Gaijin Tonic

Electronic forces are conspiring against me this week. My PC stopped working the other day, and chose to beep at me incessantly instead, like R2D2 malevolently taunting me. I suppose it was about time my wretched old computer kicked the bucket- I’ve had it for four years, and it was second hand even then. It looks like the kind of thing you might see a serial killer hunched over in the “Saw” movies- splattered with food, with multi-coloured wires spilling out like a terrorist’s bomb.

This development is irritating, because only last week I bought a new keyboard, after dropping an open can of beer onto the previous one, rendering it sticky and useless. And now the computer itself has gasped its dieing breath. No more internet radio, downloading movies and music, MSM messaging, or Skype. My Gollum-style, shut-in existence has been disrupted. My lifeline to the outside world has gone, forcing me stumbling, blinking, out into the sunlight.

Being utterly computer illiterate, I resolved to fix the problem after a late-night drinking session, by kicking the conked-out contraption around the room.
This didn’t help, so the next morning I called a company to pick it up and fix it. The phone call, in itself, was very complex and gruelling in my broken Japanese.
They told me it was a RAM problem. (Don’t know what that means, but I suspect it has nothing to do with woolly, horned animals.) Apparently the motherboard is mother-fucked, and the best they can do is salvage what they can from my computer’s memory and stick it onto one measly DVD.
There were thousands upon thousands of songs and movies and TV-shows saved in that magic box, along with six years of photographs and writing. Almost all of which is gone for ever. Sob!

Jesus, I hope the PC repairman doesn’t find any sexy pictures. I don’t want to become the next Edison Chen!

Since I’m too broke to buy another computer yet, this means that, for the time being, I’ll be writing this blog on stolen hours at work (My job is rather undemanding, so it shouldn’t be a problem- I’ll just pretend I’m working, by writing stories in Microsoft Word then cutting and pasting them into here when no-one’s looking) or in the local internet cafe. At least Japanese internet cafes are relatively luxurious, with private booths, reclining chairs, and a selection of free drinks.
I’m currently sat in a booth now, surrounded by boxed-in insomniac internet gamers, and drinking some delcious free “Calpis”- a white, yogurt-tasting potion that looks as it sounds, (like cow piss.)