Ive been on a Haruki Murakami kick these past days. All that thanks to S who got me hooked. Ive seen Murakami books on the shelves but felt the books might be too high brow for me. But theyre not. Theyre stories, beautiful ones, albeit metaphysical. Weird even.  

I read somewhere that Murakami has always called himself a story teller. He started out writing short stories and I read a few today. I like this one the best. Its bittersweet and sad, as most Murakami stories are. Its beautiful. Haunting. I love it.

Haruki Murakami: On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning

One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl. Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert. Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose. But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird. "Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone. "Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?" "Not really." "Your favorite type, then?" "I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts." "Strange." "Yeah. Strange." "So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?" "Nah. Just passed her on the street." She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning. Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world. After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed. Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart. Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards. How can I approach her? What should I say? "Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?" Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman. "Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?" No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that? Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me." No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about. We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had. I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.  Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical. Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"  Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened. One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street. "This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me." "And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream." They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle. As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily? And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?" "Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do." And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west. The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully. One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank. They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love. Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty. One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew: She is the 100% perfect girl for me. He is the 100% perfect boy for me. But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever. A sad story, don't you think?  Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.

Shifting ...

...to a DSLR is not easy.

I thought I had my heart set on a Canon Rebel EOS XS. But last Sunday, M and I were at Circuit City choosing digital cameras. Me being me, I ended up hefting the DSLRs around and when I held the Nikon D60, it was as if I had fallen in love at first sight. 

The camera just felt right in my hands, it was light, responsive and oh-so beautiful. 

I have just been welcomed to the dark side ... I am buying a Nikon.

Just what sort of Nikon im getting -- now that is the big question.

More on this in the days to come! 

A Harsh Winter

It seems like the US is indeed having a harsh winter. Last night's news was filled with precautions about driving in the snow, how flurries and ice on the streets is making for a tough commute home, and how everyone should hunker down and be prepared for one of the toughest winters ever. 

It IS cold -- even here in the desert land that is Texas, it is freezing. I am not used to this -- me who grew up in a tropical climate. 

To prepare for this years harsh winter, I did get my flu shot. I also, for the first time since 2004, gave in and purchased a warm coat. I have survived winters wearing fleece hoodies, but this year, I think I need a little bit more protection than fleece. 

I also bought space heaters ... to keep the house, my room and my bed warm. Used with care, a space heater is probably the most efficient ways to heat up a room.  It is energy efficient, and with the advent of technology, space heaters have gotten more safe and easy to use.

Well no... let me take that back.  

Another warm body is probably the most efficient way to heat up a room. Thing is, I cant walk into a Lowes or a Home Depot to purchase a warm body.  

Easy Like Sunday Morning ...

It is 9:19 am as I start to write this weekend blog entry. I had a smashin' weekend. But on this early Sunday morning, I am blogging while I enjoy a cup of my favorite Verona blend with a touch of half and half and some toast with Manchego cheese on top.

This weekend, I discovered the joy that is Manchego cheese.

Last Friday, we had our Christmas lunch at Tommy's. Me, being me, I ordered a hunk of meat that I couldnt finish ... so I took that home. We had the rest of the day off so after I got home, Tess Burgos picked me up to go to Costco. I got the usual water and juice. However, as she was checking out the cheese lane, I saw a huge pieces of Manchego. I had heard a lot of good things about this cheese so I decided to buy a piece. I got the one that weighed the least and got home.

After Costco and visiting some friends, I ended up at Big Johns with Blake and Alise. Blake is my boss. After 7 Vodka Cranberries, I went home. Sober but sleepy. I went to bed and woke up Saturday morning hungry but not in the mood for a huge breakfast.

I broke out the Manchego then. Just nibbled on really thin slices of it and fell in love. Madly, hopelessly, cravefully (is there such a word?) in love. It is a slightly salty, semi-firm cheese. The color of the Manchego I got is a pretty pale yellow ... but the taste is the farthest thing from pale.

Salty at first bite, this beautiful cheese turns piquant and sweet after you chew into it. Lovely.

I couldnt bear to tear myself away from my Manchego but I did. I went to a Christmas party thrown by some friends of friends. I had fun -- and ended up organizing the gift giving for the kiddos in that party. Fun. Plus my baby Meggyboo was in the party too so that was a bonus.

Got home around 9pm tired and just wanting to chill. I mucked around online for a bit and then lay down and slept. It was a good, deep sleep that had me waking up really early Sunday morning -- refreshed and raring to go.

I just heated up some rolls with a thin sliver of Manchego on top ... and im enjoying that as I type up this entry ... a perfect way to start a Sunday, a perfect way to start a week.

Here is to a smashin' week ahead of us!

Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow!!!!

Christmas came early to Houston yesterday. Yes, folks you heard it right. We got snow. 

The last time it snowed here was in December 24, 2004. Right as we were going into evening Christmas mass, it started to fall. We went out of the church into a veritable winter wonderland, a rarity for one of the warmest states in the continental United States.

Yesterday was the coldest day so far this year, and people started talking as snow at around 2 pm. Of course, I was saying we wouldnt get snow because Houston is too close to the Gulf of Mexico (hence, had warmer temperatures).

Snow did fall...and it fell in our part of town. Like a kid, I went  to the back of our office and ran around in circles, letting the snow fall on my hair and my clothes. It was fun. I had fun. I would do it again in a heartbeat, but only if we had snow falling again.

I think of that snowfall as a gift ... an omen of better things to come. 

We all need something like that to believe in. 

Resilience

If there is one thing about me ... I bounce back quite quickly from the adversities of life. Nope -- I dont bounce back because im a fat little ball of cuteness (LOL) ... but because the lessons in life I have learned has made me realize that there is never any good that comes out of wallowing in despair.

So yeah ... one thing in my life panned out to nothing in a span of 48 hours. Something that I thought would be  a keeper. I was sad for a bit. Who wouldnt be. But but but ... I ended up hanging out with an old gym friend over Riesling.

Uh yeah. Hang out we did. . Needless to say, my ghosts have been exorcised and im as good as new. Oh wait. Im BETTER actually. A good boost to one's ego never fails.

Thank you gym friend. You did wonders for me and my bruised self esteem. Do it again soon, you hear?  

Back? Yeah. At least I think so.

Dear Blog,

I am so sorry that I have not found time to post here in a LONG time. For a while, I felt like i had nothing earth shaking to write. Then again, where has it ever been written that what I need to write has to be earth shaking. 

My life is mundane. Nothing much goes on in it. The same routine of work, gym, sleep; punctuated by bursts of creativity that manifests itself in scrapbooks, the written word, cross stitch and baking. Yup, you heard it right. Baking. 

But I missed writing. I will always be in love with the written word. And yes, this will always be the best way I can express who I am and what I stand for. Honestly, I dont think I speak well enough to be expressive. However, stringing words together to form a coherent thought is sheer joy for me. 

So here I am again ... trying to string some words along so I can let people know whats on my mind. And today -- I would like to write about the truth.

The truth is such a simple thing. Its just calling things as they are, and being honest enough to admit to your faults, misfortune and misdemeanors. It can even be as simple as admitting to the truth and not stringing anyone along just because you cannot, dont have and will never have the guts to speak the truth.

The truth hurts, yes. It may even kill. But, trite as it may seem -- the truth sets people free. And that is a gift that even one's worst enemy deserves. Wallowing and letting people wallow is mean. Own up. Be a man. Tell the truth. 

Thank you Blog for still being here for me. Allowing me to rant, much like a trusted friend does when I am as irate as I am right now. 

I will be back. :)

-N