New Year’s Day was Oshogatsu, a freakin’ delicious but labor intensive day of sushi-making and consuming. The fear in the hearts of sweet little old Japanese grandmothers everywhere is that this traditional will soon be lost. No one knows how to make traditional sushi anymore. Seriously, when did all these super freaky rolls start hitting the big time? Like, why put corn chips in a roll? Really? Or fried chicken fingers or gobs of pink mayo. Do not misunderstand me here. I love all that shit. But sushi has lost its way. It’s become some weird, bastardized fat-American concoction. For shame.
So I try to watch and learn. Little Granny Kimi is depending on me. Mind you, there are a lot of distractions. This is the only time of year I see certain very eccentric members of my family. My cousin, who rarely comes home, was in rare form. He showed me his Zippo with the kanji for “Honor” on the front. I was like, “dude, I didn’t know you smoked!” And he said, “Oh no. Not me. But like they say, ‘it’s always good to be prepared’.” He always talks in cliché. It’s unbelievable. He will hold entire conversations without using a single original statement. “I picked this one because my other choice was ‘Luck’ and you know what they say about Luck—‘it’s a flimsy ally.’” I should also mention he is a collector of weapons and a believer in the Force. He talked to my brother about his most favorite Star Wars video games. He’s one of the nicest guys I know.
Some of the other kooks in the family are just plain whacked. But they give me such great material. It’s all up there in my head. One day to be memorialized. Like today. My mother’s cousin (I just make it simple and call him uncle) is also a strong believer in the Force. He’s one of those people who leers at you creepily, just waiting for you to say something he might have an opinion about. And he’ll give it shamelessly. Jerk squad. He caught me unawares and chewed my ear off for about 20 minutes about corporations who have far too many VPs. I don’t even know how we got on that topic.
I was trying hard to play good hostess and walked on into the living room with a tray of Lil’ Smokies in BBQ sauce and said, “Teeny Weenie anyone?” “Yeah thanks, but I have one right here.” Points at crotch. Yikes. My 7-foot-tall physical therapist uncle. Rough crowd.
Thinking about my cousin the Honorable Warrior made me think about a fellow Warrior of note—the Ultimate Warrior. Yes, the WWF Ultimate Warrior. I was way into wrestling as a kid. I even went to a couple matches at the Cow Palace and lost my purse and $5 once. Anyhow, my friend Andrew told me all about how the Ultimate Warrior wrote a comic book called…what else…WARRIOR. By all accounts it was ridiculous and a huge failure. He’d introduce characters that you never saw again. None of the books picked up where the last one left off. It centered around the state of Destrucity which was not only a physical place but a state of being as well. Awesome. Very deep. An excellent and informative article can be found at http://www.i-mockery.com/minimocks/warrior-xmas/. The whole point of this, aside from thinking about all the Warriors I know and am related to, is that in one issue the Warrior talks about getting foked. There’s an editor’s note at the bottom of the page which reads something like “Foked = focused.” I am all about getting foked. Seriously, I have a serious foke-deficiency. I need to make up word like that.
I use a knife and foke. But seriously, your lack of focus might improve if you wear your foke-me shoes, and listen to foke music.