MetaTalk "Open Mike" night

September 17, 2005 5:47 PM

Inspired by this blog's "Open Mike Friday" I thought I'd try a MetaTalk "Open Mike" night.

So, what's up/new with you? (Self-linking OK).
posted by spock to MetaFilter-Related at 5:47 PM (70 comments total)

Before you ask, I quote from the MeFi posting guidelines: "Make sure you're linking to something on the web. If you're posting a generalized question to the audience, or posting a comment as a main thread, either find an appropriate mailing list, or use MetaTalk.?
posted by spock at 5:48 PM on September 17, 2005

Magic 8-ball says:
This will not end well.
posted by yhbc at 5:49 PM on September 17, 2005

The Holocaust didn't happen!

Freedom of speech is fun.
posted by Pretty_Generic at 5:49 PM on September 17, 2005

Magic 8-ball also says:

# of posts until someone links to MetaChat = answer hazy, try again later

(okay, so it's not perfect)
posted by yhbc at 5:51 PM on September 17, 2005

boner
posted by JohnR at 5:52 PM on September 17, 2005

Where's a picture of an exploding manatee when you need one?
posted by Johnny Assay at 5:53 PM on September 17, 2005

Everyone here is too self aware to post without irony.
posted by fire&wings at 5:54 PM on September 17, 2005

This will not end well.

Well, it will depend upon the quality of the comments and commenters. One theory holds that only assholes hang out here. (I kid you. I kid you because I love you!)
posted by spock at 5:57 PM on September 17, 2005

Hi everyone! I bought some pants earlier and now I'm eating a tomato!

Anyone remember the Beavis and Butthead where they went to a poetry slam? That was a pretty great one, huh.
posted by thirteenkiller at 5:59 PM on September 17, 2005

In general, this kind of thing is frowned upon in MetaTalk. This section should be reserved for bug reports, requests for Matt to implement unfeasible features, protracted flame-outs, and garishly coloured animated sigs.

Just so you know.
posted by Johnny Assay at 6:05 PM on September 17, 2005

Yeah, I mean I'd love for this thread to remain, but it would display severe double-standards if it were to do so.
posted by Pretty_Generic at 6:07 PM on September 17, 2005

I am eight feet tall and entirely covered in feathers.
posted by Armitage Shanks at 6:07 PM on September 17, 2005

I ate a bee.
posted by Krrrlson at 6:09 PM on September 17, 2005

I have a very morbid curiosity to see this device in action.
posted by clevershark at 6:13 PM on September 17, 2005

And while I'm at it, this one also.
posted by clevershark at 6:14 PM on September 17, 2005

Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo Dasshutsu!! Hajike Rowaiaru
Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo Dasshutsu!! Hajike Rowaiaru
Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo Dasshutsu!! Hajike Rowaiaru
Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo Dasshutsu!! Hajike Rowaiaru
Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo Dasshutsu!! Hajike Rowaiaru
Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo Dasshutsu!! Hajike Rowaiaru
Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo Dasshutsu!! Hajike Rowaiaru
Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo Dasshutsu!! Hajike Rowaiaru
Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo Dasshutsu!! Hajike Rowaiaru
Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo Dasshutsu!! Hajike Rowaiaru
posted by Pretty_Generic at 6:17 PM on September 17, 2005

Klaatu baradu niktu?
posted by yhbc at 6:20 PM on September 17, 2005

i8ab
posted by Pretty_Generic at 6:22 PM on September 17, 2005

*belches, passes out*
posted by jonmc at 6:24 PM on September 17, 2005

posted by clevershark at 6:25 PM on September 17, 2005

Good one, Johnny Assay!!

P.S. to P_G: That may be so, but my question would be: am I not following the (quoted) MeFi posting guideline - to the letter?

As to MetaChat, I should not be required to register for some completely different website, just because it sounds like Metafilter and many other MeFites have chosen to do so.
posted by spock at 6:26 PM on September 17, 2005

More Mr. than Dr.
posted by Armitage Shanks at 6:31 PM on September 17, 2005

indeed, I'd like to think so.
posted by spock at 6:32 PM on September 17, 2005

True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country.
Kurt Vonnegut
posted by JohnR at 6:33 PM on September 17, 2005

Yes, you should. That's exactly what MetaChat is for.
posted by kirkaracha at 6:33 PM on September 17, 2005

*sniffs fingers*
posted by docpops at 6:36 PM on September 17, 2005

posted by selfnoise at 6:36 PM on September 17, 2005

No, no it's not. MetaChat is completely dedicated to discussing and emulating the sexual habits of rabbits.

Wanna see my carrot?
posted by loquacious at 6:37 PM on September 17, 2005

That's not a carrot.
posted by yhbc at 6:39 PM on September 17, 2005

*fetches peas*
posted by jonmc at 6:41 PM on September 17, 2005

Kranky quoted me on their website, so I'm pretty stoked.
posted by kenko at 6:41 PM on September 17, 2005

Well, first I got up, then I ate some toast, blah blah blah, and then you threw a squid at my window.
posted by ROU_Xenophobe at 6:48 PM on September 17, 2005

Oh, those are a bitch to squeegee off, dude.
posted by jonmc at 6:49 PM on September 17, 2005

"Where's a picture of an exploding manatee when you need one?"



You're welcome.
posted by mr_crash_davis at 6:51 PM on September 17, 2005

Somebody has to clean that control tower, you know.
posted by jonmc at 6:53 PM on September 17, 2005

may I cut in?
posted by jonmc at 7:01 PM on September 17, 2005

Wal-mart... do they like make walls there?
Paris Hilton
posted by JohnR at 7:04 PM on September 17, 2005

So messed up I want you here
In my room I want you here
Now we’re gonna be face-to-face
And I’ll lay right down in my favorite place
And now I wanna read your blog
Now I wanna read your blog
Now I wanna read your blog
Well c’mon
Now I’m ready to close my eyes
And now I’m ready to close my mind
And now I’m ready to feel your hand
And lose my heart on the burning sands
And now I wanna read your blog
And now I wanna read your blog
Now I wanna read your blog
Well c’mon
posted by moift at 7:11 PM on September 17, 2005

I was actually interested in reading the responses to the question. This is ... disappointing.
posted by monju_bosatsu at 7:13 PM on September 17, 2005

I am behaving for a few hours to instill a sense of false hope in you. Sometime soon, however, I will transform myself into Katrina of the Web, begin throwing errors, refusing connections and removing all the data from the document. You will be powerless to do anything about this. Yet you will still pander and grovel before mathowie. In this respect, you are very much like the American right with regard to George Bush.
posted by JRun at 7:25 PM on September 17, 2005

Agreed m_b. This is why we can't give them nice things.
posted by spock at 7:27 PM on September 17, 2005

I have it on good authority that MetaFilter will win the 2005 Best Part-Time Website award in the next issue of Business Week.
posted by Armitage Shanks at 7:29 PM on September 17, 2005

I've been composing an alternative version of reality.
posted by nanojath at 7:30 PM on September 17, 2005

I'm in a Fantasy Football League (yes, just ONE) in which I was pasted by the top scorer of Week One (his DEF alone scored 42 points) after which he showed extremely poor sportsmanship. However, I don't get mad. I get even.
: )
posted by spock at 7:30 PM on September 17, 2005

WHY does it do that? I know how to compose a link.
corrected link.
posted by spock at 7:34 PM on September 17, 2005

I got John Romita, Sr.'s autograph today at the Baltimore Comicon, so I'm pretty stoked.
posted by Faint of Butt at 8:09 PM on September 17, 2005

*Sends mr_crash_davis emergency room bill for causing him to snarf a vodka shot out of his nose*

*Makes triple-underlined entry in "Things not to do, ever!" notebook that reads "Never, ever read MetaFilter or MetaTalk while holding a mouthful of hard alcohol. Swallow, you dumbass!"*
posted by loquacious at 8:11 PM on September 17, 2005

Are we all just going to ignore item's elephant in the bathroom?
posted by If I Had An Anus at 8:11 PM on September 17, 2005

Faint of Butt, was Jim there?
posted by If I Had An Anus at 8:13 PM on September 17, 2005

I'm trying to, yeah. I got tired of waiting for the Dirty Sanchez.
posted by loquacious at 8:14 PM on September 17, 2005

Are we all just going to ignore item's elephant in the bathroom?

If we can ignore the raging gay subtext in Spock's cartoon link, I don't see why we can't ignore this too.
posted by Armitage Shanks at 8:15 PM on September 17, 2005

MetaTalk drinking game: For every [!], take a drink. For every instance of anus, take two. For every retooled obscure hipster popculture reference, take three. For every STFU, do a shot. For every genuine dramatic snark, do two shots. For every "this is why we can't have nice things" do three. If you can still stand, see or spell your own name, take four, and add a rule.
posted by loquacious at 8:20 PM on September 17, 2005

Are we all just going to ignore item's elephant in the bathroom?

Was that NOT an instance of anus becuase it is a dead comment hypertexting or because, in fact, I DO NOT HAVE AN ANUS!?
posted by If I Had An Anus at 8:26 PM on September 17, 2005

I think I may need a bathroom break?
(Drink thrice if you do not know the status of your urinary tract.)
STFU, odinsdream, what do have against having a drink with me and the DUers?
posted by If I Had An Anus at 8:34 PM on September 17, 2005

Mmm, manatees (the thread's) and cheap champagne (me). AND a drinking game - thanks loquacious!
posted by kalimac at 8:37 PM on September 17, 2005

I put new batteries in my Nintendo Game & Watch, and started downloading 16 Gigs of Gameboy ROMs in anticipation of Monday's release of the Gameboy Micro. The 512 meg ROM kit is already ordered :-)

It's raining here and I don't feel like going out.
posted by furtive at 8:43 PM on September 17, 2005

What exactly were you expecting, spock?
posted by mischief at 8:55 PM on September 17, 2005

I
am
downloading
tunes
.
posted by docpops at 8:56 PM on September 17, 2005

I think I had something mildly snarky to say, but then there was this exploding manatee...

I'm going back to the longboat, I got nothin'.
posted by grapefruitmoon at 9:05 PM on September 17, 2005

Alexander thought that this would be an excellent opportunity to discourse on the various the nature of the universe various phages that ate at the core of society. Caroline wasn't listening to him.
posted by delmoi at 9:13 PM on September 17, 2005

<sub>Seven Iverson is cold. Not cold as in hard hearted, or bitter, but cold as in low in temperature. Cold as in the molecules in his skin dance too slow. His nerves tell him this. And he tells us. Keeps mentioning it, over and over, how cold he was, how cold he was, how cold he was, Again and again and again. And of course we were all cold, and we were all tired, and we were all hungry, and weighed down, and sore, and all other manner of minor discomforts plagued us. But we didn't fucking bitch about it like Iverson.

There was always something wrong with the way he dressed, hard for me to pin down for though, because of the rather immutable nature of the armor we wear. But there's always some nit to pick. Like his guns will be lopsided, or the front of his jacket will be unzipped.
It's not just his clothes though, anymore, I don't like him, his physical appearance, I can't stand it. His eyes and his are black, and where I first thought I saw intelligence, I now see only vacancy. But more than anything, his face is weak. His features soft; his skin is pale and scarless. Rich boy, pretty boy. It makes me sick. Of course, I don't know what his body looks like, hidden under all those pounds of black polyfiber armor and weaponry, machinery. But In my mind is see him as this pudgy little punk, the muscles needed for this kind of work hidden under layers blubber. A small dick.

Iverson, Ivy, like the plant that creeps up the side of a building, slowly digging into the brick with thousands of little whatchamacalits, clutching to it, suffocating it. And my mind was his brick wall. Christ he was annoying. Not so bad when we started but as we progressed, my ability to stand him deteriorated. And now every word he ever spoke I felt my bones drug across an old dirty chalkboard.

The worst part was when he told his stories, hushed whispers at the campsites. Of course you couldn't really call them campsites, there were no fires – that would be suicidal – no tents, we just lay in a circle, still in our gear. Maybe one of us would have a biscuit. But probably not, you had to save those. They only gave you ten, just ten for the whole 15 weeks. Ivy, of course, finished his in the first two hours. I remember him getting sick from that, that night. All of us trying to keep him quiet. Trying to keep him from getting us killing us.

We'd be eating the gray mush that grew in our battery packs during the day. Genetically engendered, um something, food created from electrical sources rather then from the sun. It tasted like shit and Iverson would be telling us about how he ate at some great restaurant once and how the steak was just so juicy. And you could see the meat in front of you, on a fork; you could almost taste it in your mouth. Or about the Bar-B-Q his dad held when he was a kid, on the roof of the tower they lived in, a thousand meters in the sky. About the taste of BBQ Chicken then, and the blue sky above him then, turning slowly purple as the summer sun set.

But most of the time it was the stuff he made up, and that was the stuff that really got to me. About going back to that tower, when this was all over, about people dancing and signing in the streets again. About how things were back home. And again about that warm setting summer sun. And about women, on and on about women.

It was bullshit, and he knew it, the towers were all gone, the sky was filled with dust. And the women were out here too. Eating the same mush that we did, crying the same tears. Because they knew just like I knew, and just like He knew that we could never go home again, and that we were all going to die out here, in these god damn suits.

But he kept on telling the stories.</sub>

posted by delmoi at 9:14 PM on September 17, 2005

<sub>Ami's program found Kagomi's program, And so today they are all together deep on the 9th floor down, the 9th sub basement. Underneath the subway tracks that lead into the Kuriyama tower. They walk in a long and empty space, filled with huge pipes painted green and yellow and black and sometimes meters thick.

They lead Kagomi into a small room with a black metal door with a small window with the kind of bullet proof glass with thin metal strips woven through it. Myko tapes it over with white notebook paper. He lights a cigarette.

It was only a moment ago, Kagomi was playing a video game, lost in it, oblivious. Mihi put her hand on his sholder. Two men in powder blue suits with brass buttons stood stiff behind her, Immaculate. he was fired, hard. No severance, no nothing. Get out. The show as to script, a box in his hands, a framed photo of his long gone wife.

The men in blue suits followed him to the parking garage. Myko was waiting by his car.

The tape is duct tape, dull silver colored. And Hashimoto uses it to bind his hands to a small pipe that runs up to the ceiling. The small room stinks of tobacco smoke now. Ami coughs. Myko drops his cigarette to the floor and stomps on it.

"Look at this," Myko says. "I can't even smoke my two PM because of you. Bastard." He kicks Go's feet out from under him, and he half falls, strung up on his bound wrists. He squirms, he tries to get up. Myko kicks him in the stomach. Ami tries to take a deep breath, she coughs again.

"Fuck," she says.

"No ones out there, just open the door for a bit." Hashimoto says. He looks at Myko. "Idiot." Ami opens the door and does the one foot in one foot out thing and breaths cleaner air.

The video game had been this thing where you breed fighting monsters, and battle them online. Kagomi was trying to figure out how to add fur to "KagoMon" without upsetting the delicate balance of proteins that let it breath fire. Then Mihi put her hand on his sholder. Mihi was beautiful, Kagomi always liked seeing her smile when he came in in the morning.

Myko kicked him, this time in the nuts. He looks then to Hashimoto standing next to him. "Have you ever done this before?" he asks.

"A couple times." Hashimoto says. "But each time is an adventure of discovery." They both laugh. An awkward silence. Go's breath is staggered, like someone who's been crying. Ami walks in. Closes the door. Deep, easy breaths.

"Today is your lucky day Kagomi-kun," Go catches his breath, looks up. "If you are the kind of pervert who likes to get beat up by girls." The two men sanding laugh. Ami laughs too, and Hashimoto asks her: "Is there anything you want too know?"

Ami shrugs. "I'm curious about his software, how he found that kernel hole, you know, it wasn't a buffer overflow or anything obvious like that."

"I don't know anything about the software, they just gave it to me. Please. Please I'm sorry. Let me go, you don't have to do this I'll tell you everything, please."

"Shut up," Myko says. "Ami. He says he doesn't know. Now you hurt him, it helps make people remember."

Kagomi wails a rhythm. "no" and "please" and other things.

"What do I do?" Ami yells to be heard.

"Kick him, kick him in the arm, be careful. Don't injure him to much, don't hurt yourself. Don't do it to hard."

Kagomi calms down a little. Ami takes a step back. Hesitates. She kicks him in the arm. Dull leather orange and red sneakers. A crunching noise. Red blood stains his blue work shirt, drips on her sneakers. Go Kagomi screams. Ami jumps back. "Ah!" Her toes hurt, looks worried looks around, shaken, frenetic, looks at Hashimoto, "I'm sorry, I'm."

"Calm down!" grabs her shoulders, opens the door and takes her outside and closes it,

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I hit him to hard."

"It's OK, Ami, it's fine. See, that's why I said the arm. " He laughs, he smiles, she calms. They go back in.

Myko is on his knees, he's smashing his fist into Go's face. Making it bloody. Hashimoto holds Ami. A hand on her sholder, an arm around her waist.

It was only a moment ago, it was only a moment ago. Mihi had put her hand on his sholder, she was the assistant to the office manager in the industrial electrical supply department where Kagomi worked, she answered the phones, gave people mail. Black hair cropped short. Always had a smile on her face and Kagomi always liked seeing her happy care free smile when he came in to work in the morning. He liked her more then the old woman she replaced six years ago. Today she was sullen. Angry with him. Furious. He'd violated company security. He betrayed all of us. He disgusted her. She followed them out of her cube farm and left him with the powder blue suits. She didn't turn around. She didn't wave goodbye.

"Who are you working for!?" Myko screamed. He punched him again. repeated the question. And then stopped.

Now this girl, this girl he met at the bar. She had been a Harajuku girl, body-conscious, dressed to accentuate. Smooth Tanned skin and hair dyed the same color. This had been six months ago. This had been six months to the day before Mihi the assistant office manager put her hand on his sholder. Six months to the day before Ami broke his arm.

"You look sad." She said.

"I'm a lonely old man." He said.

"No one should be lonely" she said. "Buy me a drink."

She said she was sixteen. They went back to her apartment. She gave him a hand rolled cigarette that didn't stink and they took turns puffing on it. He felt more empty then normal and they laughed about stupid things. He touched her, she leaned in. her body was warm. It felt so nice to touch another person.

"Who are you working for!? Look at me!" Myko grabs him by his shirt, pulls him up a little so their eyes met.

"They said they were with MegaTek." He sniffs. "two million yen a month. I'm sorry."

That night she kissed him, first on the cheek, then on the mouth. She pushed him down. He laughed, she laughed, he laughed so hard that tears rolled down his face. Her breasts were so round, so pert, like soft little baseballs. He'd never fucked anyone so beautiful, so thin he could lift her himself, bounce her up and down. Her ass was perfect, mesmerizing. She moaned and grunted like an animal. His wife had been a squeaker.

"I don't care how much they're paying you, you idiot." Myko grabbed his blood-soaked arm and squeezed. Kagomi screamed. Ami shivered. Myko felt a piece of bone.

"What were you supposed to be looking for?" Hashimoto asked. Myko looked back at him,

"Just the Janus files, that's all. I was done. I was almost done," He started crying.

Five wonderful months. Like a dream. They were inseparable. They'd fuck and get stoned and go drinking go shopping (he paid, he didn't mind) and talk about politics. She was big into politics. She was always going on about how the world was about ready to change, shift like it never had before, she called it the singularity, the inflection point where technology would start to change so quickly that the future would be unimaginable. She said it was five years away. Kagomi thought it was all kind of silly, but it was interesting to talk about.

"Break his leg, Ami, break it!"

And this was like a hundred years ago or so. This man's name was Milgram and he did this sort of experiment where you came in and you tried to teach someone something simple, but they were an idiot. A hopeless idiot. And so you had to shock them harder and harder until they just would fucking learn something. And they screamed and wailed, and said they had a heart condition. And you shocked them more and more and then they just stopped talking, like they were dead. But it was all fake, it was all a setup to find out if you would actually do it. Milgram and his friends didn't think anyone would really do it, only a monster would do it. But everybody did it. everybody did it and they all felt sick, nobody liked it, And when the other person screamed they'd laugh a little bit. That was pretty common. That They'd laugh.

Ami had her arms around Kagomi's right leg and had her knees on his right knee and she was pulling. He was screaming.

There was a popping sound, a crunching sound. Ami laughed a little. Hashimoto and Myko both laughed. Hashimoto smiled down on her, a big warm loving smile with white perfect teeth.

And this part was just a month ago. It was just a month ago and one day Kagomi didn't see her, and the next day Kagomi didn't see her and he called her and he asked what was going on.

"Nothing, nothing is going on stop freaking out." Then she saw him, and things were good. She told him that she needed him.

Things stayed different, though and she didn't want to sleep with him, he yelled and cried and she told him she didn't like possessive guys. Stop being so possessive.

He was outside her apartment. She got out of a black Mercedes. She wore diamond jewelry. She introduced him to Michael, from Australia.

"You just can't provide me with what I need." She said coldly. "Michael has these little white pills that are like, just to die for." She smiled, coldly for a moment, and then broke down. She cried, he cried. "I hate doing this to you, I do."

"Then don't."

"I have to."

She pushed him away. All he wanted was to touch her.

He's screaming. Ami is squeezing his knee. Looking back at Hashimoto.

"Like this?"

"Perfect baby."

It was a month ago that he met him, another fucking Gaijian. Tall, immaculate, with brown hair. The same bar.

"Go Kagomi, right? You work for Kuriyama?"

"Yeah, uh, I know you?"

"No, but I have a lot of money that I'd like to give to you Kagomi-san." He smiled, perfect teeth like Hashimoto has now, smiling down at Ami torturing him. "I work for MegaTek. my name is…"

"Give us a name," Ami said firmly. Not angry, not out of control.

"Jason," He wailed. "Jason Hamsford." Ami looked back at Hashimoto. He shrugged.

"Let me go, let me go let me go please." Blood mixed with tears. "I told you everything. Why are you doing this, why are you doing this to me!?"

Ami looked at him. She was kneeling over him. She whipped tears from her face and stood up.

"Is that it?" She asked.

"Yeah."

"So what now?"

"Now we kill him."

Kagomi wailed.

Ami took a deep breath.

"Go ahead."

Ami took a small gun from her pocket.

"No," Myko half-smiled. "Beat him to death."</sub>

posted by delmoi at 9:15 PM on September 17, 2005

<sub>This is thirty years in prison, held in his hand, hidden in his coat pocket, wrapped in wax. There were supposed to be two packages, one for each of them but Old Jingu only had fat 250s, translucent marbled cloudy wax, carved in cubes. Straight stamped from North Korea. Half as much, and you spend six months in jail and start work on your Dutch asylum application. The Dutch were lenient these days, couldn't stop the Muslims from breeding so they were taking every pot-smoking hippy they could get their hands on. Gave them a joint and a voter-registration card.

That's the way it plays out in Rake's head anyway, at least if he had a 150 or less. But he had a 250 sealed in wax stamped North Korean. 50 grams of Dutch kind dank keef skunk hydro would get you just as high, but nooo they had to go by weight.

Nerves like frayed wires dragging on the pavement underneath a beat up 2007 Kia Spectra, one that had been ridden hard for a long, long time. All Rusty. Rake shook his head. Should not have taken mushrooms before doing this.

It should be easy, No one to bother him between old Jingu's place and the car and then Yogui's apartment.

One last deep breath. Yogui was there with him. They left.

Rake had tracked Briggettie Ann Young down in the hallway yesterday in the English school where they taught. Briggettie was his age, a warm smile, pink skin, brilliant and natural blond hair down to her shoulders. A little plump, but big tits and the Japanese men in her class adored her, in their shy way. Briggettie was an American, in all the ways that Rake could never be. Not just with a capital 'A', because technically you always capitalized ethnicities. No, Briggettie was American in italics.

"Briggettie!" Rake called out.

She turned, smiled "Hey, Regan, Sup?" she said. She looked delighted, as always.

"Not much, still converting the heathens?"

Briggettie laughed. "Still trying. So um, what have you been up to these days? Still writing?"

They walked, talked. About Rake's writing, About Briggettie's missionary work, about Rake's financial situation. See, the thing about that was Rake hadn't actually spent more money then he took in last month but he spent it in the wrong order, right, because the bank has this system.

Yogui's apartment is on the eighth and final floor of a run down old building in the foreign district. It had a big open living room with a kitchenette set into one of the walls. Big windows, hardwood floor covered with old tatami mats scattered around in no particular order.

The block is on the counter, and Yogui has a huge aluminum pot in his hands, oddly notched lip, the bottom of a pressure cooker and he had a lid for it somewhere. The metal is scorched and discolored from countless evaporations and boilings and chemical shenanigans. He is filling it with water.

"Zhe shi she ma? Ma? Zhe shi ma ma!? What the fuck le?!" Chinese was an interesting language, words had different meanings depending on the tone, rising, falling, dipping or flat. Some of the "ma" in that sentence meant something like a question mark, some of them meant something like marijuana.

"Hey Rake, how you?" Zhe Li is Yogui's girlfriend. Nominally a graduate student studying bio-informatics. She's about 5'5" long hair, thin body, wore sweatpants and a tank top. Little tits.

"I'm alright. How you doin' Jelly?"

Zhe Li just sighed, looked at Yogui. "Baka!" She said. The word meant "Idiot" in Japanese.

"Would you relax?" Yogui asked, exasperated, which caused a high-pitched, loud stream of syllables to spew from Zhe's lips. Expletives from four different languages.

See the bank has this system -- as Rake was explaining to Briggettie -- They charge you $100 every time you overdraft your account. But the bank has this odd definition of the word "time". In which the atomic unit was the called the "day". The day could overlap other days and lasted between 12 and 36 hours, depending on how much they could charge you in fees. Purchases made during a day were then ordered in randomly, so: buy gas, buy gum, by some sushi, buy a beer, buy a ride on the subway, pay your rent and suddenly everything costs $100. Except the rent. Then they'd go ahead and charge you $20 a day until your balance was positive.

So Rake's bank balance was $-400 now, and he was asking Briggettie to get involved in some kind of complicated financial venture whereupon she, parting with $420 today would be in twenty days $80 richer. That would be the paycheck after next.

"I don't know, Regan. It just seems like I'm taking advantage of you somehow."

"Well, we've done this before. Come on, They're charging me $20 a day, and you know I'm good. You know I've already worked this week, I'm just waiting for the check."

"Well, your bankers are probably already going to hell."

Rake laughed. "Well, you can loan me the money interest free, if you want."

Briggettie just looked at him, raised her eyebrows, "ha-ha. Right."

"Doesn't the bible say you should help those in need?"

"It also says usury is bad."

Rake sighed. "I don't understand how *not* giving me the money is better for me. I mean I'm kind of, uh, screwed here. Just from a logical perspective."

Briggettie laughed out loud. "You're not much of an ethicist, Regan."

Rake took a deep breath. "Well, how about $120. I pay you back $540 on the fifteenth."

Briggettie contemplated for a moment. Sighed. "all right."

The wax melts in the boiling water, a plastic shrink-wrapped bag, a pair of scissors. Smell fills the room. This is good stuff. Yogui divides it in half, puts half in a zip lock bag, rolls it up dips in the cooling water with the wax-slush film on top. that gets it coated in wax, and then he covers it in cling wrap. The rest is split up, two 60s or so in Ziploc bags. One for rake to take home later, one for Yogui to keep. A finders fee. Found the buyer, found the seller, found the money.

Rake left the English school with 21,000 yen in his pocket, but the ATM at the train station told him the bank already charged him his $20 for the day, and the dollar had rallied half a yen since the last time he checked. Depositing the money wouldn't do him any good, he'd still accumulate fees until his next payday. He called Yogui. He explained the system. He told Yogui how he could double $20 in twenty days, and Yogui told him how he could double twenty thousand yen in one day. Rake found the argument compelling.

And so now Zhe Li takes a long slow drag off a little white joint, the tip burns bright orange. She coughs, gasps for air.

"Ay-ya!"

She starts to laugh. They pass it around until white paper tube is a little stump, and they throw it away. Its dark in the apartment, warm incandescent light in the mini-kitchen lights the whole apartment, and the stars of countless apartments off into the distance through those big windows. Yogui and Zhe Li are sitting on a battered old couch brown couch, and Zhe is illuminated by the cool green-blue light of a small computer in her lap. Yogui's desktops across the room a constellation of brightly colored LEDs.

They sit around the table for a while, eating cheap frozen pizza. The best pizza ever made. They talk about how high they are, and laugh their asses off. It's seven fifty seven and Yogui calls Shibu to confirm.

ASquare is a midlevel nightclub on the edge of the foreign district, and they're playing this new kind of Brazilian hip-hop where the background track sounds like sampled old blues sped up and slowed down played backwards. It's dim inside, warm, arcs of colored light in air filled with nicotine smoke. The place was packed, mostly foreigners, Indians and Latinos and Caucasians. Japanese people looking for a good time, Shibu is one of them. A slender arm, waving.

"Rakeu!!"

A bob of bright pink hair, shimmery in the flickering lights. Creamy tan skin spiced with a tiny bit of glitter. Her body was slender, wrapped in soft faded yellow cloth, loose, and tightened in the right places to show off her breasts, and her hips. Subtle lipstick. She was intoxicating.

He nodded, walks over. "Let's go somewhere more discrete." He has to yell over the music. ASquare was designed with lots of nooks and crannies, little hidden away corners in the dark. This one is small, and the two of them are pushed together, her breasts just touching his chest. He bends down, his mouth near her ear. Not whispering, just inside voices, just loud enough to hear over the thick bass that flows through the walls.

"You have the money?"

Her chin is on his sholder. "Yeah." Opens her purse, pulls out four 10k yen notes. Rake takes a quick look. Pockets them. He pulls the wax wad from his pocket and puts it in. Smiles.

"You know why these little corners are here, right?" She asks in Japanese, voice low and smooth. She pushes her body up against his. "Uh, I uh, I don't..." stammers. "Kiss me". He kisses her, she kisses back. He grabs her breast, left breast. She exhales. A pure and perfect moment.

She pushes him away, and smiles. "Lets go dancing." She says. He says "I can't" he laughs. "That's OK," she laughs, "neither can I. That's kind of my thing." and they spend the night drunkenly dry humping and drinking cheap beer and laughing their asses off.

Shibu Arakashii's Apartment is huge, and expensively appointed in traditional Japanese style, not counting the large soft white leather couch, or the track lighting, or the thin-film OLED video display.

"Hey, what took you so long?" The Japanese girl on the couch asks. "Who's that?"

"Rake." Shibu says.

"Hi." The girl on the couch has black sholder-length hair, a tight baby doll t-shirt that reads "Black for life." In English, and a pair of pink hello-kitty panties. "I'm Namiko."

Shibu is unwrapping the lump of wax, pulling it apart with her fingers. She opens the baggie and smells it. Big smile. Takes a lighter and pipe out of a drawer. Stumbles over to the couch next to Namiko. "Come on, join us." She says. Slurs her words. Pounds on the sofa next to herself.

"Supa Fucku Party!" She says in English. Namiko blushes, looks away. Shibu Takes a big long drag on the pipe. Coughing fit. "Sakle bleu!"</sub>

posted by delmoi at 9:17 PM on September 17, 2005

in her silk, or satin dress
pale pink or maybe white
contrasts the dark room
the dim lights are reflected
off the gillter
on her skin.
as her body sways, and twists
to the loud, deep music
posted by delmoi at 9:18 PM on September 17, 2005

^{member since: August 24, 2001
delmoi has posted 55 links and 3906 comments to MetaFilter
and 10 threads and 267 comments to MetaTalk
and 12 questions and 519 answers to Ask MetaFilter}
posted by delmoi at 9:20 PM on September 17, 2005

Just say no to drugs, kids.
posted by mr_crash_davis at 9:22 PM on September 17, 2005

Let's see so far this weekend, including Friday, I have spent 16 hours studying cell biology, downloaded one torrent that was in german unknowingly, walked seven mile and ran .65 miles, eaten fast food twice, had my check engine light come on and go off once, smoked 43.5 cigarettes, done one short session of yoga, put down about 150 pages of the two books I'm reading and spent way too much time on metafilter. So if you asked me this question in real life I'd probably say...

"Nothing but If I see one more phosphate group I'm going to vomit in relief for I will have actually lost my mind. What's up with you?"
posted by 517 at 9:24 PM on September 17, 2005

Hey, I didn't read ANY of that shit! How about YOU?!?
posted by yhbc at 9:33 PM on September 17, 2005

So, what's up/new with you?

I despise you for pissing on Metafilter, and encouraging other halfwits to join you in the pissfest. That's pretty new.
posted by stavrosthewonderchicken at 10:00 PM on September 17, 2005

4 shows in 3 days in tokyo next week (shinjuku pit inn, oct 23-25)

followed by 3 week tour in west coast u$a: www.chelagallery.org/english

then back home, to seoul.
posted by Joseph Gurl at 10:11 PM on September 17, 2005