Those Crazy Japanese

It’s been a bit of an odd Friday around here. For example, I was trapped at a work-related event for a large portion of the afternoon and when I returned to my own floor at around 2:30, no one was around. It was actually pretty creepy. Just empty chairs in every office and cube. Even the Party Crue from the Finance Hizzy were half gone. If there was a Get-Out-of-Work-Early memo, it was not circulated to me.

Perhaps all my co-workers merely turned into ghosts, in which case they are probably off having an orgy with Kei$ha.

Our favorite white trash songstress has a new song out called “Supernatural,” which, of course, she needs to promote by going on Ryan Seacrest’s radio show. Seacrest, being the intrepid reporter that he is, delved deep into Kei$ha’s creative process and found out the inspiration behind the song:

“It’s about experiences with the supernatural… but in a sexy way,” she told Seacrest. “I had a couple of experiences with the supernatural. I don’t know his name! He was a ghost! I’m very open to it.”

Actually, my friend Katie over at MaddieUncensored has a much more plausible theory on the whole ghost-sex thing, including who it might have been.

I highly doubt she had sex with a ghost. It’s more likely the trash bag she was wearing billowed up and confused her. But please refer to the ghost as Ca$per.

The only Casper I know is J-Lo’s boy-toy, so Jenny from the Block better start enforcing her man’s curfew.

Kei$ha also mentioned that she went on:

A “spirit journey by myself. No security guard. No managers. I just went around the world and lived on a boat. I was in Africa rehabilitating baby lions. I went diving with great white sharks, and just went on this crazy spirit quest. I got hypnotized, and I just really wanted this record to be really positive, really raw, really vulnerable and about the magic of life.”

Sounds to me like she’s been hanging out a bit with ol’SnoopKitty. And by hanging out, I mean, smoking some very special medicinal cigarettes.

In case you were wondering, some of the other titles off her new album are “Die Young,” “Last Goodbye,” and “Love Into the Light.” I’m definitely sensing a theme here.

(By the way, that Wikipedia page linked above is pure comedy gold. Some funny, funny stuff on there. Spandex on the Distant Horizon?? A song about “futuristic sex toys??”  National Geographic documentary?? Also: cover art = genius)

While we have some pretty compelling evidence purely speculative ideas on what Ke$ha’s ghost might look like (J-Lo’s leftovers), there’s just as good a chance that this ghost has a bagel for a forehead, particularly if this is a Japanese ghost.

“National Geographic Taboo” chronicles the bizarre beauty treatment in an upcoming episode set in Tokyo, following three people who opt into the temporary forehead injections which have become a keen part of the Japanese “body modification” art scene.

Here’s how it goes down: technicians insert a needle into the forehead and inject about 400 cc of saline to create a forehead-sized blob. (One bagel-ee describes is as feeling like “something’s dripping down [his] head” and a “slight stinging sensation.”) The practitioner then places his or her thumb into the blob to create the indentation….Luckily, the bagel-shaped injections aren’t permanent; the round protusion fades after about sixteen hours as your body absorbs the saline.

Eeewww. So. That’s now a thing.

Which leads to my last item of weird news: Apparently, there are some owls out here on the running trails of DC that want to take a chunk out of our bagel-less foreheads. This is THE scariest paragraph ever written:

I had been attacked by a bird previously, on a trail in Rock Creek Park just after dawn, so I was familiar with the feeling of bird claws raking my head. It feels like a kitten has been set on your head, claws out: There’s a light pressure and a mildly sharp prickle.

(Actually, the whole first-person account is terrifyingly graphic. I can’t believe they put that in the newspaper.)

Runners World also has a blog post noting the increase in unprovoked owl attacks, which they’ve pegged at four.

Now, it’s a well documented fact that I am not fond of birds. I have pretty much been attacked by every bird I’ve ever been around, including one memorable time when a grackle attacked my head one fine day while I was walking to class across the University of Texas campus. There were even witnesses.

(Both of whom failed to render aid, I caustically observed.

I may have shouted at them at the time. It’s all a feathery blur.

OK, fine, I did yell at the two small female exchange students, but seriously! How long did they intend to just stand there watching me get attacked??)

But I especially don’t like being dive-bombed by aggressive asshole owls while trying to get my fitness on. Running is difficult enough. I seriously cannot add defense moves (ie: flailing) to the mix. Somebody’s going to get hurt and it’s most likely going to be me.

Very weird week. Hopefully this weekend is free of ghosts, body modifications and especially, owls. But not Ke$ha. I dig her jams.