Monthly Archives: March 2003

File under, "true"

So, there were four of us in the toy store the other day, being mildly disruptive. After we got back, I had the following conversation:

PraxisLoki: That girl working at the toy store was cute!
Yuriko Kinje: Which one? There were two.
PraxisLoki: The one that found us amusing.
Yuriko Kinje: They both found us amusing.
PraxisLoki: Oh right–the one with short hair then.
Yuriko Kinje: They both had short hair.
PraxisLoki: Hrm.
Yuriko Kinje: The one with one arm or two arms?
PraxisLoki: Oh, the one with two arms. The one armed one, though, she was pretty cute, too.

Awkward silence

Yuriko Kinje & PraxisLoki: Yeah.

I believe that this is the first time in my life where “number of arms” has been the descriptive tie breaker.


It’s snowing outside. Yesterday was 72 degrees and humid.

I love this place.

Okay, fine

I’ll talk about it. But all I’m going to say is that it doesn’t seem to make sense. Thanks to crookdimwit.


Just about a week now, but who really feels like talking about something that everyone wants to avoid talking about?

In any case, here’s an interesting cereal, courtesy krasota. She likes the fact that they’re advertising it as a natural laxative.

Walking to work and around the city, I see a lot of American flags wrapped around themselves. Appropriate metaphor?

And, speaking of Korea, (I know–we weren’t) I watched Shiri, which was fantastic. I’m purchasing the DVD right now, and eagerly awaiting a second viewing. Quick summary in less than ten words: Psychological Espionage Thriller Romance in South Korea.


     This week was ghosts.
     A few wayward strands of her hair brushed against my cheek as she sat down next to me. She always felt that the metro was cold, even in the summer, and I was a convenient source of heat. I felt her head on my shoulder as she settled into the seat and closed the small gap between us. Familiar fingers entwined themselves with mine.
     The seat next to me was empty, but I felt her touch.
     Last week, it was her voice. When I indulged in light eavesdropping at the art show, she admonished me. She laughed at the funny stories I told the regulars at the bar. She ordered her favorite dishes at the restaurants that we loved. On the train, she whispered silly comments in my ear about the other commuters.
     The week before, it was her reflection. I’d see her in the bathroom mirror, arms wrapped around me as I splashed water on my face. Window shopping, I’d see her laugh as she pointed at objects in boutique windows. I’d see her reflected in the smoke grey plastic of the train windows, seated next to me as I went home.
     But this week–this week was ghosts.
     I’d grown used to it. This wasn’t the only time. Monday, she massaged the back of my neck after I got home from work. Tuesday, I woke up with her arm draped over me, her body rising and falling with soft breaths that I felt on my neck. During those times, I kept my eyes closed. I knew it wasn’t happening, but it was a small comfort.