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.