People are always (okay, twice) asking me which is more difficult - Mandarin Chinese or Japanese. I answer truthfully - I’m not yet sure because I haven’t studied enough of the former, but I think some parts of each can be easier than the other. For example, Japanese speaking/listening is definitely easier (i.e. no tones). You can learn a new word and use it the same day. Whereas in Chinese, I have trouble asking for the “ce suo” (toilet). But grammar, Chinese is definitely easier - not only is it similar to that of English (i.e. subject-verb-object. Japanese is SOV), but it is super flexible. Japanese verbs make my head explode with all the conjugations, the formal versus casual, etc. Written, Mandarin uses the simplified characters, while Japan uses the traditional set. But Japan does have hiragana and katakana, which can be learned quickly (took me two days to read and write) substituted if you don’t know the Kanji. But, when the three sets are mixed on the TV screen or in an email, it feels more difficult than the Chinese all-characters approach (yeah, there is pinyin, but it’s not used for communication, only teaching). So recently I have been leaning toward Japanese as the more difficult to learn. When I say learn I mean reading, writing, speaking, and listening.

So, I was on some US government website yesterday and it groups languages into categories by those which are closest to English and easiest to learn. Spanish, Italian, the usual suspects were in category 1. The final category - those most difficult for native English speakers to learn contained Arabic, Cantonese, Mandarin, and *Japanese. Yeah, what is that * doing there? I checked the footnote, which explained that languages marked with an asterisk are considered more difficult than those in the same category. Respect to all those 外人 “gaijin” getting their ペラペラ “pera pera” on. And to the Japanese with fluent English.

Back to Chinese. HJ and I went to play snooker (that’s pool/billiards for those of you who didn’t know…I didn’t). As we finished our game, I feel myself having to use the bathroom. I opt against using the bathroom there for three reasons: 1. I don’t want HJ to wait on me 2. I don’t want to rush 3. I think I can wait until I get home - a 20 minute walk
But as we walked out, I started to think, maybe I can’t hold it. HJ was gonna catch a cab, so I asked if I could join and be dropped off at the office, just two blocks away. We arrived, I said goodbye and jump out. But it’s late - maybe midnight, so no one was in our office and I didn’t have a key. No matter, I doubted I could make it up to the 17th floor anyway. The general use bathroom would suffice. I walked into the lobby and the security guys came out of their room. I asked, “ce suo zai nar?” - “where is the toilet?”. But these guys were just like, “shen me?” “what?”. I just kept saying “ce suo”. And they kept saying “what” and looking confused. I did what I usually do when I can’t be understood - go through every tone Chinese has. 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 . Damn!!! Nothing. Finally, literally after like 10 “ce suo”, the one guy says, “WC?” (Water Closet). And I responded in Japanese: “hai hai hai so so so”…

Sometimes I really want to stop blogging. I just don’t see the point.

It’s super vein. It’s slightly time consuming. And it’s killing my chances to win the Iowa primary in 2032.

Other times, however, I really see the benefits. Id est, a tool for creation, self expression, communication, and also a way to take a trip down memory lane.

I received an email Monday morning from an old, dear friend named Dylan. Let me tell you about “D-Nasti”, as I dubbed him after we met. Dylan was the first friend I made after I entered University. Somehow, I guess it was a gift from God, I managed to secure a spot in Scott House, the dormitory for students majoring in anything agricultural (”ag”). That meant a couple of things - up before the sun, check. Carhart overalls, check. Tons of cheap beer, check. A dude that got too close to a sheep, check. Tracking mud/manure combos into the hallway, check. Confederate flags, check. Overt use of the N-word (the one that ends in “-er”, not “a”….is there a difference?), check. Guys who called MLK day “James Earl Ray Day”, check. Writing racist and homophobic slurs on the white board in the hallway, check. Hall directors who would take no action against the overtly racist and homophobic behavior, check. Hall directors that did take action when I left a profanity-laced voice message…check. I could go on, but you get the point. This place was crazy. Why these guys weren’t feeling my recitation of Nas lyrics and greeting everyone with “What’s up, Dawg?” was beyond me.

Despite all the madness, this experience was one I wouldn’t trade for anything. Namely because of the few friends that came out of it. Dylan was the first of those friends. Well, technically speaking, Nick - my roommate - was first, but Dylan was the first friend that I MADE. I was in room 220. Dylan stayed in the on the opposite side of the hall, the first/last room in the hall, just across from our RA, Chris, who Nick nicknamed “Chief”.

I can remember the first night we met like it was yesterday. I had promised myself not to party during the first quarter of University (I wanted to focus on my studies), so I was at home on that Friday night. I went to the lobby to get a drink from the vending machine, I think a cup of hot chocolate (it might have been November by this time, so the temperature was cool). There was a guy, maybe slightly inebriated, in the lobby. As I make my selection, I felt his presence behind me, but hadn’t planned to acknowledge it until he spoke to me - “What’s up dawg?”. Man, I thought, is this dude mocking me? I’m not in the mood for any more confrontations. I gave a “Hey, how are you?” to be polite. Dylan responds with some pleasantries and small talk, and somehow we end up talking about how to hack computers. Well, I didn’t know shit. I had hard enough time checking email. But Dylan seems to be an expert. Next thing I know, we’re in his room hacking porn sites. Anyway, that was the beginning…
Dylan was like a big brother to me the rest of the year and throughout our time at OSU. Not only was that my first (and last) time hacking, but it was also my first (and almost my last) time on a porn site. I also watched my first DVD (American Pie) in his room. Burned my first CD on his computer (which I was always using to check my email). Drank my first full beer (a Corona) in Dylan’s room. The next year, I had my first DJ gig at Dylan’s house. Dylan even gave me a place to stay when I was homeless for 2 week period between leases. We lived together for a summer and ate tons of mac and cheese…and oatmeal…You get the point…a great friend
Oh, wait, how could I forget - my first strip club…Dylan. I went in that joint…super scared. I forget the name, but it was just on the side of the highway. Corn fields and neon lights. It was BYOB which, in the midwest at least = all nude. Oh man, I didn’t know this type of stuff goes on in Ohio. We walked in there…sat down. A stripper sat next to me. Dylan tells her it’s my first time in a joint. She’s wearing a shiny silver two piece (I can’t forget that), turns to me and says: “So this is your first time, huh?” I nod, trying to keep eye contact. Then she says: “Then you’ve never seen t**s this big?” and totally flashes me. I’m glad it was dark in there, because my face must have been super red. Well, I’m not at all shy about a woman’s body, but such directness was a first for me. Usually I have to say something. This time I just paid the $10 cover.

Anyway, Dylan is the type of friend who just wants you to enjoy yourself. He’ll go out of his way to make you comfortable. I knew this, so I told him: “Dylan, don’t buy me any lap dances”. I said it sternly and he agreed. Later, the DJ announces a 2 for 1. 2 songs for the price of one. Dylan tells me he is gonna get a couch dance in the back room. Cool. One song passes and someone taps me on the shoulder and I turn around. It’s Dylan. What’s up? “Your turn, bro.” “What?” You guessed it, he was giving me the second song. A great friend. So I went back there, on the couch, next to some other guys, and the stripper just….just…stripping…and stuff….I was frozen…I was too nervous to be turned on. I didn’t know where to put my hands, so I think I ended up sitting on them.

Anyway, the feature for that night was crazy - the show put that stuff in Thailand to shame…
Anyway, I have a lot more to write about Dylan, Nick, and the dorm life, but I’ll take a きゅけい “kyukei” for now

I’m hemorrhaging. I need to write something so I can get those horrid pictures of myself off the first page. Ergo, a quick “check please” anecdote from two nights ago.

Me: Maidan
Waitress: I’m sorry…
Me: Shouqian (the less formal alternative)
Waitress: {blank stare, confused look}
Me: (thinking I should drop the ‘h’ and speak in local dialect) souqian
Waitress: I’m sorry, my English is not very good

President Bush ended a question on the appreciation of the Chinese yuan with this doozy:

“Anyway, this is a complex relationship. There’s a lot of areas we’re working together, and there’s areas where there’s friction…One area where I’ve been disappointed is beef. They need to be eating U.S. beef. It’s good for them. They’ll like it. And so we’re working hard to get that beef market opened up.”

I’m gonna miss him.

Feast your eyes on 52 new pics from Japan courtesy of Hella Friend

I was rockin’ the curls, but the thickness became too much for me, so I snapped, and shaved my head. Check out the process. In fairness, the first two shots are taken with a flash, so I look a little…you know. In truth, the third looked pretty good and I thought about keeping it, but opted out. I gave you some cleavage on the fourth shot…don’t get too excited.

Top 5 things that make you thirsty:

Eating ice cream

Smoking

Sex

Shopping

I forget the fifth one…will update later

On gold teeth:

I had 10 of them. 6 on the top, 4 on the bottom. White gold. Loved ‘em, but didn’t like the feeling that every time I smiled I was kinda stuntin’. I like to smile, you know.
Someone from that Nelly song brings us today’s quote of the day when evaluating his gold teeth (grill).

“Where I got ‘em you can spot ‘em on the top and bottom / Got a Bill in my mouth like I’m Hillary Rodham”.

I flew to Tokyo from Chengdu via Beijing. Most of the passengers on the first leg of the flight got off in Beijing. Most of the passengers on the second leg of the flight got on in Beijing, leaving just a marginal number (12) of us who take the entire CA 421 flight.
For some reason, the passengers bound for Tokyo and those bound for Beijing are separated before boarding. When I arrived at the gate for boarding (i.e. a bus that would take us to the plane), the sign listed another flight, so I asked (in Chinese) the airport personnel if this was the gate bound for Japan. She told me to “wait a moment” and I took a seat with a group of 40 and 50 something Japanese businessmen. For the first time in nearly three months, I heard real people (not iTunes) speaking Japanese. Just the cadence made me super pumped and even more so once I realized that I still understood pieces of their conversations.

When the time came to board the bus, the personnel made an announcement, oddly enough, in English. The businessmen, I guessed, didn’t speak much English, because they all looked at me to see what I was gonna do. I usually don’t find pleasure in being that guy who runs to the front of the line, but this time I was forced to be the first mover.

During the pre-flight procedures, an announcement was made that one Japanese stewardess was on board. I thought about some friends in China telling me that they can tell the difference between Chinese, Japanese, and Koreans. I’ve always thought that, like with Americans and English, I can only tell the difference based on style or accent/language, but not by face. That is to say, if we were all stripped of our clothes, make-up, and hair-styles, I don’t believe anyone could tell the difference. Anyhow, because all the stewardesses must wear a common uniform and cannot have over-styled hair, make up or nails, I thought it’d be a good test for me to differentiate.
Approaching Beijing airport is a real treat for a number of reasons. First, you get a Bird’s eye view of all the construction, including the airport itself, not to mention a unique perspective on Hutongs. Second, people from all over the world, speaking any number of languages. For me, it was the first time in three months since I heard a live native English speaker. My reaction was similar to that when I heard Japanese - super pumped, amazed, actually. Third, after being used to the way people behave here, I got a chance to look at “my people” (whatever that means) through the same lens as locals. For example, one guy talking loud on his cell phone about “deals” he “can’t talk about now because there’s people around” was a little annoying. Maybe the Chinese couldn’t understand, but for me スーパ うざいよ！！Well, come to think of it, the Chinese talk loud on their cells, too, but I can’t understand so it’s not really annoying.

I forgot to mention, I was sitting next to a Chinese guy on the flight from Chengdu to Beijing. He looked a little uncomfortable, like he didn’t fly often. How do I know this look? Because I had the same look I’m better than I used to be, but like him, I once gripped the arm rests during take-off, and read the in-flight magazines repeatedly in an attempt to ignore that pesky turbulence. Anyway, it reminded me of what an honor it is to fly, how lucky I am, how powerless and vulnerable I am on those planes. To go between two different worlds in the matter of hours is, perhaps, one of the greatest privileges some of us are afforded in our lifetime. Anyway, this all reminds me of my first time on a plane. Well, actually, my first time on a plane, I jumped out. But my first time on a commercial flight - Columbus to Chicago - I was amazed that people could sleep on an airplane; that they didn’t want to look out the window; that they didn’t feel nervous. I can sleep now, but I still feel in awe that a big chunk of metal can fly so fast, high, and far, full of people and their luggage. Amazing. Respect to the Wright Brothers.
次です。After landing in Beijing and getting stamped out, we re-boarded. I took a sequence of shots during take off. The first three are of the plane’s shadow, the fourth is of Hutongs and finally a “head in the clouds” shot.

Back to the stewardess. The whole time I’m trying to figure out which was Japanese. I could immediately rule out two of them based on the way they interact with one another. I finally get it down to two of them based on make-up. I make my final decision when one hands me a glass of water - she gave me this smile and a super-slight tilt of the head that, I thought, only a Japanese person is capable of doing. We landed, and I thought I’d have to leave without ever confirming if my guess was right. But then, as I was waiting for the train, a woman walks up beside me to form a line. It’s her. Even more than in the dimly lit, window shades down Boeing. At this point I’m almost certain she is Japanese - otherwise she’d probably be staying in a hotel near the airport with the rest of the Chinese crew, not waiting for the Keisei. Finally, someone walks up to her and she starts speaking Japanese. やっぱり！！！Anyway, she was super beautiful, the type you just want to stare at, but not like a stalker, unless your screen name is “Your Brother”.
Anyway, stepping into Tokyo is stepping into another world. The style makes my head explode. The women…aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh…a sexy girl on the train drinking a tall boy of Asahi…marry me…the vending machines…can learn a lot about Japanese from that vending machine and the decision making process they go through, the sounds of the trains, the automated conductors, nodding off on the train like it was a birth right, a backpacker looking lost as hell, letting him feel that and then helping him out. Telling him the story of Hachiko. Warning him what a blast he is gonna have in Tokyo, knowing that he still can’t comprehend it. Wanting to speak English to a native speaker, but he was super tired and sounded like a zombie, so I’d been better off with a cab driver here. He asked me if it was illegal to smoke and walk at the same time. Explaining that it wasn’t illegal, but maybe a little impolite, but to make the decision on his own. Sending messages on my cell phone. Everyone on the train sending messages on their cell phones. Fare adjustments!!! The Yamanote line!!!!!!!! Guys in suits, lots of guys in suits, looking sharp as knives. People sitting with their feet together, so as to not take up too much space. Women holding handbags tightly in their lap. Umbrellas. Overcome with excitement, a thick layer of sadness, still. Tokyo, my first love…

I arrived at Sangubashi around 1130. あいかわらず、Hikaru and I stayed awake until 0400 talking。

The next day, I had two goals - visit Yoyogi Koen and eat a natto big mac. Visiting Yoyogi was like a reunion with an old lover. You know she’s changed, but not quite sure how. You wonder what the chemistry will be like. Would I fall back into that extreme state of comfort that we shared in the past, or had things changed? Shit, ain’t a damn thing changed. Yoyogi was even more beautiful than when I had left. I soaked it all up. Went to the grocery store and got that natto, some pickled vegetables, etc. Home and crushed that specialty. うfrigginまい.。なつかしい。

Came across an article about the appointment of Ambassadors by the US.
Perhaps the most interesting part of the article is that it ends with a ‘?’ mark.

Check it out if your feeling diplomatic.