Yup, that's right. Good ol' Jeffles has aged yet again. He just can't stop! He's like a rabid badger on fire, running for a shiny, silver river! Not a damn thing could slow HIM down!
Sorry, I went a bit overboard there. I can't help it, birthdays always make me want to be silly like that. Actually, every day makes me want to be silly like that. Birthdays are just another day. Hrm.
Anyway, yes, I was born on Valentine's Day. That usually gets one of two replies, which tends to be divided along gender lines. From girls: "Aw! That's so cute!" From guys: "Huh." This is often followed up by a declaration that I'm incredibly lucky and that the girls must looooove me. Well, let me tell you! They most certainly do!
Wait, no, that's not what I meant to say. I meant to say that a Valentine's Day birthday actually kinda sucks because, on my birthday, all my friends are either with their girl/boyfriends or thinking about the boy/girl they wish they were with.
When I was a little kid, probably in Kindergarten, I discovered for the first time how poorly timed my birthday was. Valentine's Day rolled around, just like it does every year, and I trudged through the February snow to my school, just like I did every day. (In fact, I was probably driven there and had barely even touched my feet to the ground before I was inside the school.) Then, a wondrous thing happened. People started giving me cards. I did as my mother had told me I should do and gave back some cards. They were, as best I could figure it, thank you cards for all the cards that THEY had just given ME.
The day ended and I ran home (again, I was probably driven, but let's pretend I ran). When my mother finally came back from work, I proudly showed off all the many birthday cards I had received. It was clear as could be: my classmates loved me and praised my very birth like it was a holiday.
Barely restraining her laughter, my cruel mother then informed me that I was slightly misguided. Those were not Birthday cards in my hands, they were bloody Valentine's Day cards.
Ever since then, I must confess I've held a little grudge against the day of my birth. It's like the world saw me coming and thought "Nah, this guy's just too awesome. He's gonna have to be born on a day that can steal some of his glory or else none of the rest of us are gonna have a chance!"
Well fuck you, world. You can't bring me down!
This is why I, in fact, rarely celebrate my birthday on the actual day itself. Usually I designate the nearest weekend as party-time. Then, on my actual birthday, I tend to sit at home with a beer and be antisocial. This year, my beer of choice was Asahi and my antisocial activity of choice was watching Annie Hall. Pretty good movie. Not great, in my opinion, but pretty good.
This year I have two celebrations. Sort of. The first one was last night (the day after my birthday, a.k.a. February 15th). An influential townswoman who is very kind to us ALTs here in town took a few of us out for dinner. A few days beforehand, another ALT here in town informed her that I had be unsuccessful in acquiring the fabled Kobe beef during my recent trip to Kobe. So, wise woman that she is, the townswoman took us to a yakiniku place which, in her words, had even better beef than Kobe!
Well, I can't quite say if that's true or not since I've never eaten Kobe beef. But I can say that this was, without a doubt, the most delicious beef I have ever tasted in my life. I can hardly even comprehend the idea that more delicious beef might actually exist. Look, I even wrote a haiku about it.
This thick red wagyu
ravishes me to my depths...
joy unrelenting.
Sure, it's not a haiku in the truest sense - while beef is a natural product, the poem isn't exactly about nature - but I think you'll forgive me and enjoy the sentiment. Normally, I prefer my steak to be cooked about medium. Too much blood at it turns me off a bit; I want to feel like a civilized human eating a civilized meal, not a stranded castaway who couldn't cook his meat because the rain had prevented him from building a fire. But this beef... my god. Cooking it beyond rare would be a fucking tragedy. This is how good it tasted: if I died today, I would be satisfied knowing that I had eaten of the finest foods that mankind could even conceive of creating.
But enough about that. My second celebration is going to be this weekend, at the Saidaiji Naked Man Festival, also known as the Hadaka Matsuri. It promises to be a riotous good time and a sizable group of us have rented out an izakaya in the city for an after party. And to those who are wondering: No, I am not participating in the festival. It's not because I don't want to, but rather because temple rules disallow anyone with a tattoo from participating. :(
Anyway, I will have a good time regardless. It will be cold, but fun. I doubt it not.
Next week, I'll let you know how it all went.
~Jeffles
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