The good thing is that he gets to have a few days off with me. I'm on vacation for 9 days as per my employment agreement, but Don had to fall in a hole to have that luxury.
The other good thing is that an omoshiroi hito drove us to the ER at 1:00 in the morning: a jazz songwriter of indeterminate age with red hair. He told us his name was Sanshiro Fushimi. Later I asked for his meishi, which indicated that his real name was Kosei something.
When I called him on it, he explained that Sanshiro Fushimi (SunSeaLaw WhoSeeMe) was his stage name, and that he'd been on his way to buy black hair spray for his daytime identity as a Fujitsu consultant, when we asked him if he knew a 24-hour clinic.
Jazz seems to follow me wherever I go (or I follow it). Born in New Orleans, relocated to Denton where countless great musicians trained, brought to Kobe (Japan's jazz capital) by Mafumi's jazzy ex. My landlord listens to Miles Davis records in his office. I even hear jazz where it isn't there (i.e. in the buzz of a fly).
It's nearly 5am, and I don't know what I'm talking about. Sorry about that. Three days remain of my vacation. We watched "Kung Pow" this evening with Jason, and "The Man Who Wasn't There" last night. We haven't seen Zorro in a while, but someone has been eating the cat food on the veranda. I have yet to send Peter's CDs to Himeji, and I think he's leaving the country tomorrow. Oops, I suck. I took some pictures of Don in his bandages, which I may post tomorrow with his permission.
Oyasuminasai.
