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the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-eight years and a million words

Nichinan, Miyazaki, 2008.12.20

It was a busy morning. I got up at 06:00 as usual, then spent a quick 90 minutes packing, turning off the gas, closing the blinds, cleaning the place up, taking out the garbage, and generally getting everything in order for my trip to Miyazaki.

I checked in my bag at the counter, and until I went to board the plane I thought that all was well. But it turns out that my paints were flammable and as such were unacceptable for the flight. I wound up wangling an offer for the airline staff to mail me the paints COD instead of simply throwing them away. Which I figure is probably more than I could have obtained if I'd pointed out that the whole plane is itself flammable, as are most of the things in it.

Our plane wound up leaving late because there was so much cafluffle about the damn paints. Which I resented to a degree, because I'd shown up 45 minutes early. But, it was all over soon enough. I used the new minilaptop to watch the fourth season of Battlestar Galactica.

Upon arrival, we went to an Indian restaurant that took two hours to serve us and see us on our way. I'd say it was worth it. The food was really quite good, and I had my family with me again.

My neck is really stiff and painful. It's been that was for quite some time, but seems to be getting worse.

rand()m quote

It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.

—Theodore Roosevelt, Jr.