Who the hell are you?

Asian. Short. Round.

Oh, and female. I forgot about that part. It's not exactly intuitive.

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

I'm a musician by nature, and a computer programmer by trade. I started playing piano when I was three, went to Eastman School of Music, got a Bachelors and a Masters in Music, then moved back home to Bellevue. 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.

Best if you don't ask how I ended up a computer programmer. I think my coworkers are wondering the same thing.

How old are you?

I'm not really sure.

No, I swear. I actually have to do math every time someone asks me. I take my birth year and I subtract it from the year that I think it is -- sometimes I'm actually right -- and whatever I end up with, that's the answer.

I'm not really sure about the month, most times. I was actually born in 1973. This makes me the Year of the Ox by the Asian calendar: hard-working, heavyweight, and not too bright. By European calendars, I'm between Leo and Virgo: anal-retentive, carnivorous, and prone to shedding when startled by prostitutes.

Where do you live?

You weren't reading, were you? Bastard. What's the point of writing, if you won't read?

Actually, right now I live in Redwood City, California. It's a small town about half an hour south of San Francisco, on the outskirts of Silicon Valley. Oracle is north of us, on Redwood Shores. On windy days, I can smell the sea. Most other times, I can smell boiling lard from the Mexican place on the corner. They apparently make great food, but this particular establishment looks like someone tried to hose it down, and missed.

why "faulty vision"?

The name "faulty vision" comes from the Ambrose Bierce definition of cynic. Namely: 'A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they truly are, not as they ought to be.' Two years ago I thought I was a cynic. Now I know real cynics, and I realize how much of one I'm not. Nonethless, the name remains, mostly because I can call it irony and win points for having sophisticated wit.

where'd you get those pics you use?

All over the place. A lot of them from corbis, which has an awesome archive of pictures. I used to work there at one point, and I must say that I admire their products and purpose. The rest I pick up here and there on the web, an it occurs to me that I should really be crediting them for people who care....

why keep a journal online?

Because I want to. The ostensible reason -- the original reason -- was because I had many friends who lived abroad, throughout North America and over the oceans. Now it's because I need some after-hours entertainment, and writing about the kooky things that happen in the life of a relatively boring life provides me with enough amusement that my brain doesn't completely melt. This isn't a completely honest account of what happens, o'course. I live in the happy world of Yuhri, which occasionally shakes the hand of Reality and squeezes just a little too hard.

why a funny journal?

I don't talk about the deep dark stuff that happens, because I don't feel like it. It's not entertaining. I like to make people laugh.

Some journalists are brave enough to vomit up their guts online without ornamentation. I have a tremendous amount of respect for them, or maybe mockery, it's usually hard to tell. 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, like Rob or Pamie, but I can 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're like Karawynn and 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 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."

Oh. In case anybody's interested, here's another cool link: why web journals suck, by Diane of nobody knows anything. Note that I agree with all of her advice, and don't follow most of it. It just goes to show.

show what?

Bite me.