out of this mess, yeah
So why don’t we find someplace with a little bit more finesse?
‘Cuz I just want to forget all of this senselessness
So why don’t we find someplace where we can break down?

Oh it’s the Snow Country
We’ll forget this all
In the Snow Country
In the Snow Country
We’ll forget this all

We’ve walked for days and days
We’ve walked for days and days
We’ve walked for days and days
We’ve walked for days and days

In the Snow Country
In the Snow Country
We’ll forget this all
We’ll forget it all

‘Cuz we have got to get out of this place, yeah
So why don’t we find someplace with a little more providence?
‘Cuz I’m just looking for a place to bury my pain
So why don’t we head up North where we can change?

Link! (Might take a few hours to upload)

I used to be all right about flying. They say children have the most active imaginations, but it wasn’t until reaching my mid-twenties that I was able to envision my own death with such vivid terror. I find now that every time I get on a plane is more excruciating and nerve-wracking than the last. Sixteen hours is a pretty big window of time to allow something–and take your pick of WHAT thing, since there are about a billion choices–to go wrong. And every time I make the trip I’m just increasing my chances, if by only a miniscule amount.

Then there’s been this story. Horrifying. The odds of dying in a plane accident may not be very high, but when you’re the lucky winner, you’re in for one of the most horrible methods of death I can think of. My new assistant at work used to work as a flight attendant, and she was telling me today how it’s not so bad, that if you die in the crash it’s nearly instantaneous. “It’s just like, boom, dead!” she said comfortingly.

Yeah, that’s the instant that the plane crashes. But that doesn’t account for the preceding minute or so of plummeting to your absolute death as the sub-par airline food returns up to your mouth. Even worse is if you somehow manage to survive the initial impact but then find yourself in the middle of the Pacific ocean, either drowning or floating hopelessly until you starve to death or get eaten by something.

How do people who fly a lot fly so much?

And on that note, I always thought teleportation was the substitute for me, but then a couple weeks ago I saw The Fly. Holy shit.