A Page From God’s Diary

As is common knowledge, hackers rule the digital realm. There’s no room to hide. These subversive geniuses can get into any system, any file, whether it’s protected by encryption, firewalls, or passwords which would stump most supercomputers.

I was doing an internet search and stumbled on an amazing hacker story.

It was a posting put up by a guy who claimed he hacked God’s personal diary. 

No, I’m not making this up!

It appeared on the Dark Web, something I have heard about but certainly never have had an interest in exploring. Actually I was doing a Duck-Go-Go search for ‘dank web memes’, spell correct kicked in — which I didn’t notice — and I was suddenly looking at the strangest collection of links I’ve ever seen. The one that caught my eye was a post by ‘bacon heezy’. He showed a recently-penned entry — it couldn’t have been more than a couple days ago, though they use very different calendars “up there” — from GOD’S DIARY, posting it for bragging rights and, of course, for our edification.

So here we go …

A PAGE FROM GOD’S DIARY – Posted on Dark Web chat group “cosmic dildo farm”

Don’t those idiots down there read the Bible. Granted there were a few Earth millennia when I threw major hissy fits left and right. Telling people to kill their families, inciting wars, sending bears to mutilate children, turning people into pillars of salt, promoting genocide, killing Egyptian babies, killing people for complaining about my killing them — not exactly my best moments. Thank goodness the Heavenly dispensary finally got some mood elevators in stock. 

Regardless. There’s a lot of good shit in the Bible, directly from Yours Truly, since I can claim credit. Love thy neighbor. Forgive your enemies. Turn the other cheek — actually I’m having serious doubts about that one these days. And then there was the greatest piece of street theater in the whole of human history, beginning with the bit about me getting Mary knocked up — without a peep of protest from good old stoic Joseph (I really like that dude). After the “virgin birth”, carpenter’s son grows up to be the best con artist ever, leads flocks of toadies and groupies from one end of the desert to another. And then the big finale: you gotta admit, the whole crucifixion thing was pure genius. I challenge the best playwrights and Hollywood script writers to top THAT SADISTIC MESS!

Okay, I’m rambling. But I’m God. So I’ll do whatever I want.

At the same time, there is a point to this, prompted by my sheer disgust with how this human genome experiment has turned out. It seemed like a pretty decent idea at the outset. But once Adam and Eve got wind of free will and ironically decided their private parts were something to be ashamed of, things started to go south. I mean it’s taken a while to get to the crisis stage I’m seeing now. Now apparently these dumb fucks down on Earth are bent on destroying themselves! What kind of exercise of free will is that? They’ve got the biggest, baddest brains on terra firma, in the clear blue sky, and in the oceans, and all they can do is poison the planet, junk up the landscape, bicker like school children, turn forests into deserts, melt the ice caps, kill practically everything that walks on four legs or has gills, rape, pillage, plunder, and invent more lethal weapons to kill one another. What percentage of their brain power drives this hopeless scenario? A cockroach could see this won’t end well — my money is on the cockroaches who will survive the gore fest, feisty little buggers that they are.

I may be God, and true, I could intervene and shut all the bad shit down with a blink of my Omniscient Eye. But what would be the point? Too many humans have become drama queens, sociopaths, crooks, liars, psychopaths, selfish dickheads, drunks, drug addicts, sex addicts, or almost as bad, terminally lazy go-along-to-get-along pussies. They shouldn’t be called homo sapiens. They should be called homo patheticus! 

Humble Guy that I am, I’ll admit I called this whole human thing wrong. And by the way, being God I can be wrong without being wrong. Because I’m right about being wrong.

Anyway, I thought that their amazing art, music, poetry, literature, their altruism, good faith, basic decency, and love of Me would triumph. But evil seems to have won the day. And I don’t mean your average garden variety evil. I mean EVIL EVIL! Apocalyptic, epic, hyper-extreme evil!

But listen haters, don’t go pointing fingers. I did my job. Then I just set it loose. It was supposed to improve, build on my Heavenly created-in-the-image-of-you-guessed-it . . . ME!  But somehow a screwdriver got inserted in the spokes. And now look at how it’s turning out. It’s a horror show!

Okay, I’m tuckered out. Time for some Godly shut eye. I’ll just say, I wish these dopes on Earth knew how pissed I am at what’s going on down there. REALLY PISSED! I’m so angry I almost feel like resorting to being the vengeful asshole I too often was in the Old Testament, and visiting the entire planet with the wrath only I’m capable of. A big wake-up call. The Seven Plagues would by comparison look like a Disney E-ride. Yeah, this calls for a good dose of humility. “Listen, you fuck ups! You are nothing compared to the Major Domo who created you. You are like lumps of string cheese melting in the sun. Don’t mess with Me. And Goddammit, change course — change everything you’re doing — start getting it right, or IT’S GAME OVER.” I’m not blowing smoke here! And the joke is on you, because you’ll destroy yourselves! How Shakespearian.

Alright, sometimes the Creator of Everything That Was, Is, and Will Be, needs to get a few things off His chest. But now it’s time to dream of angels, rainbows, lollipops, and My “son’s” night with Mary Magdalene. Now she’s a keeper!

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Chiang Mai, Thailand: Karen Tribe Farmstay

The Karen Tribe people are from the Kayin State, which is the southern/southeastern region of Myanmar. They are not one people. Per Wikipedia: “Karen refers to a heterogeneous lot of ethnic groups that do not share a common language, culture, religion, or material characteristics.”

While most Karen have remained in Myanmar and comprise 7% of the population there, like the Hmong, many have migrated and made Thailand their home, especially in the proximity of the Thai/Myanmar border. “There are another 400,000 Karen in Thailand, where they are by far the largest of the hill tribes.”

When we were in Chiang Mai, Thailand last summer, Masumi and I stayed on a Karen-owned and operated agritourism farm and what an amazing experience it was! Our room was a cabin built on stilts.

Here was the view we had.

Of course, it was a real farm and people were working.

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We had phenomenal time exploring the huge farm.

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The food was great!

Here we are with the incredibly charming owner of the farm. He inherited the property from his Karen Tribe family, then turned the farm into a tourist attraction.

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Chiang Mai, Thailand: Elephant Camp

Masumi and I are fascinated by elephants. Around Chiang Mai, there are a number of places to see them. We chose this particular one because they are very humane in their treatment of the elephants. They don’t have rides or other activities which are often considered abusive to these amazing creatures. If you choose, however, you can bathe with them in the river. Since we didn’t have our bathing suits with us, we had to pass.

Our first big surprise was how spacious and beautiful the camp grounds were!

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To put it mildly, the elephants seemed very glad to see us — it might have been the basket of food we had purchased — and generally quite content with their new home at the Elephant Camp.

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Unfortunately, I doubt if any of our new larger-than-life friends will be visiting us very soon in Japan. I think they’d have trouble getting through Immigration.

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Chiang Mai, Thailand: Illusion Art Museum

Maybe it’s cultural bias, but I usually don’t associate the countries of southeast Asia, all of which I’ve personally visited — Thailand, Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, and Myanmar — with “cutting edge” or “high-tech” art.

Our recent visit to Chiang Mai, Thailand certainly proved me wrong. Masumi and I discovered one of the most spectacular art museums I’ve ever encountered … the Illusion Art Museum.

First, consider the animated Mona Lisa video encountered in the lobby of the museum.

That was nothing compared to the unique and mind-boggling interactive works inside. Feast your eyes on these!

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After that spectacular experience, exiting the main display galleries we ended up here. Looks like a pen and ink drawing of a café, eh?

Nope. It’s a real café!

There are many exceptional things to see and do in Chiang Mai. If you visit there, the Illusion Art Museum should be high on your list.

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Chiang Mai, Thailand: Coconut Market

There are an abundance of “markets” in Chiang Mai. Usually their names correspond to their location, time frame when they’re held, who’s represented, what specialty goods are available. The night market is at night. The weekend market is on the weekend. The main street market is on the main street. A craft market features crafts by local artists.

When Masumi and I visited Chiang Mai, we drove to the outskirts of town to see a charming affair called The Coconut Market. Since I love coconut cookies, coconut shakes, coconut milk (slurped right from the coconut shell), I was anticipating a coconut paradise. Only problem was that the coconuts were still in the trees and I didn’t have a ladder.

But overall, it was a rather pleasant experience, offering a friendly, relaxed shopping excursion.

We wandered, we explored, we talked, we smiled. Everyone accepts Visa and Mastercard.

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Thailand is a very laid-back country, with laid-back people. It’s fairly safe everywhere, especially compared to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, where petty crime is a constant threat. Things are more intense in the south, the cities bustling, the islands hopping with full moon parties and walk-on-the-wild-side tourists.

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Chiang Mai, Thailand: Hmong Village

The Hmong are a unique indigenous people who have populated southern China for at least 8000 years. Unfortunately, in the 18th and 19th Centuries, they were targeted by the Qing Dynasty for extermination. This prompted most of them to migrate to other countries in southeast Asia: mainly Laos, Vietnam, and Thailand.

Masumi and I first encountered the Hmong in northern Vietnam in 2010. Here I am being greeted by them at the train station in Sapa, not far from the Chinese border.

More recently, on our return trip to Thailand — we were last there in December 2019, right before Covid shut down the world for travel — we visited a Hmong Village near Chiang Mai.

This is a real, functioning village. At the same time, it has been made “tourist friendly”, to encourage travelers to visit, learn about Hmong culture and crafts, and hopefully inject some money into their struggling community. It’s not easy for non-indigenous people to survive in Thailand. There are no factories or fast food restaurants to provide employment. All income for the town is generated within the closed, internal economic environment of the town.

There are some beautiful areas in the village, but most of it consists of bare-bone shops and rather shoddy residences, far from what could be called luxurious.

Let’s start with the gardens.

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The town looked fairly typical of this part of the world. Lots of corrugated iron; crafts, clothing and jewelry shops; populated with friendly people and cute kids.

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There was even a very modest Hmong museum.

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Now, those who’ve been following my writings here know that one of Masumi’s and my favorite things is to dress up in traditional costumes for the various and exotic locations and cultures we’ve encountered in our travels. We were in luck! The Hmong Village afforded just such a diversion. We frolicked around in one of the gardens for an hour, dressed as Hmong!

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Without a doubt, that was the highlight of our visit!

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Chiang Mai, Thailand: Cooking School

Masumi and I love to travel and have been many places around the world. To name them: Germany, Netherlands, France, Luxembourg, Switzerland, Italy, Slovenia, Austria, Russia, Estonia, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, USA, Thailand, Malaysia, Vietnam, India, Hong Kong, and South Korea. And of course, we’ve gone from one end of Japan to the other, Hokkaido to Okinawa and much in between.

But for four years, until this summer, we couldn’t travel internationally. Covid lockdowns and related travel obstacles put our wanderlust on hold. Our last trip was to Chiang Mai, Thailand, end of December 2019/beginning of January 2020. Now, with the fear porn of the “pandemic” at least temporarily suspended — I say that because I see their ramping it up again now targeting a return of many Covid restrictions in October — we boarded a plane late July and returned to Chiang Mai, I guess to pick up where we left off.

The trip was only eight days but it was action-packed and full of pleasant surprises. Maybe it was the rebound of being “let out of the cage” that created the perfect mindset, or maybe it truly was spectacular. Whatever the case, we both agreed that this was one of our best vacations ever!

To get things off to a unique start, the day after we arrived, we went to a Thai cooking school. We really lucked out and got the best instructor/stand-up comedian of the lot. That’s our class in the photo at the top and our instructor is the lady with the yellow apron bottom left. A lot was packed into six hours of hands-on learning the secrets of Thailand’s exotic, delicious, if sometimes way-too-spicy cuisine.

The school van picked us up at our guest house early in the morning. First stop: a local market to . . . well, I guess to shop.

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Next we arrived at the school, and Masumi immediately made a new friend.

Our next stop was the garden, where they grew herbs and spices, mushrooms and marijuana. Yes, marijuana, which any user will tell you makes everything taste great! This is interesting. Since we last visited Thailand, marijuana has been legalized and we saw dispensaries all over the city. They’re in such abundance, they may eventually surpass massage parlors in ubiquity. Now I assume these new enterprises are meant to service the thousands of tourists, as well as local stoners. What was truly astonishing is that in eight days, glancing in the shop windows as we strolled by, I never saw a single customer in these shiny new stores. Not one! Not sure what to think, other than there are going to be a lot of these ganja shops filing for bankruptcy in the very near future.

Anyway, back to the herb and spice garden. Our teacher took us on a tour, we pinched various spice plants, rolled their leaves between our thumb and fingers, smelled them, occasionally tasted them. Not much else to say about it. I guess it was a bit of an epiphany for yours truly that herbs did not magically appear on the shelf of a supermarket in bottles with fancy labels on them, stamped with an expiration date.

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Now it was time to get down to business. I’ll spare you the minute details. Suffice it to say that Masumi was a model student, but I was designated class clown for my ability to mangle simple, easily-comprehended directions, managing to do just the wrong thing, or the right thing at the wrong time. Nevertheless, somehow, by the grace of the food gods, perhaps purely by accident, I produced some rather delicious cuisine . . . if I can claim some bragging rights here.

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The final phase of our instruction, though it actually seemed out of order, was the preparation of pepper, both green and red, which seem to find their way into the preponderance of cuisine in this unique and colorful country. I mean hot pepper, not ordinary pepper. Use of this caustic substance is fairly common in the East. In South Korea, they serve dishes which could start a forest fire in Antarctica. India is another country that comes to mind when I think of pepper, and its wicked step-sister, curry. We learned how to grind into a lethal paste this venomous herb, which I think it God’s way of giving us a preview of Hell.

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I was able to capture briefly how funny, energetic, enthusiastic, and entertaining our teacher was for this entire educational experience. Here it is. What a hoot!

Our teacher was pure delight!

So there you have it. An unforgettable six hours learning to make inedible food — just kidding! Our final dishes weren’t that spicy. At least we didn’t have to call an ambulance.

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Life In Japan: Hyogo Prefecture, Breadbasket of Asia

Without wanting to sound like a broken record, living in an agricultural region — and this could be anywhere in the world — is still an adventure for me, with fresh epiphanies and surprises a regular occurrence. Watching the cycle of plant, grow, harvest puts life on a unique timeline. I love it!

We live in the middle of farm fields. Most of what is being grown appears to be rice and soybeans, which are called kuromame [ 黒豆 ] i.e. black beans. Tambasasayama is famous across Japan for its black beans and the streets are packed with tourists at harvest time.

Little did I know that Hyogo Prefecture — the equivalent to a state or province — is among the top producers in a host of other agricultural products. As you can see from the mapping above, the abundance is astonishing. For the record, these are at the top of the list for all of Japan:

#1 Crab 
#1 Black Soybeans 
#1 Sake Rice
#1 Shirasu, Ikanago
#2 Onions 
#2 Red Beans 
#2 Seaweed Paper
#2 Octopus

Why am I telling you this?

Darn good question!

Maybe a better question is . . .

Why are you reading this?

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Life In Japan: Prescription Drugs

I’m really curious. So after I tell my tale, I expect some feedback from folks in other parts of the world, especially the U.S.

Very recently I had a relapse. It was a recurrence of something that first happened back in January 2020, when Masumi and I were in Chiang Mai, Thailand. It’s a sore throat from Hell!

The first time it happened, I thought for sure I had throat cancer. A huge lump made it almost impossible to swallow. Incredible pain. I can’t begin to describe what it felt like when the spicy Thai food hit the back of my throat. Think blowtorch and go from there. At least twice, I nearly passed out from the pain.

I didn’t say anything until I got back. We were guests of a very hospitable couple and I didn’t want to worry anyone or spoil the fun.

But the day after our plane landed here, I went to a throat specialist.

It wasn’t cancer. It was a TONSIL! At least part of a tonsil. Infected, inflamed, raising hell.

Now when I grew up, everyone had their tonsils removed at an early age. Standard procedure. I think I was four or five. Anyway, whoever removed mine must have been looking at the nurse across from him because he missed a big chunk. It’s still attached to the wall of my throat, ready to make trouble whenever a cantankerous virus or bacteria enters the scene.

The doctor I saw here was a genius! He diagnosed the problem and prescribed a cocktail of five drugs. I was already mending the next day. If five days, it was as if nothing had ever happened.

I had a recurrence a couple months ago. Same drug combination. Same immediate results.

Last week, I went through the same routine. Now we’re wondering if I should have the partial tonsil removed. We’ll decide next month. Ironically, Masumi and I are going back to Chiang Mai end of this month. We miss the elephants, hillside tribe people, and the night markets. We’re even taking a Thai cooking course this time around. So we’ll wait until we return before thinking about surgery.

Anyway . . . here’s my question. At the top of this article is a photo of the “drug cocktail,” a 5-day regimen combining powerful, latest generation antibiotics, an anti-inflammatory, a pain killer, and an ulcer-preventative (the anti-inflammatory drug and pain killer can be rough on the lining of the stomach). So there were FIVE drugs in all.

My cost was 480 yen for the entire package. That’s $3.47 USD.

I’m really curious. What would this cost say in the U.S. or Canada?

By the way, the bill for the doctor was even less expensive. 340 yen = $2.46.

I’ve written about health care here before. Obviously I’m very impressed.

So what is it? Socialism? Not really. It’s just a system strictly regulated by the government, which puts people before profits, which values the health of the population over the value of corporate holdings or stocks. Should it be any other way?

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Life In Japan: A Typical Sunday

I’m trying to remember what adventures I had in America typically on a Sunday. It was so long ago, and involved so many different places, it’s hard to sum it up. I know in Portland, a day off usually involved riding my bike. If there was something going on downtown — street fair, art exhibit, parade — I’d drop by. I know that visiting Saturday Market, which stretched over into Sunday, was part of my routine. In the 80s and 90s when I was living in Los Angeles, I would often go to Venice Beach to look at the weirdos, roller skate, just stroll and people watch.

Just another day on Venice Beach in Los Angeles.

Whatever I did, it was nothing like what I do now here in Japan. This past Sunday was pretty typical. So here’s how it went.

Masumi found a park not that far from us — about an hour drive — which she had never been to. It consisted of 1000s of lavender plants. She also found a very unique restaurant nearby, a Persian restaurant. I have to say this came as quite a surprise, though it really shouldn’t have. Of course, you expect big cities to have a wide selection of international cuisine and our area is about as rural as it gets. Even so, we have a French restaurant right in Tambasasayama that is world-class, and our favorite Thai restaurant is similarly situated in a relatively tiny rural village about an hour-and-a-half away. I’ve not had a lot of Middle Eastern food, and certainly don’t ever recall eating Iranian. I was definitely looking forward to the adventure!

However, before we made it to lunch, as we were driving a curvy country road, Masumi spotted a truly spectacular Shinto Shrine. What made it such a breathtaking site was that it was tucked in the midst of majestic, 1000-year-old trees that reminded me of being among the redwood trees in California. I’ve been to many shrines. The setting of this one took my breath away. We had to explore!

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Okay . . . we finally made it to the Persian restaurant. It had a very interesting genesis. Japanese wife discovers husband is cheating on her. They divorce. She looks online and meets a man living in Iran. She visits him and his family in Iran. They hit it off. They get married and return to Japan. (And they say Japanese people are timid and unadventurous?) They start a Persian restaurant. He cooks. She serves and collects the money. Now if that isn’t a truly charming, fairytale romance, I don’t know what is.

The bonus was that the food was not only authentic, it was extremely delicious!

Bellies full, smiles all around, we headed to the Lavender Park.

I’ll be honest. I’m not very fond of lavender. It’s not my favorite fragrance by a long shot. In fact, for me it generates images of old ladies with hairnets and orthopedic shoes. Not quite sure why. Bad childhood experience?

Even so, the park was phenomenal to visit. Lots of lavender for sure. And since it was high up on the side of a mountain, we had a wonderful view of a small town situated in the valley below and the terraced rice farms which surrounded it. The sun was extremely intense. I’m sure glad I had my new straw hat with me.

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So there you have it, a typical Sunday here in Japan . . . which will likely never be repeated.

Because it’s about improvising and just seeing what’s out there. And of course having fun!

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