A foolish assumption

It was foolish of me to assume that the few weeks leading up to my trip to the US would gradually slow down as I tied up all remaining loose ends. It was a foolish assumption. I know that now. It's possible that I'll make it to America incident-free, but at this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if I got wiped off the face of the Earth by a meteor shower... fingers crossed that that doesn't happen.

Of all the things that I need to do over the next week until departure, I'd have to say that the one I'm 'looking forward' to the most is the YMCA Charity Run this weekend - and not because it's the best excuse for me to wear a cowboy hat and chaps out in public in the middle of the day (like I even need an excuse...). I've been guilted into participating by the company I work for part-time, and when I told the lady in the company who has been charged with recruiting / brow-beating / blackmailing people into being a part of the team, that I dislocated my knee, her first response was not "How are you? Are you ok?"; it was "So what are you saying? You can't run?" Overwhelmed by the depth and sincerity of her concern, I could feel tears welling in my eyes... Of course, it could have been because I had shifted my weight to the aforementioned injured knee without realising it. So it turns out that I'll be running this weekend...

On the plus side, by running in the Charity Run (a shin-fracturing 1.8km), I'll surely find out whether I did develop a blood clot through the dislocation (which has been worrying me a bit given my impending flight) because, no doubt, all that blood pumping will surely push the little sucker (if it exists) into my brain, and then my obituary can say that I gave my life to help charity. The downside being that my parents, given their warped sense of humour, would probably end up playing the Village People's "YMCA" at the service...

I'm sitting in a cafe writing this, waiting an excruciatingly long time for a dentist appointment. It's going to be a painful experience. Sure, I'll get anesthesia, but I have a natural immunity to it, and it usually takes a double dose and an extra 30 minutes before it kicks in. But the dentists never believe me the first time I visit them, and it usually only take 5 minutes of drilling into my nervous system and me screaming like a hyena before that realise that I wasn't kidding. It always happens. Without fail.

So, in summary, I will be going to America next week provided that my shins don't fracture, my knee doesn't shatter, a blood clot doesn't lodge in my brain, I don't die from traumatic shock to the nervous system in my gums or get hit by a meteor shower...

P.S. Just came back from the dentist. Guess who needs root canal! O ho, what fun!

Only 2 weeks to go until I'm off to America.

Sure, there'll be plenty of fun things to see and do, but I'm predicting that my most exciting time in America will likely be my first couple hours there. Between the time I arrive in LA, and the time I have to tear-arse across the tarmac and race to (what will no doubt be) the other side of LAX to catch my flight to San Francisco, I have the ever-comfortable window of 2 hours.

"Well that seems simple enough," you say, "what's the big deal? Why, that's plenty of time to check into the next flight AND knit a cardigan with a pattern of a portrait of President Bush Jr. on the back..."

Maybe, but lets not forget about my newly dislocated knee, which will inevitably decide to grind up a tendon or two should I even think about moving briskly. Yup, between my brittle-boned body hobbling through a crowded airport and the security's proclivity for cavity-searching young Australians in the hope that they might find a drug mule, the cosmic consensus is rather dim that I'll make it on time for my flight that day... but I suppose life would be boring if there weren't any obstacles to overcome, or invasive body searches to grit your teeth through.

Strictly speaking, I'll be traveling with Miss A, a friend of mine - but knowing me (as I do), chances are that I'll get sick of talking to her. So in an attempt to stave off any homicidal tendencies that are more than likely to develop, we've enlisted a mascot to be the third member to our road trip menagerie... Barry the Ninja. I expect that Barry, being the camera whore that he is, will feature in a fair few of our photos around America. Miss A was supposed to bring a koala or something like that when she came over to Japan the other day from OZ, but... well... a long and painful story short... we have Barry now.

How Now, Brown Cow?

A seemingly innocuous day of me going to work was promptly punctuated by the discovery that someone has committed bovine brutality - someone has gone and painted graffiti over all the cows in Tokyo. I submit the following of the victims as evidence.