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.