This is the journal of a 35 year old Japanese-American woman named Yuhri. She has a husband and a small son, a job, a house that is worth less than she paid for it, a car, some charmingly mad family, and no sense of proportion. She also doesn’t do well with third person.

Let’s try that again.

I was born in Seattle as Nissei, which means that my parents were Fresh Off The Boat. Unlike many other immigrant races in the US, the Japanese consider ’1st generation’ to be the generation that was actually born in Japan. ’2nd generation’ is emblematic of second-best manufacturing, since it was made in America.

I’m a musician by nature, and a computer messer-about-er by trade. I started playing piano when I was three, went to Eastman School of Music, got a Bachelors degree in music, then moved back home to Seattle. A year of living with the family pretty much did it for me, so I moved to San Francisco. There, I lived in a tenement, and started an online journal.

I got bored of poverty and went into computers, just in time for the dot-com crash. Through sheer bloody-mindedness and the willingness to be brutally honest on my cover letters, I managed to stay afloat and in the software business through the downturn. I met a man. I fell in love. I got married.

I bought a house, just in time for the housing market crash. Noticing a trend?

Thinking about buying a country next.

This is not a naval-gazing journal; I don’t usually write about the deep dark stuff that happens, because I don’t feel like it. It’s not entertaining. I like to make people laugh. Besides, deep dark stuff doesn’t really happen to me. I’m like, Wonder Woman or something. Greased duck.

Some journalists are brave enough to bare their souls and their tragedies online without ornamentation. I have a tremendous amount of respect for them. They have a lot more courage — or exhibitionism — than I have. Then there are the people who use humor like a weapon, and find it easier to deal with bad stuff by making fun of it. If someone else can laugh at it, then so can they. Being able to make someone else laugh is a powerful thing. I’m not a master of it, but I do my best. I figure pretty much every online writer writes for other people; otherwise, she or he wouldn’t write online. My problems bore me. There’s no reason why they should bore everyone else.

Plus, let’s face it, other people’s problems are funny. They are. Especially to some turnip-headed twisto like me, who pretty much can’t take anything seriously. I mean, unless you can write like God touched pen to earth. Otherwise, it’s usually angst, and somewhere offline I’m snickering to myself because I’m just that crappy kind of person.

I like to consider it a philosophical difference rather than a personality flaw.

In the words of Erma Bombeck:

“I like to imagine that after a person has read our waters are polluted, the world is in flames, streets are crime-ridden, drugs are rampant and her horoscope predicts her sign just collided with something that will reduce her to poverty, she’ll read how the dryer returns only one sock to me from every two I put in and I tell my kids, ‘The other one went to live with Jesus,’ and maybe smile.”

1 comment on this post.
  1. Jonah:

    Thanks for putting me on your Blogroll! – Jonah

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