I got a 41 out of 48 on the Mr. Niceguy? self-assessment test, which doesn’t surprise me. While this whole No More Mr. Niceguy thing sounds on the surface suspiciously like the next bullshit pop-psychology book-marketing movement, I will be using the word “fuck” more in future, just in case. Because despite my suspicion of the generalizations of any self-help concept, some of this stuff does ring a bell.

What do you think?

What are your best/worst childhood birthday party memories?

Caption Contest
In an article I wrote more than ten years ago about translators of Japanese literature, I quoted Edward Seidensticker, Harvard professor and translator of the classic “Tale of Genji” who said, “a translation should be as transparent as water.” Meaning the original essence of the work should be visible to the reader, not obscured by the translator’s language. I thought it was a beautiful description.
At about the time I wrote the article, shortly before we moved to Austria from Japan, some earnest people came to my door and gave me the pamphlet below. Since then it has hung on my office wall above my PC and I would glance at it occasionally wondering what the Japanese on the cover means. I cleaned my office yesterday and took it down, but I’m putting it up here in the hopes that you will have a guess at what the translation could be.
What’s your guess?

Alpha and I were discussing how to celebrate our fifteenth wedding anniversary, which is approaching. Without going into detail, it is a hard-earned anniversary and we deserve something nice. Our definitions of “nice” diverge somewhat, though, and there are the usual budget constraints. At the moment we’re seeking a compromise between drinking a lot of Guinness at a session at an Irish pub in Vienna, and a night at a wellness hotel in southern Austria, an area called “Austrian Tuscany”. I’m not saying who is voting for which alternative.

One possible compromise we considered briefly was to spend a few nasty hours at the Hotel Orient with a bottle of champagne and another bottle of Viagra. The Hotel Orient is considered Vienna’s finest Stundenhotel. The German word “Stundenbuch” is translated as “Book of Hours” so I will translate “Stundenhotel” as “Hotel of Hours”. It’s a plush, kitschy, place where managers take their secretaries or otherwise illicit lovers meet for a few nasty hours with a bottle of champagne and/or Viagra.

The hotel has a website, which I don’t think is very good, although the room tour application is kind of neat and seemed to load fast for me. It lets you pan around the rooms, and even up to the ceiling, which usually have a mirror.

We looked at the site. We loaded the app and I was panning around the first room. “That’s the lobby,” Alpha said.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
“I mean, that looks like it could be the lobby,” she said.
“Nice save,” I said.

Please put any suggestions for spending a fifteenth anniversary into the suggestion box below. Thanks in advance.

As every day, I thought up a great post driving to work this morning, then forgot it again. Melly’s being nice to me in an IM window I have open here, which makes me feel old. I have to mow the lawn tonight, I haven’t mowed it yet all year, and it’s incredibly long lush. But, it’s Friday. Finally.

Cello was interesting last night. I’m trying to learn this Bach menuett. It is one that is so famous that even I am familiar with it, so I know roughly what it should sound like. The teacher totally picked apart everything I did last night. Which is progress, because I used to be so bad there was no point in doing that.

Bowing right is hard, man.

Also people stared at me yesterday just because I was playing a tin whistle in my car at the light, which is okay.

Phallic issues at Raising Hell today.