People In Your Neighbourhood: Crasians

So the Asian guy across the street was out mowing his lawn the other day, with a scuba mask on.

Now plastic bags tied around the shoes I can understand; who wants grass stains on their white Bata Bullets, but a scuba mask?! What’s up with that, for fucks sake?

Actually I know what’s up with that, he be a crazy Asian (Crasian) and that’s just what they do.

Do you remember that bit in Sesame Street they always used to do about ‘the people in your neighbourhood, in your neighbourhood, they’re the people you meet everyday’? And they had the strapping black guy who looked like, but obviously wasn’t, a homicidal rapist? My street reminds me of that sometimes.

Gardening day across the road is very amusing at the best of time. A small portion of the household – some 400 approximately – take a break from making car tyres or whatever it is they do in the garage all day and descend upon the front yard with all manner of garden tools and kitchen utensils.

The actual strip of lawn out the front of their place is roughly the size of the men’s toilets but my god do they go to town on it as if they were they attacking South Korea or something.

The funny thing is that when the dust settles - and it’s like Hiroshima over there for most of the gardening afternoon - it still looks a complete shambles. Shorter admittedly, but only in the front. They leave the sides long, just like a good mullet; Business on top, party down the back.

But there’s a strange comfort you have knowing that your friendly neighbourhood Crasians are watching you most of the day from behind their closed blinds, like they do when not scuba diving amonst the weeds. They see things, just like Jack off Titanic.

Not to be confused with jacking off to Titanic, because everyone knows you can only really do that to the one scene and it’s not even Kate Winslet’s hand for chrissake. And it’s a long wait till then too, all which makes for a pretty sad wank really. Especially the second time.

We have another Asian family in the street but they’re not so much crazy as they are nosey, but in a good way. The old guy, Mr Miyagi, keeps an eye on the street, literally. He smokes a pipe which is a wonderful excuse to get out on the driveway and away from her indoors I suspect.

He and I have a little ritual that is both respectful and amusing. He watches me get into the car and then turns away as if he hasn’t seen me. He’ll start making his way inside right up till the moment I pass when he looks back to see if I’ll wave.

I always wave and so does he, despite pretending he never really saw me in the first place. When I drive up the street he does the same thing. The other day we bumped into each other at the supermarket and out of instinct he turned and walked away. I didn’t let him down when he looked back.

Sometimes I really catch him out, like when I need to leave early for football and he’s not only out of the house but halfway up the bloody road. This leads to an awkward moment, like we’ve just walked in on each other in the nude, yet still the ritual beings, he turns away and I wait for him to reach the drive and look back...

But it’s neighbours like that you like. I know that if anyone is cruising up and down our little street casing the place then he’s going to notice the bastards and for that I’d let him walk in on me in the buff if he really wanted to.

Crasians might be indeed crazy and in some cases quirky, but they are the people in your neighbourhood that you meet every day and that you come to rely on, even if for a bit of light relief when they mow the lawns wearing scuba masks.

Looks like those damn puppets were right after all.

There's Something About Katy (Still)

Dear Katy,

On the off chance that you’re not filling yourself with even more Home Brand Porridge and instead are reading this, then please don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I’m over you.

I would tweet you this life changer but alas my life is incredibly boring so I really have nothing of interest to say. That puts me in the same bracket as 95% of Twitter users but there you go.

Why just moments ago I was ironing my shirts for work, watching your video hits on one of our local music channels. Mind numbingly boring it was too. The ironing, not your videos.

Anyhoo, it occurred to me, whilst watching a visual selection of your songs to date, that I really fancied the hot pants off you more when you were kissing girls, running hot & cold and waking up in Vegas.

You had that something special about you that is sadly, no longer there. Back then you were all that and a bag of chips, now you know it and that’s not sexy.

I think things started to go downhill in this relationship of ours when you did the Timbaland song and let’s not even get started on the collaboration with those gaylords who can’t even spell ‘303’...thankfully they didn’t play that video today.

Which lead to ripping off the Beach Boys in your collaboration with Snoop.

Now I must admit that you spraying whipped cream from your boobs is a little bit kinky and that yes, lying naked on a bed of candyfloss is very naughty. Stripping down in a hotel room like a teenager is indeed wet dream stuff, but yet, I was more turned on at the thought of pressing my cuffs perfectly.

Where did the magic go KP?

I used to dig your crazy sexy cool mixture of confidence and vulnerability, now you’re just everywhere an all over everything. I used to love your cool, kooky, vintage dress sense too but now its blue hair and shit. I know you’re doing the voice of Smurfette in a movie real soon but that doesn’t mean you have to dress like her.

Sadly it seems as if I’m not the only one. You know your star is fading when your duet with Elmo, a puppet for fucks sake, gets cut from Sesame Street because it’s too raunchy.

So you were wearing a flesh coloured mesh thing, who knew? Mums with less impressive cleavage than yours don’t notice little things like that and they complain real loud.

That said, your piss take of the whole sad saga on Saturday Night Live was pretty damn funny – “Today’s episode is brought to you by the letters Double D and the number 34” - and if I were to be truly honest, a little bit of the old you.

So maybe I’m not over you at all, you sexy thing you.

BTW, I’d iron your hot pants if you asked me too. I would do that for you.

KP let me take this in happier times...