Unless you want to make new friends and have lots of fun.

It’s important to start a long trip off with a memorable night. When I left the US, Ryo received me at the airport, brought me to his home, where I was given a shower, a comfy bed for a quick rest, and a super gourmet Japanese meal, all before an all-nighter in Roppongi where I met Shin, who treated me to my first Nabe (Japanese hot pot). It set the tone for the rest of my time over here. So, a few months ago, when I saw the opportunity to do the same, I grabbed it.

At Beijing immigration, a Japanese guy asked me what was going on. See, the trip from Tokyo to Chengdu requires a stop off in Beijing for immigration. But only a handful of passengers are usually making the whole trip (most are just going to Beijing), so the Chengdu bound folks are herded into a separate area. I told him not to worry, just standard operating procedure, not a massacre. We started to talk a little. Very little, because I’d forgotten all my Japanese and him all his English. I just knew that he was going to Nepal the next morning and had yet to find a hotel. And he didn’t speak any Chinese. Seemed that he was in for a troublesome night.

I told him he could stay at my place. He accepted. So for the next couple of hours I plotted an all-night itinerary. When we landed I had messages waiting for me. A couple of friends made a plan for dinner. We took a cab home, dropped the bags and rushed to dinner where my friends were waiting. They speak Korean and Chinese, but no English or Japanese, so we had no choice but to communicate with alcohol. Next stop was a bar. We drank a lot, and just when we couldn’t take anymore, decided to leave.

Walking out I received a call from a friend. Where are you? I am at XYZ. Me too. Turn around. There he is. He was with a large group of co-workers, maybe 10. Of course he wants us to drink. Okay, who am I to refuse. Besides, I like to see how Japanese and Chinese mix it up (my first experiment was a disaster. Will write about that some other time). The Chinese, of course, for as much as they say “I hate Japanese” (and they say it a lot. Bring up Sushi and they’re gonna tell you, “I hate Japanese”), were welcoming to my new friend. But I think that’s also because I’m the connection. I’m a good friend, so a good friend of mine is one of theirs, too. Actually, not a friend, but will at least give me face. Anyway, we drunk a lot more…I was thankful the Japanese guy could hold his own…not exactly a pro, but passable.

By then it was 3am. His flight was at 7am. There was no going to sleep. So we went to street meat for more drinking and food. He fell in and out of sleep as we drank and chowed. Gotta make it a memorable night. At 5, we went home and grabbed his bags. I put him in a taxi and off he went.

Last week I received another email from him. He’ll be back on the 18th and we’ll do it again, but maybe with less alcohol and some Japanese friends to help translate.

If there is one thing that baffles me about Japanese people, it is their willingness to spend large sums of money on small portions of food that their mothers could prepare. Some say they are paying for the atmosphere and service. For others it is the ingredients and preparation. But for a country boy like me, I simply wonder, ‘you guys weren’t always eating in restaurants. Japanese food is, after all, and like other cuisines, home cooking. So why the urge to splurge?’ Finally, someone takes up the subject.

Okay, just to be fair - after the China condom hair band post, I’ll give you the Japanese guys wanna be skinny and cute article.

I read this article about phone etiquette in Japan. Ouch! I wonder if some flirting would do the trick?

Well, I don’t know where to start, because I just read that Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe intends to resign. First question is: will the next PM visit Yasukuni Jinja? Nevermind. Yesterday, I attended my first ever soccer match. Chengdu is hosting the preliminaries of the 2007 FIFA Women’s World Cup and ZY’s friend, Alex, had extra tickets. FYF and I joined him for what many expected to be the best match of the entire Cup - USA vs. North Korea. And they were right. For me, an awe-inspiring experience. Something like losing my virginity…to Giselle

The match started at 5:00pm. We arrived 20 minutes before, but had to pass through security before entering. Slooooooooow. Like many others, we ran around the stadium looking for our gate. As we came closer, the excitement grew. Every “ooh” and “aah” heard from inside the stadium made us run faster. I can’t remember being this excited about an event in recent years. Michigan vs. OSU is big stuff and Christopher Hill negotiating nuclear agreements with KJ Il is fun stuff, but the former is between countrymen and I don’t get to bang on chairs when there’s a concession on uranium enrichment in the latter, so…. We missed the start of the game, but no goals. The place was packed - around 35,000 people - but not sold out. Clouds and rain covered the game.

I was wondering if there would be N. Koreans attending the game. The only other impression I had of them was when I was watching their women play Japan’s on TV. They had a section of guys (all guys), who looked like farmers, cheering like crazy. They won in a shoot out. To our left was a huge section of N. Korean fans, all dressed in identical uniforms - khaki pants, red shirts, white hats, N. Korean flags, and noisemakers filled with kimchi (serious, I smelled it). Someone pointed out that Kim Jong Il didn’t want to send people out of the country in fear that they would know what they were missing, so he sent money from that Macau bank (you know, the one that launders money for the DPRK) to the mainland and had some Chinese guys hire migrant workers from the countryside and dress them up, etc. But that’s just a rumor.

As you might expect, the Chinese were cheering religiously for North Korea. Chinese say they like Americans (but just not our government - but how is that possible since we are by, for, and of the people?), but we all know that’s not true (its an open secret we can say). And when it comes to allegiances, they’d choose their small, rabble rousing neighbor over the US anytime. No matter, I choose Japan, but we’ll get to that later. Every time a Korean player touched the ball, even if it was on the opposite side of the pitch, the crowd went wild. Really wild. Crazy. Bananas. Ape shit. Orgasmic-like. And the guy behind me kept say “好球” (good ball). I was thinking more like “好烦” (annoying). When the US had the ball, no one booed, but the sense of “oh, shit” filled the air. But that wasn’t often, because the N. Koreans did such a fine job of controlling the ball. As soon as we found our seats, they had a shot on goal, and it continued this way the entire first half. In fact, for those first 45 minutes I was feeling “oh, shit”. It was 0-0 at the half.

Finally, the USA scored the first goal and the crowd seemed overwhelmed with sadness. A big ‘ol “damn, Americans are so fucking good” kinda feeling. I played it cool. But soon after, the N. Koreans scored and the crowd exploded. Really exploded. I played it cool. Then the N. Koreans scored again. I played it cool. I’m a cool cat, what can I say? This whole time, Alex and FYF, who I clearly knew were pulling for N. Korea (even though they didn’t say it), were also playing it cool. I was surprised. Finally, the USA pulled through and tied the game at 2-2. I got fucking hyped!!!!

The game tied at 2-2. I have very little knowledge of soccer, so I thought there would be overtime period or, even better, some of those one-on-one kicks. But alas, no. This is tournament play and there ain’t none of that. So when I saw people leaving with 5 minutes remaining, I was wondering, ‘but why?’. haha.

Given all the political overtones (playing N. Korea, in China, on 9/11, etc) that the first game had, the second (Sweden vs. Nigeria) was something of a UN love fest. It was much funner. The “N. Koreans” changed back into their street clothes and revealed themselves to be local Chengdu people, who are funny as hell. Many cheers in local dialect and even that “o lay o lay o lay o lay” song. But those are the only words of the song people know…yours truly included. And I’ve never experienced “the wave” being done for so long on a continuous basis. Seriously, wave after wave after wave. 厉害!!!!! Most everyone cheered equally for both teams, with a slight lean toward Sweden, but maybe it’s because their scared of blacks? Yes, I said what you were already thinking.

Oh, wait, politics is everywhere. Before the second game, the broadcaster announced the names and home countries of the referees. I saw this information written on the scoreboard (in English) before the announcement. I saw that the first three were from China and the last from Japan. I wondered what the response would be to the announcement of the last one. Okay, I didn’t wonder, I knew, but I didn’t want to be a product of my environment - pretentious - so I waited. The crowd exploded for their compatriots, of course, as would I. And finally, a collective “boooooooooo” of the Japanese. But, hey, even if Abe is resigning, they are still a staunch US ally, helping us refuel ships in the Indian Ocean, etc. So, first in Chinese, then in honorific Japanese, I yelled, “Japan, yeaaaah, Japan, Japan, wooooooo Japan”. lol…It was great, especially in Chinese. People were looking really befuddled, but not angry. It was great.

Sweden and Nigeria tied 1-1. Japan and England, playing somewhere else, tied 2-2.

One misty evening in Chengdu…

Two teams got it on…

Americans repped to the fullest…

Jeff, Steve, and Pete. These guys really rocked. A lot of fun.


They were like rock stars at half-time. Everyone was coming up to take pictures with them. They didn’t turn anyone away, even old men. They usually held the flag behind them, as a backdrop, but realizing that wasn’t good enough, they they draped it over this girl in a perfect example of ‘chicks dig red, white, and blue guys’. Way to spread the culture guys! You are the real Ambassadors!!

Feng Yao Feng (FYF) and Alex

Get cha’ wave on!

“Words to live by” (http://search.japantimes.co.jp/cgi-bin/fl20070626jk.html) is a weekly profile offered by The Japan Times detailing life lessons from people of various backgrounds.

This round finds Budo master Minoru Inaba (63) offering some brief and subtle nationalistic blasts alongside these gems:

Freedom begins once one stops blaming others.

A battle has no rules except two: follow your own clear-cut principles and never believe that the enemy plays straight.

…Japanese people are optimists and never give up. Even after the atomic bombings in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, we were immediately rebuilding and never blamed the United States ever.

The first two are undeniable. The second sentence of the last is undeniable. But the optimists comment is certainly debatable. An optimist is defined as follows: a person disposed to take a favorable view of things. In my experience, Japanese tend to be risk technicians, ergo typically taking an unfavorable, or at least skeptical view of things. But is being a skeptic incongruous with being an optimist? Are the two mutually exclusive? And maybe more importantly, are you ちょうS or ちょうM？

Borrows heavily from Akira. Though the Tokyo shots are limited and カタカナわちょとへん, it was enough to make me say, “なつかしね…”

“…since OJ had Isotoners…” Genius.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MvTAt20eedU

Japanese Defense Minister Fumio Kyuma resigned Tuesday after intense criticism of comments he made last week that suggested the US use of nuclear weapons against Japan was necessary to end WWII, a position which is highly debated among Japanese, and even some Americans.

{enter thought-provoking analysis and commentary here}

The Moleskine has not been replaced by the mobile. Some bits from the pages of my black book.

TV in Japan is definitely the best. A couple of examples:

1. Professor derives a formula that proves you can find the most beautiful woman in any given country by finding one beautiful one and then asking her to introduce you to someone more beautiful than herself. Do this 14 times and you’ll have her. These two woman, sisters (and hideous looking), tried it out in India. First woman was super hot…the quality was really declining, picking up only a little on numbers 10-12. Finally, 14 was hot, but still second to the first, in my opinion. Only on TV in Japan. Also, these sisters go to “the best Indian restaurant in the world”. The guy makes this super huge piece of naan (no, not dosa, I know the difference). He tried to hand feed one of them and she totally gets the “kowai” face. Classic.

2. Wasabi is a root, basically. It gets turned into that green paste by being ground against a rough surface, traditionally shark’s skin. Yeah, you guessed it - a show’s host chartered a boat, a fishing crew, and caught a shark, pulled it halfway on board, straddled it, rubbed wasabi on it until it turned to paste, let the shark go, and then ate sushi (with the wasabi). Classic.

3. Classic beauty playing a school teacher. 3 young guys from uber-famous j-pop group SMAP playing students. Electronically monitor her heart rate while each student takes a turn trying to seduce her, in line with the teacher-student role play theme. Highest heart rate wins!!!

And everything has an えろい element to it, which you gotta love. Sooooo addictive!!!

The bento boxes that mothers make for their kids are fantastic. Super creative. Makes me really wonder… a brown paper bag, half-rotten apple, PB&(no J) sandwich, and 25 cents for a chocolate milk…is that what you call love, Ma?????AAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!

Wondering: Can the appearance of a person, food, building, etc. nourish us?

On time: Everyday, 430 AM delivering the papers…hear the motor scooter vrooming up. stop, kickstand, opens mail slot. squeak. needs oil. speeds off. all less than 7 seconds.

Are the women too perfect? A local said it: like vegetables growing indoors.

Living in NYC is like lying in bed with the woman you love - you don’t wanna get out. You think it is the best there is to offer…and your right, but…

Tokyoooooooooooooooo: the love that was lost or that never was in the first place?

Kinda sorta.

I know you’ve heard it all before, but in Tokyo, the mobile phone けいたい電話 (”keitai denwa”) is your everything. Email, texting, IMing - all with cute emoji (emoticons) that express more than words/characters ever could, frantic business research on the net (paid ¥5000/month for unlimited access but used ¥700000 worth - that’s getting your monies worth), train schedules, coupons, pictures, games, watch, alarm clock, voice recorder, calculator, music player, and sometimes your (read: my) only companion.

With no regular access to a proper PC and Net connection and always trying to stay outside of the house to see as much of the city as possible, my keitai became something else: a temporary replacement to my Moleskine, which usually acts as storage for all my random (and not so random) musings. The Notepad function became invaluable to me, housing a lot of ideas and observations from my time in the City of Benevolence. Once I returned to China, I powered-off and threw the phone in my drawer. After losing the key, finding the key, and finally opening that drawer today, I turned my phone on and was reminded of some classic Tokyo moments. And here, in no particular order, I give them to you.

The fifth (forgotten) of the “5 things that make us thirsty post”: Taking a bath/soaking in onsen

From Narita to Sangubashi station: My schema is all fcuked up! Hot J girls. Umbrellas. Asahi. Guys with make-up and cool hair. Suits!!!! Vending machine as a psychological tool. More hot J girls…sleeping on the train as a birth right.

Walking from Sangubashi station to the flat: People/Places with whom/where you experience a great deal of pain become those which you are most attached to.

Shinjuku (Kabuki-cho) observation/advice: If you need to have a drink immediately before or after doing it…don’t do it

Lifestyle versus Lifesubstance

Something like: if you want to see the real power of Japanese women, you must watch them during one of two national sales that falls just after New Years.

In Japan, people won’t always speak the truth, but they’ll always tell it.

Quote of the year: “Long time no see(seduction)”

Take a number: Yeah, we are ALL WAITING here TOGETHER about to do the same thing. So don’t be shy, just enjoy this feeling. Yeah, it’s my first time, too. No, really, it is.

Pleasantly disappointed with Chinese food in the US. I haven’t experienced a single taste here (China) that I did at home…and I’m not the least bit upset.
The people you should be weary of:

1. Girls who pluck their eyebrows and pencil in (note: girls who thread and/or wax are okay)

2. People you’ve never seen angry. People you always see angry.

3. People who charge a lot for either Indian food or Chinese food. And even more so, those who charge for rice. Rice should be something of a human right when it comes to dining. I got got charged 10 bucks for rice at an Indian joint in Midtown. The worst is when people are like, “would you like rice with that?”. I’m like, “Is this an Indian/Chinese restaurant?”. I digress.

4. People who don’t write (borrowed form IL)

5. People who walk far in front of those they are with. Remember: to lead, walk behind.

6. People who don’t use lamp shades

7. People with loud cell phone rings

Old women can be quite rude, always pushing on the train.

The East begins/ends with Japan. The West with USA

A foreigner asked me for the new south Shinjuku exit. He looked rushed and worried. TI pointed him in the right direction. He ran. It was raining. We were heading the same way. Saw him. He was meeting a girl. Reminded me of my own advice: first thing you do when arriving in a new country? Map? No. Exchange money? No. Get a girlfriend? Yes. The caveat: don’t fall for the first one you meet.

Advice for foreigners: “You might be offended. Remember, this is from another country. It’s like social studies”.
“Mindlessly Busy” courtesy of VL

“Who Dares, Wins” courtesy Brits

ML into a lovely smile that’s blooming. And it’s so clear to me that here’s a dream come true.

Fame Is (put this on a t-shirt)

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

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。

Some more random Japan. Headed back on Wednesday and wanted to flush out the photos on hand.

Siesta

かわいいいいいい。。。ね？

教えて下さい

Yeah, life in Tokyo is so tough!

Gotta keep the good times rolling.

Every morning at 0800 for the past fews days, I’m woken by the banging of two alternating hammers coming from construction workers doing repairs/demolition/something on our building. No problem, except for the fact that I don’t sleep until 0600.

When I woke up today I was surprised to see 11 messages in my inbox. Only one was a spam. A full inbox is something like a plate full of food or a tall glass of beer or a…use your imagination. Huang Jiwei had sent me a couple of notes. First, giving me some great advice about Chengdu like these two nuggets of wisdom: “don’t fall in love everyday” and “beware of the old men in the night club”. He also dropped “dinosaurs” (will explain later) on me. He also planned a drive to the suburbs today and invited me to join. I responded to his message immediately, but I didn’t know if he would receive my message before leaving, so I tried to use my cell phone, which is broken (most of the time). Luckily, surprisingly, it worked and I was able to get a hold of him. While we were making a plan, Wang Wei (voice of a goddess, face like an angel) sent me a message and we chatted until I had to leave.

My phone didn’t work (or at least I didn’t hear it), but I still managed to meet up with HJ. We took a drive outside of the city to a place called Gong Xing. We stopped at a place with a nice lake and many trees. We drank tea and chatted about politics and world affairs. After chewing on that serious stuff, it was time to wash it down with some nice brews and LeShan shao kao….again (my third time in three days!). We had to leave suddenly when HJ received a call that his dog was choking. No worries, though, cause his dog, “huan huan”, turned out to be fine. So fine that he kept barking at me. But like anyone that barks at me, even humans, I just rub their head a little and let them lick my face and then we become great friends His other dog, “xiao xiao”, also barked, but there was no petting, licking involved.

Anyway, after that we went to meet HJ’s Professor, who is also a surgeon, and his son, who is preparing for the national college entrance exam. We figured it’d be a good opportunity for him to practice his English. It was a fun time, but I mostly speaking to the Professor. He studied at Kyoto University for one year, so we were able to trade some stories about our time in Japan. He’s also traveled to Russia, Italy, and Greece recently, so he shared some other anecdotes. His son, Jin, is a bi basketball fan and CS expert. Terrorists Win!!!

After some time, we left and headed back to LeShan shao kao for more meat and more beer. It started raining, so we touched on the Three Gorges dam. Serene joined us after a long day of work. I traded some Chinese with the taxi driver on the way home.

Almost forgot - “dinosaurs”, as HJ explained it, are the girls who you meet on QQ instant messaging system who look less than appealing after you meet in person. The male version is “frogs”.

Listening to: Folsom Prison Blues - Johnny Cash

Shintaro Ishihara has been re-elected as governor of Tokyo. You’ve probably heard a lot about Ishihara san, likely that he is a nationalist (is that a bad thing?), anti-US, anti-China, anti-women, anti-immigrant, etc. But what major news outlets have omitted from their reports are some intriguing tidbits of information about my far-right friend.

Agree, disagree, love, hate, IMHO, Ishihara san is a genius, the Allen Iverson of his time. Something (copy/pasted) for your next douhan:

In the fall of 1955, when he was a twenty-three year-old college student, Ishihara wrote (in three days) a short novel, “Season of the Sun,” that won the Akutagawa Prize. “Season of the Sun” is about a group of college students from wealthy families who “express their defiance of postwar respectability by gambling and brawling and indulging in promiscuous sex.” A film version was released in 1956. As a result of this film (Shintaro and his brother had roles in the film), the Ishiharas became teen idols. Their followers were called the Sun Tribe, and dressed in Hawaiian shirts and baggy pants and two-tone shoes in emulation of Yujiro. They wore their hair long on top and clipped on sides in a style that was advertised in barbershop windows as the Shintaro cut.

Not conrows, but gangsta’ nonetheless.

And for your goukon:

In the sixties, Ishihara wrote prolifically - plays and novels and even a musical version of ‘Treasure Island.’ He tried his hand at directing; ran a theater company; traveled to the North Pole, raced his yacht, the Contessa, crossed South America on a motorcycle and then turned his memoir of the journey into a best-selling book.

Ishihara san says:

“Damn Americans. The only one I like is that F?…D?….not FDR…maybe A…S…S? What’s his name? It rhymes with that Chipotle stuff I love, Burrito, Tostito, something. Ah, omouidashimashita!! Freelance Diplomat (FD), that’s his name, and Ambassador something, sounds Mexican, or German. Kid has more names than Elizabeth Taylor. American morality?! Anyway, he’s different. He’s one of the good ones. But it might just be my Japanese influence on him.

We drink sake and sing karaoke together, running up huge tabs at hostess clubs in Roppongi, all at the expense of the “common people” we both claim to be fighting for. Only struggle we know is juggling conversations with all those beauties {laughs}. Sometimes we take a break from the expensive girls and go to a hyaku yen shop, buy balloons, fill them with a special mix (we combined our names and dubbed it “The Shinstito”) of water, Old Spice, and Brut and, from the roof of my penthouse, drop them on gaijin who are dating Japanese women. Bastards.

When that gets old, we dress in all black, stealth mode, and go to train stations after the shuden and write derogatory things with lipstick on the faces of passed out salarymen. Or, sometimes, he’ll treat me to Cold Stone in Roppongi and we’ll take a Yoyogi koen bura bura.

To escape the paparazzi, we head to Takeshita St., where we trade our suits and clip on ties for groovy duds (see below. I’m the one on the right) and precariously balance stuffing crepes in our face with one hand and texting friends about Ebi-chan with the other.

From a business perspective, he’s the friggin’ Will Gates of o-miai. We both enjoy being nakodo so much that we opened up an agency. He was really missing the one stop shopping that Wal-mart offered him in the States, and he was always talking about combo meals, so he had the idea of setting up the agency, a restaurant, a love hotel, a hostess bar, an overpriced pastry shop with super small portions, a trendy clothing boutique, and an internet cafe all in the same building. Abecedarian, right?

It worked! O-kyaku sama would come to the agency, we’d set them up and give them a “discount” (not really a discount, because we were already overcharging on the overcharge) to eat at our restaurant. If they click, then up they go to the third floor, the love hotel. If not, then the guy is usually feeling dejected, so we send him to 4, where the hostess bar is. Japanese girls love to eat sweets when they’re sad, so she goes to 5 for some green tea creme brulee and ocha. Now she feels fat, so she rationalizes the walk up 1 floor to 6 as “exercise” to work off the sweets. Besides, she must shop to take away the pain. The internet cafe is where everyone who didn’t decide to “stay” is stuck because they missed the last train. An unforeseen by-product is that two rejects will hook up here and start the whole process over at 2 (our restaurant turns pub at midnight).

Don’t know what the hell he’s doing over in that other country. Told him we have business to attend to over here, namely the “I’m Nuts for Natto” project. I miss him. These days I just keep myself busy coming up with super kawaii English-Japanese phrases to iron on t-shirts, like “おk”. Oh yeah, and the campaigning and governing stuff, too.

Anyway, he introduced me to the Geto Boys, so now their music and the Japanese national anthem is all I have on my iPod.

{Sigh}
Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.”

Picturesque landscapes, delicious food, and a vibrant nightlife are all reasons we fall in love with a town, but what keeps us around? For me, it’s the small things, the unexpected, those which inevitably come courtesy of the local people. Much as I attempted to avoid them, a few rays of light hit me this past week.

Being the slugabed I am, I usually substitute pineapple on a stick for lunch and delay the real gratification for dinner. This week, however, I got into the pattern of a mid-afternoon walk to a small shop to buy a bag of instant noodles. Today, as I approached the packed cross walk*, a junior high school student in the standard issue school uniforms** (read: over sized track suits with school name emblazoned on the back. In this case, “shi shi”) said, “Good afternoon”. I replied in kind and we started chatting. Turned out his uncle is living in Cincinnati. When asked what I thought of China, I gave my standard, truthful reply - “I love it”. And he gave the standard, truthful reply to my reply - “Yeah, but too many people.” Touche. Desultory talk to the ears of some, but divine to this pair.

Couple of days back it was raining. I walked outside to get my noodles, but stopped in front of the building to gauge the rain. It was a light drizzle. I stood to take it in. No umbrella in hand, a young woman asked me in Chinese if I wanted to share. I was surprised I understood her. I said no thank you and gave her a smile. She made my day.

Today, on our way to dinner, I saw people queuing up for the bus. I did a double take. For a moment, I thought I was back in Japan. Wu Feng and Xiang Wen gave me a nudge when I told them this, but it’s the truth. No one queues here. Hell, no one queues in the States, either. Except for Chipotle {The Ambassador drools on himself, keyboard}.
Might have been Monday. Fu Yuan and I sat down at a restaurant across the street from our office building for a quick dinner. The obligatory roll of toilet paper occupied our table. Unexpectedly, with a shot of the eyes, he said, “I hate this”. I already knew. I replied that it kinda caught me off guard when I first came to China. Wiping my mouth with the same paper I wipe my ass with was kinda weird, but I just rolled with it I added that I had yet to blog about it because I didn’t want to offend anyone. He told me not to hold back, as I might actually be representing the majority. Zhi, anyone?

I’ll leave for another time how Huangjiwei and I capped off a faithful session of praying to the porcelain gods in a women’s bathroom by lying next to each other in beds of the OBGYN ward of a hospital.

*Even for China, this cross walk/intersection is bananas. I guarantee you’ve never seen anything like it. Think these guys were yellow submarining it when they did the planning. 40m wide, with 6 inputs/outputs. Stop lights are not coordinated. No one obeying the old folks with the orange vests and red flags. A mix of three-wheeled taxi bikes (san lun che), pedal bikes, electric bikes, pedestrians, cars, all coming and going in competing directions. Not the quantity of people you will see at Shibuya crossing in Tokyo, but just as exciting to watch, and more so to be a part of. Total chaos, but unfailingly leaves me with a sort of predesigned, private agogness.

**Might be thinking too hard again, but the difference in school unis worn by students in Japan and China leaves me wondering about the cause/effect.

In the spirit of the SAT, which I scored a 930 on (or was it a 390?), I give you this:

Cherry blossom is to Spring as cleavage is to ぎりぎり(girigiri) girls.

Bare tree is to Winter as shoulder is to ちらリスム (chirarism).

On Saturday, after 2 hours of sleep, I woke up to send my debit card to Japan. I needed to pay some bills.

Having received packages from overseas before, I knew well the intensity with which the Japanese customs agents perform their job (i.e. they open every package).

Today I received an email from the intended recipient stating that a customs agent called to ask some questions, a lot of questions.

Do you know this person?

What is your relationship with this person?

Do you live with this person?

Why is this person sending you this?

When will this person return to Japan?

Why not wait until this person returns to Japan?

If I send my card, why is it any of their concern? Is it not enough that my name and contact information is under the “From” field and the intended recipient’s name and contact info is under the “To” field?

How hard I am holding back the urge to write a rabble-rousing blanket statement, you have no idea.

But if I lost sleep to send a package that is not delivered, I’m gonna boycott sushi (but not sashimi, and definitely not natto).

どもありがとうミスタロバト

I was trying to avoid eating any non-Chinese food while living here. failed.

We hit up McDonald’s (not my choice) before the show tonight. Truth is, I can’t recall the last time I ate a burger from McDonald’s. I remember I had an order of fries in NYC last winter, but the last time I had visited one before that must have been in high school. Wait, freshman year of Uni after business math exams I would go and get fries and eat them with this homeless guy named David. But no burgers….I think. I might have been borderline veggie at that time.

The Big Mac wasn’t that big, but it was delicious. I topped it off with fries and washed it down with a hot pineapple pie and an ice cold Coke.

I did eat Wendy’s once in Tokyo, though. The cashier was, I think, an Iranian girl and her Japanese was super cute.

me: “ba ga (burger) onegaishimasu”

her: “Hai! kashikomarimashita!”