1/22

The last day in Tokto. I woke up this morning with my jaw so sore I was sure in my blackout state the night before I had been punched in the face, probably by a girl. When I made my way to the sink I checked for bruising but saw nothing. When I brushed my teeth and my mouth was bleeding I investigated further. I had not been hit, but was in fact...teething. At 21 years old. I'd like to think that my dental hygiene is fairly good, I brush twice a day, floss on occasion, mouth wash most days. However, it has been some time since I actually attended a dentist appointment (which is ironic since my mom, sister and aunt all work for my uncle's dental practice). Apparently in the two years since my last dentist appointment (which was an emergency after an alcohol induced fall left me needing a root canal on my front tooth) I had sprouted a wisdom tooth. And today, facing a 13 hour plane ride, it decided to be as painful as possible. I was in pain, tempermental and surly. Honestly, I yearned for those chew toys they give two year olds.

But I had a plane to catch, and nothing was stopping me from reacquainting with myself with the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave (not to mention the Cheesy Gordita Crunch I had been craving since day 2). Jason and I took a taxi to the station where the airport bus left from to find Takagi, Jason and Alex and no one else. Our bus left in 4 mins, we had our tickets, but Takagi wanted us to wait for the others. We had seen this scene play out too many times, us waiting for the others to figure out how to use the train we have used 85 million times while we watch the train we are supposed to be in fly by us. Not today. Not with a date with America looming. So we threw up a peace sign to Takagi and boarded the bus. The rest of the day was uneventful, save me being unable to sleep on the plane and spending the majority of the time with my finger jammed to the back of my mouth trying to ease the pain of my growing tooth. It was one of those situations where I knew I looked like a jackass...but the pain was too much for me to care. After touching down we taxied around the runway for 30 minutes, because Tokyo hated us too much to have an easy flight, but alas I hit up the all-American Taco Bell for the delicious cruchueesy taste of the Cheesy Gordita Crunch and was happy to be home.

Final Count: Tokyo had taken me from too much money, my pride, my character apparently, of course my iPhone, most likely brought down a stellar GPA, made all my clothes smell like cigarettes and shattered any hope I had for yellow wife. But I did get some good memories and the stigma of this blog for the rest of my life, so I got that going for me.

1/21

Our final day in Tokyo, for all intents and purposes. First we labored through an unnecessary long class. After that we had the day to ourselves. Jason, Jason, Alex and I went to Shibuya to do some last minute shopping and scout a place to have our expensive dinner on USD's dime. We found a restaurant that looked good and more importantly was walking distance from a Karaoke place, massage parlor, love hotel and numerous bars. You never know where a night in Tokyo might take you, and we like to keep our options open. Don't judge.

So after returning to the Olympic Center and taking a flask of Jack Daniels to the face while watching Step Brothers we headed to dinner. I have to say one of the better things to come out of this trip for me is my reunion with an old friend, Jack Daniels. Jack had been my liquor of choice since I began drinking, but after a series of painful, very unhealthy, nights that led to alcohol poisoned 2 day long hangovers, I ended that relationship. For years even the smell of Jack brought back memories of being too miserable to leave the bed while I threw water up on myself on the top bunk of my dorm room. In Tokyo, my options were limited to generic brand Vodka (cheap Vodka has since catapulted itself to the top of my must never drink list) generic Gin (my gin experience is limited, and acquainting myself to it in a foreign country could have been disasterous) and Jack Daniels. I bit the bullet, bought the Jack and it worked. The time apart served us well, with Jack working to facilitate the kind of drunken, near-blackout debaucherous times of old while keeping the hangover ranging from non-existant to very manageable. Welcome back Jack.

Anways at dinner I continued to indluge myself with Jack, of the Jack and Coke variety. After a hit and miss dinner food-wise (Udan pasta with bacon was good, sea food au gratin...not so much) the waitress gave us a 'gift' of cold sake served in a wooden box. Upon forcing down my boxed sake (which is in fact worse than boxed wine) we headed over to Karaoke. Karaoke was all you can drink, so we had the Moscow Mule and beer flowing. After belting out some Europe "Final Countdown" and Sinead O'Connor "Nothing Compares to You" with Jason (those two songs pretty much sum up our friendship) Scrilla and I passionately performed LL Cool J's timeless "I Need Love." Weidner and Scrilla (a.k.a. 2 Much Flash) held it down as well, slowing down the hits for everyone to take in their off key but, but passionate take on K-Ci and JoJo's "All My Life." Hardly a dry eye left after that performance. Karaoke ended when Martina Navartilova fell on the table, spilling drinks everywhere. I think she fainted when Jason and I released the homosexual magic that is Sinead O'Connor, but who can blame her. Anyways, after Karaoke we left the girls behind to have one final swan song in the bars of Tokyo. After narrowly escaping a beat down at the small hands of numerous Japanese men (thanks Lyall) we found ourselves in an empty bar, where I proceeded to keep the Jack and Cokes rolling. My memory of this is beyond hazy, but if my memory serves me correctly, we left after obliging to overpay to the two bartenders because of their implied Yakuza ties. The last thing any of us needed at that point, so close to home, was to be indebtted to one of the world's most notorious organized crime outfits, so we left peaceably.

1/20

Honestly not a lot to report for today. We slept in (which was necessary), checked out of our hostel and got breakfast before heading to a temple known for its Golden Pavilion. It was cool, but as far as entertainment purposes pertaining to this blog go, the best we could do with this one is the occasional "i'd like to take a golden shower in the Golden Pavilion" or "sit on the golden throne in the Golden Pavilion" joke. Lyall did almost shit his pants...and when he finally found the toilet he discovered no toilet paper, ah to be green in Japan. Japanese bathrooms have no towels in them because the entire county is hell bent on being green, which is admirable, but I think Japan can spare the extra CO2 and give everyone the pleasure of having a clean ass. Dirty buttholes and poor dental hygiene are a miserable combination.

Anyways after the temple we wanted to visit a monkey park but didn't have enough time. If you read my earlier post about the ninja monkey you would understand why I was a huge advocate for the monkey park, the entire park is filled with free, wild ninja monkeys. However, it was not meant to be and I had to settle for taking the bullet train back to Tokyo. I didn't sleep this time. I probably should have though, I don't know if I will recover from the humiliation after being forced to use my laptop as an mp3 player for the ride home. This is like the modern equivalent of carrying a boom box on your shoulder. Life post iPhone is archaic depressing.

1/19

This morning we got up and went to a traditional ceremony. Nothing of particular interest happened here, except for more uncomfortable sitting. The tea was good though. Afterwards we headed to Kyoto Prefecture University to uncomfortably attempt to converse with Japanese college students. You think it would get easier, but being forced to try to converse with people who have a minor understanding of English (which is impressive when contrasted to my absolute reluctance to learn anything more than “I’m sorry” in Japanese, which I only learned out of necessity for my shameful behavior) is like pulling teeth. After “conversing” we moved on to another class to watch an anime movie. I honestly hate anime, it pains me to watch. The best part, this movie had been shown to me during an animation class my senior year in high school. I did the same thing both viewings: slept the entire time. Luckily I wasn’t nearly the only one, Japanese students included.

There was one redeeming quality to this class: the professor. There is no way for me to accurately portray this guy to get the full understanding necessary, but I’ll give it my best shot. He had an unkempt mop of black hair sprinkled with grey, shooting off in several directions. His teeth took poor Japanese hygiene to a new level, dark brown and rotting. His suit, sweater and jacket three piece was each a different tone of grey, and halfway tucked in. His glasses were always tilting down on one side. One of his brown boots was untied. But the kicker was his voice. Honestly he probably spoke better English than any Japanese person I have yet to encounter, but that just made it worse. He had a spitting lisp that wouldn’t quit, peppered each sentence with at least 10 “emms…ehhhs…ahhmmms...” and other dragged out single syllable pronunciations of consonant sounds that served no purpose other than to accentuate his nerdiness. And the tone of the voice was the quintessential high pitch nerd volume, only with an Asian affectation. Pure entertainment.

After the movie the university was having a rice pounding ceremony. I sat across from a girl who looked like she had just walked out of a poor Kyoto countryside village 100 years ago. Bowl cut, dirty face, the works. Anyways I could feel the excitement eminating from her as she waited for the instructions to be explained before we could start. At the end of the instructions she couldn’t contain herself, rocking back and forth in her seat while slapping her hands in a applause like a seal. It was amazing. When the speaker asked who wanted to be first her hand shot in the air faster than you can say “unagi roll.” After a few seconds of passing without the speaker seeing her (even though she was the only one with her hand raised) the girl took matters, and mallats, into her own hands. She got up, walked straight to the rice pounding hammer and went to work on this thing like her entire caste depended on it. It truly was a sight to behold. Her enthusiasm never wavered, and when it came time to roll the pounded rice, guess who was first in line. One of the highlights of my night came later when we played an ice breaker game where you had to fill out a bingo card with names and she approached me to ask for my name. She must have seen how much I enjoyed her display, or maybe she just noticed heard me screaming in laughter when she swung the mallat or saw me point at her everytime it was asked who wants another turn. Either way, though the conversation lasted only through greetings and pleasantries even 15 seconds with this girl was enough. I usually am never at a loss for words, but it was like meeting my childhood idol. Honestly I am probably better off not being able to get more of the conversation out of her, because she definitely struck me as the type of girl who would kill anything that stood between her and rice pounding.

Apparently we were guests of honor at this even, because before dinner we all had to get on the mic and introduce ourselves. I thanked them for inviting me to their pounding ceremony and enjoyed glasses upon glasses of the free beer and sake at my disposal. Eight beers and four glasses of sake later, I was toasted, much to Takagi’s chagrin. As they announced the names for Bingo later, I could barely contain myself. We took turns getting as absolutely ridiculous with our cheers for the winners of bingo as we could, while being the only ones to help ourselves to more beer and sake. After bingo ended one of the coordinators of the event said some incomprehensible Japanese to me and thrust the microphone to my face. Apparently he was asking if I enjoyed myself, but because I was drunk and because I had no idea what the hell he was saying to me, the best response I could muster up was to yell, “BINGO!” into the microphone. I hate myself.

After that we really had no choice but to go out since we were drunk already anyways. Even still, that didn’t stop me from spending every single dollar I had on Long Islands. It was a Monday night so no one was out, but I fell in love with a bar called Dylan that played exclusively (you guessed it) Bob Dylan tunes. They need to put one of these next to my house immediately, I am convinced its heaven on earth. Apparently I am the only who feels this way because the bar was empty and our group wanted to move on. We headed to another bar, the Pig Whistler, which was pretty cool. No extremely intoxicated, I spent the majority of the night telling AP (who is Mexican) some convoluted bullshit about how why I hate minorities (especially Mexicans) that complain about not being given equal opportunity in America, the land of opportunity, and would rather spend their time selling drugs and punching my face than bettering their lives and making the most of the opportunity they were given thanks to their immigrant parents struggles. Trust me I don’t even believe my own bullshit.

Afterwards I turned my hateful drunk speech toward the one girl on the trip, we will call her Martina Navratilova, who has been nothing but overly nice to me since I got here. For a variety of reasons, I began making lesbian or man related jokes to her just shortly after we got here. She constantly laughs them off, which only encourages me more to explore the breaking point. Even last night after checking on me because I was visibly disgustingly and abhorrently drunk I couldn’t contain myself from continuing to explore exactly where the line was. I thanked her for being such a mom to me this trip, but told her it made me uncomfortable because I was fairly certain she had a bigger dick than me. When she later brought up her travels to Australia, I asked her if it was because they have good sex-change specialists there. I gotta hand it to her though, she smiled it off and jokingly said I should watch myself because she could kick my ass. I shut up because she was right. I owed Bleedy a drink from the last time we went out so I went over and told her to order us a couple drinks, the only stipulation being no shots and no vodka. What does she order? Shots of potato vodka. I don’t know if you have ever tasted potato vodka, but it tastes like regular vodka, only if that vodka was used to bidet-style clean the ass of an Irishman, then served. I chased it with an entire coke.

Though most of us were blackout and Jason Cope spent the entire next day throwing up around Kyoto, Brett wins the award for most shameful blackout. And it really is a double victory because the night before he got blackout by himself in the hostel thanks to a bottle of whisky, and threatened to fight everyone including the stranger in our room who he had these kind words for: “I am gonna fucking fight that stupid Jew (we have no idea if he was actually a Jew)” and after we told him to go to bed “I can’t go to bed with that mustached dude staring at me.” Now, the dude did have a disgusting mustache but never even glanced towards Brett. Finally Brett cussed out 7-11 for their “smelly pastries” and went to bed. On this night, after leaving the bar Brett threw a bicycle on the ground, knocked over a parked motorcycle and kept almost wiping a booger on our taxi driver. Thank you Brett Lyall.

Japanese Cultural Aspect that I Have Either Ignorantly, Willfully or Both Disrespected: SARS Masks. I don’t get it. Everyone here wears them. SARS has passed and at the moment there is no bird initiated fatal disease like West Nile or Bird Flu that is stirring the world into an overhyped dramatic frenzy. Apparently they don’t want to get sick, which I find ironic when taken into account the poor hygiene and nicotine addiction the entire country seems to think is not at all unhealthy. It honestly freaks me out when I see people with them, like they know some airborne disease is floating in the area waiting to take down anyone foolish not to cover their face with a think cotton mask, or that I am some disease carrying impure American. The whole thing just makes me want to cough in their general direction when I see people wearing them.

1/18

This morning I woke up with a smile as were privileged enough to ride yet another bullet train into Hiroshima.  Again, I slept the entire way.  Bullet trains are amazing.  These things are like high-speed nap pods. 

Hiroshima was very, very interesting, but it became clear to me there that despite being one semester away, I still have the emotional maturity of my 8^th grade self.  All up until this trip we joked about draping ourselves in American flags while walking around.  Every picture we took around the sites that were preserved to show the destruction we took with poses of us flexing or some other disgustingly immature and insensitive pose.   The first thing we saw was the Atomic Bomb Dome, and we honestly made “bomb dome” or “atomic dome” jokes for the rest of the day.  That day at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park there was a marathon, and the irony of seeing thousands of Japanese running in a huge crowd away from the site of the atomic bomb landing was not lost on me.  I should probably stop there. 

The previous night at dinner there was a little mutiny between us and Takagi.  Takagi was pissed about girls missing their train, people complaining about shit and getting hammered and threw around things like, “curfew in Kyoto” and “negatively affect your grade.”  Also it should be noted that at this point in the trip when people have fucked up she has taken to calling them “Nick” to show her displeasure.  The best part is that I have never complained about shit to her or missed a train, or been late for anything.  Why she has reached this point of contempt for me is beyond my comprehension.  Needless to say I was one of the more vocal opponents of both of those statements.  Tensions ran high.  So the next day while walking through the park on our way to the Hiroshima Museum (I cannot even begin to tell you the awkwardness that is being one of the only Americans in a museum crowded with Japanese people and dedicated to revisiting the absolute historical damage my country has inflicted on their people) I spotted Takagi by her lonesome and made my move.  We walked and talked together while strolling around the park, making jokes, asking Hiroshima related intelligent questions and just generally charming the shit out of her.  Obviously, this isn’t the first time I have had to damage control with Takagi.  We have had several moments on this trip that can best be described as “tender” but this certainly was the most redeeming.  Nothing like ironing out cultural tensions between America and Japan while taking a stroll through Hiroshima.

Japanese Cultural Aspect that I Have Either Ignorantly, Willfully, or Both Disrespected: Since this entire post could fall into that category I am gonna switch it up and talk about something I entirely respect about Japan: Fanta Grape.  Everyone has heard about the magic of the vending machines in Japan (you can get beer, clothes, cigarettes, etc. you name it, it is in a vending machine) but there is no treasure like a Fanta Grape.  My first encounter with Fanta Grape was out of desperation.  I have a severe Diet Coke addiction and was about to break down when I realized Japan (like most countries) does not subscribe to the Diet Coke.  I stared at the vending machine for 5 minutes, before moving on to another only to meet the same fate: no DC.  Purely because I could actually read the label of Grape Fanta as opposed to the gibberish on every other can, I settled for the Fanta Grape.  That fateful moment has forever altered my life.  From the first sip of that acidy, sugary artificial goodness I could feel my teeth rotting, the onset of diabetes, and I was hooked.  As a fan of grape-flavored anything, this truly is the pinnacle of faux-grape infusion.  It’s been two weeks and I would guess I have had about 267 Fanta Grapes since I got here.  Diet Coke is not even a thought to me anymore.  The sweet taste of Fanta Grape forever made me forget that old hag DC.  It’s like I went on a trip with a wife back home and came home asking her to move out to make room for my new girl.  There better be readily available Fanta Grapes at home because I don’t want to think about how empty my life would be without it.    

1/17

I woke up this morning to Scrilla Mayne knocking on my door at 7 am.  We were supposed to be ready and outside at 6:45 to check out of our rooms in Tokyo and head to Kyoto.  Killer.  I put together a bag and 'cleaned' my room as fast as I could, just in time for Takagi to not hate me even more.  I powered through the fact I had two hours of sleep and the onset of a serious hangover because I was excited for today.  The reason?  We were taking a bullet train to Kyoto.  Honestly, the bullet train experience was one of the top ten things I was looking forward to in Tokyo.  Not becuase I am a train nerd or anything like that, but my fondness for the bullet train dates back to November.  In the midst of 'the most important election of my life' the single most important issue on the ballot for me was the passing of the construction of a bullet train from San Diego to San Francisco.  Total time: 2 hours.  Such a thing could not be real.  I mean imagine, day trips to San Francisco.  This is the pinnacle of technology.  This is the highest point scientific and industrial advancement for personal pleasure since the iPhone, and you know coming from me that is saying a lot.  I have talked at length about the potential of this train for hours to anyone who would hear me listen.  And to anyone who voted against this magical form of transportation: shame on you, all of you should be forced to take a train to SF from SD in the current miserable conditions and recast your vote.

Anyways, the bullet train was everything I hoped it would be.   To be 100% honest, I slept the entire time (I was still drunk and running off two hours of sleep).  But even since then, every time I have rode it (3 times now) I have slept 95% of the trip.  I think this is a good thing, anytime I can sleep in anything moving 120 km/h, it's gotta be a comfortable a ride.  I dreamt of catching an afternoon out before arriving for a night of debauchery in SF and jetting home after, all while sleeping off the subsequent drunkness.  My only regret: not having iPhone there to share the experience with me, that would have completed my trip here.  

The rest of my day was spent going to a homestay in Tokyo.  After waiting for three of the girls in our group who were late getting on a train, one of which was accompanying me to my home stay, we headed out.  Ours was the furthest away, our directions were in Japanese and the guide at the international center handed us a map and told us she couldnt find it on a map.  Regardless, I navigated the Kyoto subway system like I was Ponce de Leon and got us there in a reasonable time.  Finding her house in a sea of Japanese characters and having to take pathways that made me feel as though I was trekking through an ancient cave in search of hidden treasure was mildly difficult.  But it did get better once we arrived.  We knock on the door greeted to a 17 foot dog charging around the corner (it was like The Beast from Sandlot, but with longer fur...if you don't get my Sandlot reference I don't even want to know you) barking menacingly.  Finally an old Japanese woman answers the door and shouts to us down at the gate, "You're too rate."  We attempt to apologize but that gets met with a "wait here.." and we continued to stand outside for 30 while a giant dog of mythical and epic proportions foamed at the mouth and barked incessantly.  At least the neighbors didn't stare...ohh wait.  

Finally she lets us in only to tell us how late we are (apparently she was told we would get there at 4, we left at 4 and she was the farthest away home stay household, her directions were in Japanese and even the international office couldn't find the right train layout).  She then sits us down to "talk" to us.  I use the word talk loosely because she had very little grasp on the English language, and was offended that I knew zero Japanese.  At this point I checked out and let my partner handle all the conversation while I downed green tea wishing it was spiked with anything.  After we got back we went out to dinner with Takagi who took whatever diminished spirit I had left and broke it (more on this later).  Needless to say, I spend Saturday night in Kyoto in a hostel with our 7 guys and one mustached stranger going to bed early.  Nice.

1/16

Ahh Friday.  The first and only weekend night in Tokyo we can actually go out.  We powered through class in the morning, DGAFed our papers that were due Saturday morning, packed our shit up, went to honestly the worst thing I have ever been to (Noh).  Let me tell you about Noh, I drank heavily before in the bar and during the intermission with Lyall-san (who spent 90 percent of the play passed out over a full row of seats in the back).  And it was still perhaps the most miserable experience of my life.  Its Japanese traditional theatre, but the story lasted two and half hours and consisted of one masked dude praising the cherry blossoms for an hour, before another masked dude told a story of how praising the cherry blossoms will defeat an army.  Awesome.  If the story wasn't bad enough, it was literally just told, there is no action, save for the masked dudes slowly slinking around the small stage and the "band" who hums and beat their drums.  If any of this sounds exciting to you, forget it, it's not.  I would say half of us (myself included) fell asleep for a solid portion.  Normally here's where I would talk about what a disgusting shameful American I am, but looking around the theatre I saw double digit Japanese sleepers as well, so I don't feel as guilty about it.  

Afterwards we spent an hour getting tickets for the bullet train to take to Kyoto the next day.  Finally, we hit up 7-11, pregamed it and went to a club.  From what I remember the club was sick.  Lots of people, lots of lights and lasers, lots of floors, lots of drinks.  Too many drinks.  As is customary for me when I go to out in Tokyo, I came back with few memories and no money.  I have two fleeting memories from the club: 1) getting shot down by Japanese girls I tried to dance with.  Totally not humiliating, especially given the hand gesture for "no" in Tokyo is to make an "X" out of your arms, so any pride that could have been mustered by a polite decline was lost when both girls simultaneously threw up a fat "X" in my face.  2)  making too good of friends with two Japanese dudes and introducing them to the Long Island Ice Tea.  Say goodbye to polite, not humiliating drinking boys.  

Apparently Bleedy and I left the club a little bit earlier, and it's a wonder how we made it home given the states we were in.  Both of our recollection of leaving is foggy at best, we left our jackets in the lockers.  Apparently she left without her wallet as well, so how we paid for the cab given I spent all my money at the bar, remains a mystery.  When the rest of our group got home, they found Bleedy in the fetal position in the hall with a sheet over her, and Scrilla found me passed out with my feet on the table, computer in my lap sitting up in the common room.  Obviously I have no recollection of this but Scrilla informed me that he asked me if I wanted to go to bed, to which I responded, "Fuck yes."  He then asked me if I wanted to brush my teeth, and I said, "Scrilla, that's what tomorrow's for."  At least I practice good hygiene in my blackout state.  Scrilla, the drunken sweetheart that he is then tucked me in to bed.  What a guy.

Japanese Cultural Aspect that I Have Either Ignorantly, Willfully, or Both Disrespected: Personal Space.  The Japanese, though a timid and reserved people, have no concept of personal space.  Apparently they have so much trust in each other that they don't mind strangers so close you can feel them breathing on you.  Considering the aforementioned dental hygiene practices of the Japanese combined with their tendency to chain smoke, I am not as comfortable with it.  Another consequence of this is unattended asian children everywhere you look.  Crazy.  But the most obvious example of this in practice is in the metro.  Since I have been riding the train about 17,000 times a day since I got here, I have been victim to a hot Japanese cigarette breath on my neck several times.  My personal favorite though was when I was fortunate enough to get a seat on a crowded car and got a faceful of Japanese man crotch next to my face piece.  I did return the favor.  After coming to the realization that Japanese people have no regard for personal space and I would really have to cross a line before they would dare say something, most crowded (and close to empty for that matter) subsequent subway ride I creep as close as possible to a random Japanese man while watching the stages of their face go from confusion, to discomfort, to nerves, yet still refuse to ask me to back up, even if I am basically attaching myself to them like a barnacle on an otherwise empty train.