It’s of no concern to you nice people out there in readerland, but once in a while the cranial motor is in need of an oil change; at least pop the hood open and take a look see. [Let’s dial 911 and maybe we get Halle Berry.] Like why should I bother to worry about getting shingles? Why not alopecia? [Dr. Oz, please.] Then the question of mortality always seems to come into consideration [too soon for Fukui Mortuary].
Closer to reality, I worry about the future of JACCC. Not exactly litigious-minded, but I can’t help but wonder why the white dude who caused all the ruckus in the first place can’t be brought to some sort of reckoning, legal or otherwise. [Let’s bring Jimmy Sakoda out of retirement.]
So yeah, in answer to the oft-asked question about where and how column material comes to pass, there are certainly potholes in the road before reaching every Page Three Wednesday.
For example, today is deadline Monday and I’ve considered and dumped two possible topics, null and void. One had great potential. It was an account of an aimless drive on Wilshire Boulevard to Hollywood, reliving days gone by and the disappearance of so many iconic landmarks familiar to JAs. The nostalgia dripped with so much sentimentality, even CR2S couldn’t take it past the 800-word mark; not so much canceled as postponed since I’m sure it has story and reader interest.
The other column idea was reviewing the years at Gardena Valley Japanese Cultural Institute (GVJCI), a lengthy sojourn of 27+ years that I seldom make reference to. I thought it would be a timely segue since Li’l Tokio’s JACCC has been so much in the news. Again, I vetoed myself because of a gnawing feeling that it too should wait for another day.
This current mental block is sorta surprising since things have been pretty darn cool lately. In fact, things have been almost copacetic: Doctor appointments have been held to a minimum; Keiro Retirement Home has a new head chef; first-class dining with my boys continues with enjoyable consistency; “O” visitations, although sporadic this month, come more in the form of single telephone rings lately [patience: I promise another thorough report soon); and yes, to answer inquiring (prying) minds, CR2S has somehow managed to add rather than subtract from its ever-shrinking circumference of friends.
As stated many times, CR2S hates to fill space with reader remarks or repeat pickup email junk. Well, maybe not exactly hate, more like hesitate. Of course, in this line of work, and it is often labor, it’s not all adjectives and adverbs; like anything else, it has its ups and downs. And readers are a fair barometer of how well things are going.
The ego-boost of compliments, plentiful and appealing, never gets old. But the critical deserve equal attention. If someone is moved to the point of writing (whether slo- or e-), calling or verbalized, one should listen attentively.
Like the oft-heard complaint of CR2S using too many hi-brow words. Guilty. And admittedly maybe a bit “hai-seki” (uppity) when it’s a known fact I don’t talk “that way.” Explanation: I was an ex-internee-GI, absent from an unfriendly hometown for seven years, who found solace and a new world within the confines of Riverside Public Library. Instead of learning how to drive, I learned the Dewey Decimal System; rather than study Japanese, I learned how to pronounce Somerset Maugham; integration was as difficult as reading Beowulf and Chaucer, not to forget the first Trojan Horse was nothing but wood.
Yeah, so maybe I am a bit sanctimonious and all that other jazz. All I can say in defense is that’s why my brother was Popeye and I wound up a wimpy.
So what the whey [food or fluid, instead of hey], if CR2S chooses to have an epiphany rather than a dream, who’s to hurt? If you don’t have the time nor inclination to grab a dictionary, no big deal. If you don’t know what I’m saying, or trying to convey, ain’t no big deal. It certainly won’t kill or maim you.
The fact is, I tend to curse a lot in conversation, but seldom cuss. [And right about now, I have a feeling I’m on a treadmill going too fast to safely bail out; but getting tired.]
Just received an email from my one and only granddaughter, Sydney. As the only Yonsei in her (Fremont, Calif.) class, she wants to educate her teacher and classmates about the pre- and post-war experiences of Japanese Americans. Grandpa has been asked to provide some insight into what it was like, in maybe a couple of pages.
[Can you but imagine what she’s going to get as a result of her innocent request? Besides an A+, of course. At last count it was four single-spaced pages and I’ve not even reached 17 and an Army sojourn to Japan. I’ve already conveniently forgotten she wanted a general overview, not an autobiography!]
We went out to celebrate oldest grandson Ryan’s early graduation from UniCal Riverside at Roy’s of Pasadena Sunday night. Tempus fugit and irony.
W.T. Wimpy Hiroto can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Opinions expressed in this column are not necessarily those of The Rafu Shimpo.