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.