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.