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.

1/15

Today we got up obnoxiously early again to watch a Sumo practice.  My first sight inside the practice facility was the pimpliest hugest ass I have ever seen.  At 6 am, such an image can be a bit jarring.  We sat Indian Style (so sick) behind the chain-smoking sumo coaches to watch practice.  I sat there freezing, uncomfortable and could barely see through the haze of menthols the coaches kept lit constantly.  Finally Takagi mercifully got us out of there and took us to breakfast.  I got to go home and sleep the rest of the day while everyone else went to a museum because I had already been there with my homestay family.  

After enjoying my personal day, I met back up with the group for a sumo tournament.  This was my first solo experience and it went ok.   I took the rapid train the wrong way though, and while it is much faster than the local train when traveling in the right direction, but in the wrong direction, it ‘rapidly’ takes you far away from where you need to be.  In 5 minutes I was 15 local stops away from my starting point, sick.  Thanks to the help of a small black child, I got back in the right direction and met up with the group on time.  (This was kind of ironic to me that in my frantically lost mindset as I looked around the subway for someone to talk to, the small afro-ed black kid was the one I looked at and thought to myself, “ah, another person like me.”) The group was scattered around the arena, and Brett and I decided to treat the opportunity like we would at an American professional sporting event: eat snacks, get tanked and yell inappropriate things like a maniac.  Takagi was right next to me but I figured just being there was bonus money as most of the group hadn’t even met up with her.  I even got more beer on the subway home and she didn’t seem to mind.   Maybe I’m winning her back. 

Anyways, 5 tall cans of Kirin, two Sapporo’s, a box of caramels and a bag of potato chips later, we left to go get dinner.  Dinner was at a curry restaurant.  As a general rule there is nothing India has to positively offer me, and I assumed dinner would fall in line with that assumption.  I was sure to be disgusted, but more than pleasantly surprised.  The curry was good, (I got the hot chili chicken) but nan….oh my god…nan.  For those unaware of nan, it is absolutely the best kind of bread product known to man, and I am bread connoisseur.  I have tried breads from all over the world, and of all types of flavors, textures, and toppings or seasonings.  But nothing comes close to nan.  I chose the garlic nan.  Garlic bread isn’t even in the same conversation.  I tried the stuffed cheese nan, it was better than any cheese quesadilla I have ever had.  I tried the potato nan, I cannot even describe this one…it was like a cross between a slice of cheese pizza and a potato pancake, and the best of each of those.  Unbelievable.  Forget the horrible mistreatment of women, the sandstorms, the smell, the extreme poverty, and the fact that Indians are dominating the practice of medicine in America, India has saved face in my book thanks to Nan.  (Forgive my middle eastern generalizations)  After dinner we went home, all drunk at this point, and took turns exchanging the urban hits of the 90’s.  The playlist went something like this, to name a few:

• Joe-Stutter
  
• Next – Too Close
  
• Jagged Edge – Where the Party At
  
• White Town – Be Your Woman
  
• Quad City DJs – Ride the Train
  
• Mario Winans – I Don’t Wanna Know
  
• All 4 One – I Swear
  
• Jay Z feat. Jermaine Dupri – Money Ain’t a Thang
  
• Monica – Angel of Mine
  
• Ja Rule – Put it on Me
  
• K-Ci & Jojo – All my Life
  
• Soul 4 Real – Candy Rain
  
• Brian McKnight – Back at One
  
• R Kelly and P Diddy – Satisfy You
  

And this was just the tip of the iceberg.  So many songs are eluding me now, but last night, we spent a minimum of two hours remembering every junior high dance party hit we could.  None of us will rest unless our next event’s theme is “Urban Hits of the 90’s.”  Get excited.

And now for the latest installment of Japanese Cultural Aspect that I Have Either Ignorantly, Willfully, or Both Disrespected: Engrish.com.  As you well know by now, Japanese broken English is among the best thing I have experienced here.  This site is amazing; please check it out so you can understand my joy.  

1/14

Our travels today brought us to a high school just outside of Tokyo.  At the high school we had an opportunity to talk to some college graduates who are spending a couple years teaching English at the Japanese high school.  We used this forum to ask them about ‘cultural differences.’  When they told us to keep our cultural practices while here, we used it as an open forum to subtly pwn Takagi Sensai, asking questions we knew would get favorable responses for us.  

After the passive aggressive pwnage, a group of senior Japanese students let us join them for an English class.    The group Scrilla and I were paired up with reminded me of ‘Poly Force’ from Summer Heights High, for any of you familiar with that show.  For any not familiar with the show, go find it now.  They looked like this: the ringleader had an anime haircut and wore his uniform with the shirt tucked out, there was a little mischievous girl who I am sure was making fun of people in Japanese the whole time, a monstrous Japanese dude who had bushy black hair that looked like Brett’s Hair Helmet from Flight of the Conchords (again, if your not familiar with the reference step up your HBO programming), and a short, fat kid with glasses.  Every time one of them made a joke they would all get up and high five each other (this is how I knew the little mischievous girl was making fun of people).  The huge kid with the helmet laugh had the typical ‘I am an enormous dude with a soft but deep giggle’ which he spent the entire time employing.  The ringleader spent the entire time making calls on whoever he could.   First started by mocking the English teacher, sitting behind them cross legged and used his broken English to say “today we are goin to reaarnn…hahahahaa” before exchanging high fives.  Later when the teacher asked us to close our eyes, he belted out, in melody “CRROOOSSSSSEEE YOOOOAARRRR EEYYYYESSSSS.”  Even I had to high five him for that one.  Later he turned his mockery to Alex, when Weidner answered a question intended for Japanese students he yelled, “We already knew that,” and looked around for someone to high five and hand pound.  It turned out the one place he had been to in America was Huntington Beach, so we bonded over that and our mutual affinity for Avenged Sevenfold.  When I told them they went to my high school I saw him shit miso soup right in his pants.  

The rest of the high school visit was relatively uneventful, save our exit.  For whatever reason some of the Japanese students (mostly girls) were fascinated with us, following us around sheepishly, giggling when we made eye contact or waved to them and staring out the window as we left.  Even though this was about 15 students in a school of 900, I took the only semi-appropriate opportunity I will probably ever have to do the arrogant celebrity escape.  The one where you leave, pretending to be in a hurry and not having time to acknowledge your fans, covering your face and looking down as you exit, before turning around and greeting them to an even bigger reception now that you’ve built it up (I did the turn around and wave, head back down then turn around and hold open my arms, both classic moves).  This literally had an effect on one student at best and just made me look an asshole with no sense of self, but it was worth it.  

I’m starting a new aspect of the blog that will pop up periodically.  Here’s the first installment of:

Japanese Cultural Aspect that I Have Either Ignorantly, Willfully, or Both Disrespected: Dental Hygiene.  Maybe it’s the two weeks I have been cooped up here while seeing few attractive Caucasians, maybe I am actually catching yellow fever, or maybe it was the school girl outfits the girls at the high school wore that had me questioning the statutory laws while walking around the high school, but in any sense, Japanese girls are growing on me.  Whether it’s in Harajuku with the girls with the blond haired, flamboyantly dressed almost sluts (its so cold even the sluttiest girl can only bare showing lower thigh to knee), or the schoolgirls at the highschool, I have seen many a Japanese girl that I would graciously welcome in assisting me to create some of those cute Asian babies…until they smile.  Honestly, forget everything you have seen on TV, I have yet to see one Asian, male or female with good teeth.  Not just crooked, but dirty.  Multicolored.  Every mouth is an adventure.  I have seen the shark teeth look, where the teeth are so crooked it looks like they are in rows.  I have seen the missing teeth look and the yellow/green/brown with spots of white.  It’s like the color of leaves in autumn, but inside a mouth.  Every person, without fail.  It’s a bummer.  Maybe I am too picky or need to lower my hygiene standards and expectations, but as it stands today with the dental hygiene practices of the Japanese, every person that smiles at me makes me want to open a dental practice in Japan, or at the very least offer them some floss.

1/13

This morning we woke up ridiculously early to head to a Zen temple.  I couldn’t hang with my breakfast of cold noodles and cold squid rings, so I got an ice cream cone at 7-11 for breakfast.  We were going to a Zen temple that morning, which was going to be an experience for sure since all of us were some combination of still drunk or hung over.  I was actually feeling good once we arrived; maybe it was the Zen atmosphere, who knows.  While the ideas and principles behind Zen seem on target to me, in practice it is the most physically uncomfortable thing I have ever taken part in.  Zen meditation is a lot like detention.  You sit facing a wall, but instead of being able to lay your head down or slouch in your chair, you sit Indian style (pretty sure I have already talked about my complete lack of ability to pull that off for more than 2 minutes) for 30 minutes, in silence.  After 30 minutes you get up, walk in the slowest circle possible around the room and do it again.  After the 2^nd round I felt like LT in the playoffs: torn groin, sore knee and a miserably uncomfortable look on my face, while hobbling around like I just had been given a full body cavity search with the aid of a baseball bat.  We then walked outside, bare feet in the freezing cold, and sat Indian style for lunch.  The Zen master prefaced lunch by telling us that in Zen, food is not for enjoyment, it is to appreciate nature, there is no wasting and no preference in the food (taste is unimportant).  What this meant to me was that I was about to be served some disgusting shit that would be an abomination of the Buddhist religion in front of a Zen master if I didn’t finish.  So I was completely stoked when they served me Japanese pickled radishes, miso soup, organic vegatable medley and tofu cakes.  Honestly, despite my most serious attempt, I almost gagged at least 5 times.  It got to the point where I was swallowing food whole the second it entered my mouth just to get through it, which didn’t help my attempts at not gagging trying to swallow 5 inch mushrooms and beans the size of eyeballs whole.  But I did get through it.  The rest of the day was spent listening to the Zen Master, which was enlightening and enjoyable, but not particularly fitting with the theme of this blog, so I’ll spare you. 

The rest of the day was boring.  I am broke, my body was exhausted and going out was the last thing any of us wanted to do.  Instead we went to dinner where Takagi scolded a few of us again (I was spared this time) and watched some Katt Williams stand up.  If you haven’t seen it, go watch it now. 

 

Seeing as this post was fairly short and boring, I want to take this space to tell you about another one of Japan’s peculiarities that makes me so happy: the names of stores.  Everywhere tries to name their stores something in English so when combined with the rough translation it makes for great store names.  Some examples: Beard Papa’s Pipin’ Hot Ice Cream Puffs, RawDrip (my personal favorite), Broiled Pig and Cow Innards in Red Hot Chili Sauce, Tong Fat, Condomania, Fukuya, Play!! Game!!  I would go to all of these places just because of there name. 

Finally, iPhone, if you’re out there.  I think about you every day.  I call you every day.  Come back to me, I’ll never let you go again.

1/12

Woke up just in time this morning to watch the Chargers lose.  Sick.  Also woke up after breakfast, as did everyone else and minutes after waking up Takagi Sensai was knocking on my door to collect my key before we got ready to move out.  Takagi was less than pleased with us at this point.  I have vague memories of running into Takagi the night before in the hallway when we returned and her saying something to the effect of “you’re late….you broke your promise…you can’t be trusted…no breakfast tomorrow.”  Apparently the last part was just wishful thinking as Takagi was furious about missing breakfast and cancelled the rest of the day.  My bad guys.  Takagi was mad at everyone, but she did save her harshest criticism for me: “your character is such that it cannot be trusted.”  Honestly, that stings.  I didn’t think a teacher had the capability of hurting my feelings, but I thought wrong.  Anyways I enjoyed the last shower I would take in D building before checking out and enjoying my free day.  How did I enjoy my free day?  Walking around Harajuku, eating a double cheeseburger at Wendy’s and nursing my hangover at Starbucks before coming back the to Olympic Center and watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall.  Thrilling. 

That night we got dinner with Takagi, totally not awkward or uncomfortable.  After dinner we checked in to our initial miserable rooms that are about as cozy as solitary confinement.  We went back to Shibuya again, this time to another club called RockWest.  Apparently Monday nights are the best club nights, besides nine of us, there was three other people in club.  One would think this would make for less memorable of a night, but one would be mistaken.  AP was at it again, this time targeting everyone.  After seeing her maul Scrilla I thought I was in the clear, but as I enjoyed my Reggae Punch (best drink ever) at a table by myself in the corner, I saw AP get that look in her eye and head my direction.  I thought to myself, I am sitting down, my back is against the wall (my ass wasn’t vulnerable) and I am not even on the dance floor, how bad could this end?  She danced over to me and I obliged with half dancing back while still sitting in my chair.  So far so good.  Seconds later as I turn my head to acknowledge Weidner who had walked up next to me I felt AP’s teeth dig in my cheek.  “What the fuck…did you just bite my face?”  AP had a glassy look her in eyes and instead of responding went back for the bite again.  Despite my best effort to move she caught me again.  At this point another girl noticed the pain, dismay and anger in my face and removed AP from the situation while I went to the bathroom and checked my face for blood.  Seriously.  AP spent the rest of the night sitting on the toilet with the door open, vomiting on the floor.  Classy.  As we got together and wrangled AP up from her post on the toilet to leave we realized we had lost Scrilla.  We scoured the club before figuring he must have left on his own.   We all got into cabs and headed back.  When we got back Alex and I were sitting in the common room and heard Scrilla get back about 30 minutes after us.  He charges into the common room yelling about his lost debit card.  When we asked him where he was, he gave us a response that went something like, “Where was I BRO? I was at the club bro, where were you BRO?”  When we told him we looked for him and he wasn’t there, he threw his phone on the ground and went back to yelling for his debit card.  Though I went to bed shortly after, it turned out Scrilla had given his debit card to Jason but in his anger looking for it last night broke his phone, begged cab drivers to give him a ride home though he didn’t have money, cried when he was lost on the streets of Tokyo with no money, no friends and no way home (who can blame him) and tore apart his room looking for a debit card that he had given to Jason earlier in the night so he wouldn’t spend more money.  So despite AP’s best effort, winner again of the most blacked out drunken Tokyo night: Scrilla Mayne.  Congratulations.

1/11

I woke up this morning to Maki and Susumu's dog, a toy poodle named Sakura, running all over me.  I spent the night sleeping "Japanese style."  Apparently Japanese style means sleeping on a thin futon on the floor.  But it was okay, because I got to sleep in.  So far in Tokyo I have never slept past 8, save Black Thursday, but that was hardly enjoyable, so when they asked me if I was alright with sleeping in, I nearly wept with happiness.   When we did wake up, around 10:30, we had tea and delicious pastries while watching Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls.  Susumu's a big fan.  I never wanted to leave.  It didn't feel like home, it felt better than home.  After breakfast we hit a museum, a big souveneir shop area and a shrine.  At the shrine there were numbered drawers with fortunes in them.  First you draw a straw, the straw tells you which drawer open, then pick the fortune.  Maki and Susumu both drew "regular" fortunes.  Me? Bad fortune.  Pretty much sums up Tokyo thus far.  The fortune said something to the effect of "do not start a new career, do not travel, if you are sick you will not get better."  This was no fortune cookie fortune, the Japanese do not fuck around their bad fortunes.  

After spending the day with them and being showered with candies and pastries I headed back to the Olympic Center.  We checked in to new rooms in a different building of the Olympic Center, and it was glorious.  Internet in each room.  TV in every room.  A shower and bathroom in every room.  A mini fridge in every room.  Finally, some accommodations.  Shortly after checking in the news was delivered to me that we would only be there one night before having to check out and move back to our prison cells in the first building.  Despite my desperate pleas to stay, Takagi Sensai shut me down.  

After polishing off a bottle of Jack we headed out to find a club in Shibuya.  Scrilla Mayne, in typical fashion, lived up to the Team Blackout reputation and was surly and blackout drunk before leaving.  Some highlights from Scrilla for the night include, but were far from limited to, yelling at everyone, spitting drinks on doors, and finally, peeing in the middle of the sidewalk on the way to the subway.  Four Japanese gathered around him while he pissed, shining flashlights and wearing looks that were combinations of horror, confusion and shock.  Weidner went to talk to him and that conersation ended with Scrilla yelling at him something to the effect of "I dont need a babysitter, fuck this," and Scrilla retiring to his room.  When we finally made it to Shibuya we went into a bar called Gaspanic.  Apparently Gaspanic is where hip-hop imitating Asians hang out.  Besides our group, there was 4 hood rich asians, one of them breakdancing alone in the middle of the floor.  For the rest of this blog I am going to start referring to some of the girls in our group, but save them from the humiliation of this blog, so names have been changed.

We changed venues to a 4 story club down the street.  Inside, one of the girls, for the sake of anonymity she will be heretofore referred to as AP, for Ass Pounder (this will make sense later).  AP was more than sufficiently intoxicated and spent majority of the evening coming up from behind and pounding me in the ass while I danced.  The best part of this, besides getting dominated by a girl from behind, was that I was almost always holding a drink that would inevitably be spilled onto whoever had the misfortune of dancing with me.  After this happened about 4 times, I kept an eye out for the rest of the night and made quick escapes when AP got that look in her eye that let me know a prison raping was in my future.  When we left the club, Brett and I left with another girl, Bleedy, back to the Olympic Center.  Like all of us, Bleedy did a couple too many shots and was beyond fucked up.  First step outta the club, Bleedy went down.  Hard.  Brett and I pick her up and we get in her in a cab, where she goes from being funny sweet drunk to seeing her now bloody knee and elbow and went to sad in pain drunk and spent the cab ride cussing and laying on the cab floor.  The cab driver lets us out at the gate for the Olympic Center.  I can only imagine what the guard at the gate must have thought me dragging a passed out bloody girl back to our rooms.  All the makings for a roofie induced beating and rape.  It's a good thing I'm a gentlemen...

1/10

Today was my homestay.  I checked out of my room in the Olympic Center and prepared myself for what I figured would be among the top ten awkward experiences in my life.  Which is saying a lot because I have incredibly awkward experiences on a fairly regular basis.  After getting off the metro at the stop I was supposed to meet my host family, I recognized the husband, Susumu, from a picture his wafe, Maki, sent me.  My first sight of Susumu was him trying to find me based on a picture he had on, yes, you guessed it, his iPhone.  God hates me. 

**As it turns out both Make and Susumu had iPhones, and love them nearly as much as I did mine.  When I broke the news that mine had vanished somewhere in Japan, they both looked at me with horror and sadness.  “I can understand your sadness,” Maki said to me.  Coming from this cute little Japanese woman, I could see the understanding in her eyes and it almost made me feel better for a second.**

We hopped in a taxi and headed over to meet his wife, Maki at a new years celebration concert of traditional Japanese music.  Killer.  Once we arrived I had a plate set for me at a table that was no more than two feet off the ground.  I have to admit that despite sitting Indian style (a position I haven’t been comfortable with since I was 6) for two hours causing incredible discomfort from my back to my toes, the concert wasn’t bad.  Halfway through Maki even told Susumu and I to escape before we get too bored.  We left the music center and walked through some garden.  After about 20 minutes we both gave each other a look that said, “We’ll this is fairly awkward, how about heading back to the music hall?” 

On the way home after the concert we stopped at a grocery store to get some ingredients for some Nabe, or Japanese stew, that Maki would prepare for dinner.  As we walked around the store I watched as every ingredient Maki grabbed made my stomach turn.  The only thing that stopped me from sprinting out of there and laying down on the subway tracks was the entertainment I got from watching Susumu really get his body moving to “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” and the “Ghostbusters” song blazing from the supermarket speakers.  However, I digress.  For those of you unfamiliar with my eating habits, I live nearly exclusively off fast food.  While my horrible eating habits have gotten a little better as of late (now I will not pick off lettuce and tomato from cheeseburgers), adventurous eater is surely a description that no one will ever use to describe me.  The first three ingredients we picked up? Three different types of mushroom, a variety of leaves, and cod (complete with scales).  After Maki reached for the tofu and asked me how I liked it, I had to speak up.  “Please don’t be offended if I don’t eat everything, I’m kind of picky.”  Translation: “Don’t hate me when I throw up your food after forcing it down with my nose plugged and fighting back vomit while trying to limit the number disgusted faces I am sure to make.”  I gotta hand it to Maki though, the Nabe was dope.  I didn’t eat any of the mushrooms or tofu, but delighted myself in enjoying three bowls of the rest of the ingredients (even the cod). 

After dinner Susumu and I cracked some beers, watched the Celtics-Cavs game and talked Boston sports (he spent two years in Boston) while getting toasted.  Kudos Maki and Susumu, it feels like home.  

1/9

Sorry about the delay in the post, I was without internet.  If you noticed though, God help you. Without further ado...

Friday, or day 1 after black Thursday (the day I realized my iPhone had left me).  This morning our group put on our fancy clothes (I use the term ‘fancy’ loosely as all my ‘nice’ shirts were incredibly wrinkled or still disgusting with sweat and likely vomit from my refusal to wash them after some dance) and headed out to an elementary school to spend the day with some even smaller than normal Japanese people.  The day was long and rainy, but the kids were amazing.  Some observations from the elementary school:

•       Fat kids are troublemakers.  This may come as little surprise, but it was clear, pound for pound, the heavier the child, the more devious the child.  For example, the heaviest kid in the class was the only one who refused to behave when the principal addressed the large class, throwing things and disrupting his neighbors.  Bad ass from the get go.  The next two heaviest kids spent the entire calligraphy class fighting with each other.  A third fat kid threw a hammer at my foot, which was nice because the pain was compounded by the fact I had to wear slippers that were no bigger than size 7 for all 4 hours we were there.  It is now clear to me why sumo wrestling exists: Fat kids in Japan have no ability to control their behavior, and their only chance at succeeding in life is to get next to naked and wrestle each other in a forum where such a thing is encouraged since they spend their lives partaking in that kind of mischievous activity anyway. 
  
• ·      We encountered one curious looking young gentlemen who seemed to have a thinning Jerry curl, the only distinguishing head amongst a sea of little black heads.  He was balding, in the third grade.  Alex described him perfectly by simply referring to him as “Playpen” of the Charlie Brown movies.  I simply could not wrap my mind around this puzzling hairstyle. 
  
• ·      Little Asian kids are the cutest.  To again quote Weidner, “I get why Brad and Angelina adopt them.”  And he’s right.  These moppy headed bastards are the cutest things you have ever seen in your life, no kidding.  I had lunch with a classroom of third graders and couldn’t have been more overwhelmed by cuteness if I saw a pack of koalas raising a stray kitten.  And I am pretty sure koalas are not pack animals.  There is no topping Asian kids.  They are the friendliest and easiest impressed people I have ever encountered.  After seeing the Asian kids laugh at me for mispronouncing “my name is” in Japanese and seeing the enthusiasm in which they played rock paper scissors with me, I’m sold.  One of two things must happen later for me in life: adopt an Asian kid or marry an Asian woman.  I don’t even find them attractive, I just need to ensure that I bring that kind of enjoyment to my life.  It would be like having a pet baby panda, and I am pretty sure that is impossible. 
  

After the elementary school we killed some time at a Starbucks before heading over to an English lesson for Japanese children between ages 3-10.  So as not to exhaust myself on the subject I will try to make my description of that experience brief.  Little Asian kids trying to speak English to me, then being better at origami and games they played with me was too much.  Those kids are to cute what heroin is to drugs.  I know I have gone from, “dude, ease up you sound kinda gay” to “never let Nick around small children again,” but I am sorry.  I’ll end it with this, I get why China has an overcrowding problem.  If I could reproduce children that cute, I would have at least 2,000.

 

The night ended with us trekking through a rainstorm that at its best was horrific and its worse unbearable.  After returning to our hotel, the ever so delicate Takagi Sensai broke the news to us that our Friday night was going to have to be spent packing and cleaning since we left for our homestay that day.  None of us took the news well, but Scrilla took his feelings to a whole new level.  He pounded a bottle of Vodka by himself, spit on a few vending machines, and passed out on the common room couch while full body snoring so violently I wondered if he was sleeping through a seizure. 

After retiring to bed I woke up at some godawful hour of the night to what sounded like 5,000 storming through my hall while screaming as if they were on fire.  And not like “ouch my hair caught on fire” but “OH MY GOD IM ENGULFED IN FLAMES THIS IS THE END” on fire.  After being certain I heard a slaying directly outside my door, I pulled a sheet over my head, got in the fetal position and found God as quickly as possible while preparing myself for the end.  It turns out it was just the girls from our program drunkenly returning from their night and paying us back for the never-ending elevator rides we have so courteously given them (they are on the top floor, we are on 2, and never leave the elevator without pressing the button for every other floor).  So yeah, it was nice to know that when shit goes down (you know, shit like three stupid drunk girls making a point) my best defense is to curl up in a ball and hold back tears.  Real tough.  Anyways, girls I send you this message: your payback will not end quickly, nor will you enjoy it.

This is the most emasculating post ever.

1/8

Yesterday can only be described as one of the most pathetic days of my life.  The day began with me waking up to the sound of my door being knocked on ferociously.  I got up quickly and answered the door, failing to realize I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, with the exception of my pants which had fallen to my ankles as I slept with my feet on the ground, on top of my bed.  When I opened the door, Jason was there telling me it was time for breakfast and class.  Now that I had been awake for 30 seconds I realized I was still very much intoxicated from the night before, and told him, “there’s no way I am making it to class.”  Right as the words exited my mouth, Takagi Sensai (our teacher) walked and glanced at the train wreck that was Nick Huskins.  Perfect. 

I went back to bed, not walking up again until 11:30.  When I finally did wake up I reached for my iPhone, as I do every morning.  We all know how that story ends.  I shot out of bed and ferociously tore my room apart looking for it.  Not in the bed, not on the desk, not on the floor, not in my backpack, not in my luggage, not in the clothes from last night (which I was still wearing 17 hours after initially putting them on).  I changed clothes and sprinted to the benches I vaguely remembered sitting on the previous night.  No luck.  Sprinted into two buildings to check the lost and found.  No luck.  Nearing a panic attack I went back to the room and typed the previous blog entry, fighting back tears and lost in emotion. 

The rest of my day was spent hungover, on the couch, downloading movies, retrieving the number of the bar visited the night before (no luck, again), activating international roaming so my phone would ring if called (but it doesn’t) and nursing one yet another miserable hungover, this time induced from a bottle of red wine, long islands and vodka shots.  Kill me. 

I wish there was more to the story, but it remains destined to end a tragedy.  Besides that I ate a couple of shitty Japanese meals that only made me go from “kinda having to throw up” to “throwing up is the only possibility I have of releasing this hellish feeling from my body.”  Tokyo, you are indeed a vicious and vengeful lover. 

 

1/7

I am never drinking again.

The reason is probably not what you might think.  Although I am battling one of my more severe hangovers in recent memory, the hangover is not even close to the reason I am stopping drinking.  And although my actions last night were despicable, again they are not the reason I am quitting drinking.  I know everyone's uttered the phrase "I am never drinking again" at least a few times in their lives if they experienced life a little, but I mean it.  Something happened last night that has broken me as an individual and I don't think I will ever recover.  As I write this it is taking me all I have not to jump off the top of the Tokyo Tower.  You might ask, what could have possibly happened to me to make me feel so down, and swear off the one thing responsible for the only entertaining part of this blog? The answer: last night I lost my iPhone. 

Yep.

Anyone who knows me knows that the iPhone is central to my entire being.  I literally cannot function without the iPhone.  The first sound I hear in the morning is the alarm from my iPhone, and from that point on we spend the rest of the day texting together, calling together, listening to music together, surfing the web together, playing checkers, blackjack and other games together before I plug it in to charge it while it sleeps next to me.

My first tear just dropped.

I know you are probably thinking or "Nick, it's just a phone."  But you would be wrong.  The iPhone is not just a phone.  It was my best friend, my heart, my soul, my passion, my life.  Once I got the iPhone, I shut down human contact for days to spend time with it.  We went to Vegas together, and I won.  But even that didn't matter, all that mattered then, and all that mattered from then on was that iPhone and I spent time together.  And spend time together we did.  iPhone was at my side through thick and thin.  I didn't have a computer for the first month of this school year, but it was okay because I had the iPhone.  The answer to any question I ever had, about anyhing, from directions to the 14th president of the United States, was at my fingertips, thanks to iPhone.  And I treated him as well as he treated me, protecting him, cleaning him, making sure he was always at a full charge and ready to perform at his highest function each day.  I kept him fine-tuned in all aspects of his capabilities.  We were a team.  

Friends would joke about how they couldn't be my friend anymore because iPhone was taking over my life, and I was okay with it.  Friends would joke about me and iPhone being so close we should have an album on facebook together, or be in a committed relationship.  And the thing is, we were in a committed relationship.  I could spend hours telling you about the capabilities of the iPhone, but that would be missing the point.  I have never loved a person like I loved that phone, as miserable as that is to say.  

As far as the night went, it was again filled with too much alcohol (a bottle of wine, 2 long islands, 2 shots by my last count), blackouts, girls dancing on tables and kissing (it was ladies' night in Roppongi after all), a mugging (which I thankfully was not a victim of), entirely too much money spent, and some regrettable decision making.  But none of that matters today, and none of that will be covered today.  

Fare well sweet iPhone, you may be replaced, but never forgotten.

1/6

Not a lot to report today. After eating a breakfast of cold eggs smothered in ketchup, potato salad and lettuce we headed to class.  Class was interesting as most of us were either still drunk or hungover from the night before.    I brought further shame to my family when I was caught not paying attention (I was actually blogging at the time).  The rest of class was spent shouting Jay-Z’s trademark “HOV!” at inappropriate times, laughing at inappropriate times and napping in the hallways.  After class we headed to lunch, I won’t bore you with the details.  After lunch we met up with the group and went to Harajuku.  Harajuku is a wondrous place, filled with bright clothes, extreme hairstyles, a million heads of black hair and countless places to buy aforementioned flamboyant clothes.  Admittedly most of the clothes were very cool, if not American influenced.  A particular store had a porcelain tea pot in the design of Hitler’s head.   Not your mother’s fine China.  

After shopping for a while and getting separated from the group we headed back to our dorms through Yoyogi park, which is enormous and filled with crows.  Even the crows have Japanese accents that can only be described as a horrible mixture of a cat’s meow and a poor impression of me impersonating a crow’s call.  This served as the inspiration for Scrilla and Weidner’s freestyle “The Crow Bounce” featuring lines such as “look up in the sky, crow got your eye” and “what you say? I don’t know I don’t know/what you say/CAW CAW crow.” 

Dinner was at the cafeteria where I was served chicken that can best be described as spongy or bouncy and pizza with mushrooms and other unidentifiable toppings that tasted nothing like what you would imagine.  After dinner we headed back to the dorms and watched a Japanese game show that’s premise seemed to be how obnoxious and retarded white people are.  One segment featured a man dressed in a blue lycra suit who would pour powder onto his butt then fart, spraying the powder.  HE would then look at the camera and say “Fantastic!” Pure gold.  The next featured a mulleted and mustached American who apparently had gained fame from running his car into things, usually other cars which sometimes were on fire or falling in his car from a crane onto other cars.  He then horribly attemped to jump the Tijuana River and failed miserably.  We went to “nap” after that, and never got up until breakfast the next day.  

I adopted a new favorite hobby in Japan as well.  It is custom for people of service to bow lower than the person they are serving.  Knowing that, I have made it a point to bow as low as possible to every person who serves me, just to watch them bow lower.  On an unintentional comedy scale, this rates a 10, believe me.  

My apologies for a very uninteresting entry, but the day was fairly uninteresting and I am tired.

Jan 5

Yesterday morning began as I suspect most will during my time in Tokyo: with piercing sake induced headache.  After dragging myself out of bed we headed back for the East Garden.  Again, we were met at the gates by guards who again refused admittance to three Western devils.  At that moment it occurred to me just how insulting I was to the Japanese.  By nature, the Japanese are a tranquil, polite, friendly and generally unassuming people.  I am none of those things.  While minor offenses such as jaywalking, speaking well above a barely audible tone, walking with trash, drinking hot sake and beer at every meal (this one is my favorite as the waiters question us several times to make sure we know what we are ordering, then look at us with disdain before walking away) and not being well dressed are all not a problem in the United States, in Japan the looks given to me from the locals translate roughly to “you have brought shame to our entire country.”  After refusing our patronage, though we watched them let in and out several other people, the guards gave us that look, and they had weapons, so we left quietly.  [Side note: as I write this (in class) my teacher is discussing how disrespectful it is to look a person in the eye while talking to them, whoops.] Afterwards we went shopping in Tokyo, which is a Mecca of high fashion.  So basically I could afford nothing besides the equivalent of Old Navy in Japan.  After spending 7 dollars for three cokes at lunch (they don’t have refills) to wash down my burger and fries we went back to the hotel and packed up our stuff to leave.

After dinner we left to meet up with our group at the Olympic Center.  To say the rooms are small would be generous.   They fit a twin size bed and I can touch both walls standing in the middle of the room and reaching out my arms.  After taking down two bottles of sake in the room with Jason, Jason, Alex and Brett we headed out to find a bar with the rest of the group.  After aimlessly walking we were led by a gentle stranger on a bike to the area where 24-hour bars were located.  We settled on one with solicitors outside promising three dollar beers.  Once inside we removed our shoes, put them in a locker (?) and sat in a private room.  After a couple rounds of sake and singing karaoke to the hits (Britney Spears, Journey, the Cardigans, and *50 Cent among others) we made our way back to our rooms.  To paint the most accurate picture of the night without embarrassing any one of us too much, I will run down the actions of us all ambiguously.  Two of us exchanged punches to the dome, several passed out, one slept in a wet bed-the cause of the moisture unknown, two threw up and nearly all of us slept in our clothes on top of unmade beds, shoes included.  The sight the next morning as we all tried to pull ourselves together for breakfast and our first class looked like 12 people who had spent the night sleeping in a meat locker: cold, pale, smelly and, in some cases, bloody.

Before I end this entry I would like to note that I think Jason Cope has a future in the paparazzi business.  In the last week, starting with Vegas, Jason has taken approximately 937,286 pictures.  Most every one I have seen of myself has made me want to kill myself: the sign of a paparazzo doing his job well.  Let’s just say if he had captured me exiting a limo with my manhood exposed, throw up down my shirt and a line of coke leaking from my nose I would be less embarrassed.

*Scaf’s interpretation of Wanksta was so atrocious we had to take the mic away from him.  The lack of rhythm for a guy who goes by Scrilla Mayne is astonishing. Weidner subsequently killed the track, and is now the reigning king of Karaoke for his performance of “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls.  

Jan 4th

Before I begin this entry, I feel like I must issue a disclaimer.  This blog was started for me, by me as a tool to remember my time in Tokyo.  That being said, the content of the blog will sometimes touch on mature subjects.  In the interest of (almost) full disclosure, I do not want to skip over things or over gussy up a G rated account of my time here, since I am sure that will account for less than half of my experience.  So, if you are a family member mistakenly directed to my site looking for pictures of me making peace signs in front of the monument and end up reading something that makes you lose respect for me, not want to buy me a birthday gift, or physicall ill, my apologies.

This morning we woke up and decided to do something in Tokyo besides drink sake, and perhaps acquaint ourselves with a better class of people than last night.  Though we were battling sake-induced hangovers, we made our way over to the Imperial Garden to find that it was closed.  From there we headed to a very cool looking fountain park where we ate breakfast.  Afterwards we hopped on the Tokyo Subway system and headed to the Tokyo Tower, Japan's version of the Eiffel Tower.  The mascots for the Tokyo Tower look like a hybrid penis-buttplug. I wish I was making this up, but check the picture for proof.  It was also at the Tokyo Tower that I learned my first favorite thing about Tokyo: broken English signs. (Again check pictures above)  The Tokyo Tower was cool, got some good panoramic shots of the city, went to a wax museum and Guinness world records museum.  Both were okay, but the absolute best part of the trip to Tokyo Tower happened as we were leaving.  A crowd had gathered just outside of the entrance, so we went to investigate.  After joining the crowd we saw a small monkey on a leash, which from here on out shall be referred to as Ninja Monkey.  Ninja Monkey did backflips, walked on stilts, leapt great distances, and most impressively had an enormous temper.  When Ninja Monkey's master made him sit on a stool he became furiously enraged, threw the stool into the crowd nearly taking off the head of a small Japanese child, then began swinging at the master.  The master took it lightly for a second, then shouted some Japanese at the monkey and gave him a look that made him cower and fall to the ground.  Needless to say, I am now a champion of performance monkeys' civil rights.  

After dinner we ordered sake to the room.  Our trials in Tokyo have thus far taught us that sake is traditionally served in a small porcelain cup that provides about 4 shots.  This being our logic, we ordered 4 bottles to our room to prepare for the night.  However when they arrived it turns out the sake bottles were about the size of a wine bottle.  Nevertheless, we took down two bottles while watching Bear Grylls videos on YouTube and hit the subway to head to Ropongi.  Ropongi is known for its "western bars with strong drinks," and generally where the white devil drinks in Japan.  Perfect.  After narrowly escaping three Jamaicans luring is into their establishments with promises of "all you can drink!" and "titties!" we made it into the only bar with a white bouncer, Wall Street.  Inside the place was nice, with mostly American music.  We sat at the bar and our bartender, a black dude who looked like the guy from Blood Diamond, made us three "strong" islands.  While enjoying the stiffest Long Island I have ever tried, confetti exploded throughout the bar, but mostly just over Weidner.  This was one of the funniest things a Japanese waitress in the bar had ever seen and after laughing at him for a solid 10 minutes, bought him a tequila shot, which after drinking made his face look like it was melting off his skull.  After forcing down my Long Island I looked behind the bar to see what other drinks Japan had to offer.  To my astonishment I noticed a plethora of Zima.  I have been obsessed with Zima since I was nine and saw the commercial with the sports car driving through the desert to make a giant "Z" trail before parking and showing the driver enjoying a ZIMA.  The pinnacle of cool, drinking and driving with Zima.  I then asked the bartender if it was feminine to drink Zima and he looked at me like a fool.  His response immediately trumped the broken English signs for my new favorite thing about Japan: "No, it's a man's drink."  I like how you roll Japan.  

Finally, we left the bar and took a cab back to our hotel as the subway was closed.  We arrived back and decided to continue our night.  Seeing as we are all gentlemen we set out to enjoy the company of beautiful women and gentlemanly spirits in a gentlemen's club named SuperGirls we had seen the night before.  After trekking for nearly an hour searching for the establishment, when we finally arrived it was closed.  We were dejected, down trodden and made the journey back home.  And that is where the night ended.  Seriously, don't believe anyone if they ever tell you otherwise.  

Jan 2/3

So after a 15 hour plane ride which was spent watching movies, reading and ignoring the mustached girl next to me (except when she explained to me how to watch movies) we arrived in Tokyo.  Our first order of business was to find a bar.  Unfortunately we do not read Japanese characters, so we found ourselves in a bar smaller than my bedroom with three 60+ year old wasted Japanese men.  

Some selected topics of conversation from the evening:

• Jason being a giant (the oldest and beardiest of the men was so astonished with his height that he came up behind Jason, wrapped his arms around his waist and laid his on Jason's lower back)
• Cocks (a man we dubbed Rick Ross was fascinated with dicks, and spent much of the time poking things into Jasons crotch)
• The proper way to drink Sake (I chased my Sake with beer, needless to say that is feminine and not the proper way.  Apparently such a move brings shame to one's family.  Sorry mom.)
• Women (Rick Ross was also obsessed with breasts, particularly big ones and had a fondness for Audrey Hepburn, or Au Ray Hep Buh as he called her.  Because we liked Rick Ross, we explained to him the phenomenon of Motorboating, and let's just say he was a fan)
• Alex being cute (which then led to each of the men clarifying they were not gay)

The evening ended when the old bearded man also kept showing us pictures of what he referred to as his "son" which looked to all of us like a female Japanese hooker, complete with phone number on the card.  When we laughed and made jokes about his trans-gendered son (at the time we thought it was a joke), he gave us a serious look and insisted it was his son.  At this point the conversation became uncomfortable so we paid for the alcohol and left.  After trekking through the cold we arrived back at the hotel, drank more sake and stumbled to our rooms for the evening.  Solid first night.