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My publicist says I must share personal anecdotes if I expect to generate traffic. That sounds like I intend to peddle drugs. I am not by nature a friendly person, and if I wished to write an autobiography, or indeed, the sort of fiction that makes one’s heart bleed for the author, I would not have become an anthropologist. Though blogs are interesting to me in aggregate, as any culture is interesting, with its own myths, rituals, and wars, individual blogs are bizarre.

For me to write this is to ask you to become an anthropologist of a culture of one: a Kenjiologist, and who would want to be such a thing? Who would wish to crouch in a dusty corner and conduct field research on a middle-aged Japanese gentleman who enjoys trains, golf, and American diners? What rituals can he have, what myths of himself, what origin stories can he tell? None, nothing. If it is important to the culture of him, he cannot tell, for such things are secret.
I suppose that is interesting. Secrets always are. I have them; we all have them. Mine are perhaps…different, than yours. I have not cheated on my wife or lost a child, nor have I been in prison.

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