Brotherhood

I watched my first World Cup 2010 game yesterday, in which the German Engine of War made the Australians look like folding chairs. When I awoke that morning I had no thought of paying the game any attention, but as the day unfolded circumstances changed, and I wound up spending time with some Aussies who were passionate about seeing it live, never mind the fact that it started at 3:30am.

Sure, what the hell, I thought. Nothing in my schedule keeping me from such frivolities. So after catching a nap at a manga cafe* from 1-ish to 3, we hit a bar in Shibuya and watched Team Oz get savagely maimed. My new associates were of course distraught to the point of tears, and I took the opportunity rub a little salt on their injured pride :-) ... but not too much. I'm a wiseass, not a jackass. We enjoyed several cuts of consolation sushi in Tsukiji afterwards, stumbled to our respective domiciles, and collapsed into sometime in the afternoon.

*Wonderful inventions. For less than $4/hour, you get a cozy private cubicle with a computer, broadband internet, a soft reclining sleeper-chair, and free coffee/tea. To top that off, the place has a huge selection of movies and comic books, and there's even a restaurant attached with food slightly better than McDeath. I hear some have showers, too.

All of that's beside the point, though. I didn't start this entry to gush about sports. Any of you who know me well know that professional sports are not a high point of my life. I don't follow teams, I don't know player stats, and the concept of fantasy football bores me silly. No, the reason I'm writing this entry is actually a tune and a few words that got stuck in my head, no doubt after I overheard it in a commercial or something.

"When I get older, I will be stronger, they'll call me freedom, just like a wavin' flag..."

Any nods of recognition out there? My brief Google research led me to the conclusion that this is a line from the refrain of K'naan's "Wavin' Flag," released in 2007 and adopted as the theme song of the 2010 World Cup. Listen to it. It's all over YouTube and the rest of the interwebs.

The lyrics are simple, but they come together for me in a way few things do. They carry a powerful message, and they thrust it out there boldly, telling the world to grow the fuck up and start seeing each other as all members of one race. And maybe that's what we need. What's more, since the song became the anthem of World Cup 2010, handfuls of translations have been recorded, into Spanish, Arabic, Japanese, Chinese, and many others. K'naan has worked with artists all over the world to globalize this message, and if I knew him I would thank him in person. I can't say anything authoritative about most of the foreign language recordings, except for the Japanese one - which was brilliant. It wasn't a translation at all, actually, but what it did do is take the overall message and couch it in a deep cultural context that just makes sense. It takes topics that are natural to the Japanese way of life and uses them to carry K'naan's thoughts to this audience. It works well. I'm hoping - and thinking, probably, that that's what each language's version of this song has done. Why try to communicate the same words, anyway, to people who think differently? Touch each culture, instead, with an understanding of their ways and a presentation of your message that they can stand behind.

Now, we can't get perfection from this, the World Cup, or any such production. No matter how many songs are sung, it's not likely that North and South Korea will face each other on the green anytime soon. Israeli and Palestinian players probably won't clasp hands and congratulate each other on a well-played game in the near future. Blood will still fall and hatred will still burn. But if an event like this can bring as many of us together as it does, I say it's a damn good start. If Germany, Italy, England, and France have successfully transformed the death and horror of only 70 years past into a (more or less) friendly sporting competition, maybe we really do have something to look forward to. And if you still doubt me, try putting your cynicism aside for a day and just wondering what an event like this can achieve if it's done this much so far.

"...if you weren't involved before, it's never too late to start."

Honest concern, racial profiling, or just plain boredom? You be the judge.

I haven't gotten around to writing recently due to a final paper for my MBA beating my brains out, and then traveling with visiting family, but now that brains have been recovered/reinstalled (along with my OS, but that's another story), family has gone home, and my degree is in hand, I can now get back to writing about some of the weird shit that happens to me here.

So, I got home the other day (or back to my train station) from a lunch thing and was greeted by the usual throngs of people milling about on a weekend afternoon, plus the inevitable marketing technicians handing out fliers for their respective businesses, shouting the latest deals offered, or just shamelessly begging for your money. And as usual, I wound my way through the crowd, trying not to make eye contact with any part of the Collective. Suddenly, a short (by Japanese standards), well-dressed Japanese woman probably in her 40s came up alongside me and asked in broken English if I spoke Japanese. I responded in the affirmative, and she clearly wanted my attention for something, but we were in the middle of a crowd and I could barely hear her, much less respond intelligently, so I followed her outside the teeming masses where she could tell me exactly what was so important.

At this point, I was assuming...I don't know. I had at first guessed she was a tourist, but they usually ask me if I speak English. I genuinely hoped this wasn't some marketing ploy by yet another pile of ignorant douchebags trying to pander to the foreigner crowd here as if they actually represent only a single demographic - but no, this woman had no corporate uniform on and seemed just too slick and professional to be out on the streets annoying people. She clearly had more of a capable, experienced demeanor, too, than some jackoff trolling for commissions. Briefly, fear struck me. Well-dressed, clean and crisp manner, devoted to her mission... Jehovah's Witness!! Nooooo!!!! God save me from your followers! My eyes darted left and right for an escape route, but mercifully I was wrong.

Once we got over to a guardrail and could hear ourselves think again, she addressed me in Japanese and revealed that she was an officer of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police. Having done nothing wrong, knowing at least reasonably what my rights here are, and being in a crowded public area, I was so far unconcerned, but rather curious. She explained to me that (I'm translating from only memory here, but this is more or less accurate) there had been a number of problems related to foreigners and crime in Tokyo recently, and would I mind if she ask me a few questions? She had spoken very politely to me, and before I could respond, she asked if I would like to see her badge. I nodded, knowing that foreigners and cops here do not always get along on the shiniest of terms*. My curiosity at this point was tipping the scales.

*This is an absurd, gigantic can of Arrakis-sized worms that I am not going to break open here because A) What I do know could fill pages, and B) I don't know nearly enough to do this issue justice. I will, however, give a brief peek of the horrors inside, just to help out readers who have never been here or had reason to research this matter. Like every country, Japan has good cops and bad cops. Regardless of what camp they fall in, many (dare I say, most?) cops here have not dealt extensively with foreigners, and are under the impression that we are responsible for a disproportionate amount of the crime that happens on their sweet little island utopia. We tend to get treated as such. Further, if a foreigner in Japan is accused of a crime and actually arrested, best to assume guilty until proven innocent, because that's how the system will treat them. The vast majority of us get by here just fine by obeying the laws and not getting involved with seedy-looking situations. Seriously, this does work almost flawlessly, and foreigners are generally not at risk of being abused by cops. I've lived here for 2.5 years of my life and this has been one of two times I talked to cop, except to ask directions.

So, she showed me her badge, holding it low and shielding it from public view so that I might see it without passerby thinking this was a bad situation (I guess). She then asked me if I would be kind enough to show her my gaijin card - well, technically it's called a gaikokujin touroku shoumeisho, but few people have the patience to say that entire mouthful every time - legal identification for foreigners here that gives all the standard birthdate/address/photo info on it, plus the type and expiration date of our visa.

This is generally normal for a cop here, if a little annoying. Japanese cops have the right to ask for ID at any time, for any or no reason. If you don't have it, you will be arrested and fined. Deal with it, and play along. There's no reason to be stubborn or fight this one; it'll only get you in trouble. (Also true because the average cop here can kick your ass. They don't carry guns but they all train like crazy and have advanced rankings in kendo and aikido. Fuck with them at your own peril.)

I gave her my card, and she began to write down my details on a notepad she produced from one pocket. All the while through, she asked me polite, clarifying questions like how to pronounce my name, what I was doing here on a cultural studies visa, etc. I explained it all to her, and she took a few more notes. She asked me then if I had heard of any crimes involving foreigners here. Well, technically yes, ma'am, but I think I would prefer to keep my goddamn mouth shut at this point, seeing as they're all minor and of no realistic threat to Japanese society. All I actually said was, "No, I can't think of any." The way she had phrased the question was of particular interest, though. She did not say:
1. Do you know of foreigners committing any crimes here?
2. Do you know of any foreign victims of crime here? or
3. Have you been a victim of crime here?
All she asked was if I knew of foreigner "involvement" in such, which can be interpreted in a ton of ways. I had to roll that one around in my brain for a bit, just because of all the different meanings it could have. No situation came to mind that I thought a cop could actually help with, so as I said, I gave her a negative answer. It bothered me and made my spine tingle a bit, though.
Anyway, the conversation ended with her asking me if there was anything the Tokyo Metropolitan Police could do to make my stay here better. I told her, "No, thank you, I'm having a good time here. Japan is a very safe country." A little ass-kissing couldn't hurt, I figured. Let me stress that she was very polite throughout this whole business, and actually spoke quite deferentially to me. I've heard of cops being straight up dicks to foreigners here; this was definitely not such a case. I got my ID card back from her and she went on her way, leaving me scratching my chin stubble over what just happened.

Question 1: Why did she approach me in the first place?
There's no one certain answer, but I can guess. Cops (and as an extension, many public figures) believe that visa overstayers are responsible for much of the crime here. Consequently, if you get caught overstaying your visa here, you will get screwed really hard. Don't do it. I read about a couple who were studying abroad at a university here, and overstayed 1 day due to making a mistake in booking their flight home. They tried to go home, figuring that if they were leaving the country anyway, who would care? Woe unto them - they got arrested at the airport, held in police custody for several days, and finally deported. Oh, and by the way: THEY WERE BANNED FROM RETURNING TO JAPAN FOR FIVE YEARS. For making an error in booking a flight. Moral of the story? Never overstay your visa here for any reason. Ever. So anywho, cops sometimes nab foreigners like me, just to see if we have valid visas. This has come to be referred to by many as getting pulled over for a W3, or just getting W3-ed. What is this, you ask? Why, it's none other than the heinous crime of Walking While White. My readers in Minnesota may recall the DWB (Driving While Black) that the Minneapolis Police Department has a real boner for - this is the same basic idea, just aimed at a different minority.

Question 2: That's kinda racist, don't you think?
Well, yes. I wouldn't be writing this entry if I didn't take issue with what happened. However, is it really a bad thing? White males of European descent (and many others) have subjected numerous racial groups to horrible, absolutely deplorable treatment for centuries, maybe millennia. I wonder if, just so that we keep our shit in perspective, don’t we all deserve to be the hated/feared/untrusted minority at least once? How else can we appreciate the hardships others have suffered for not blending in with the crowd? Prejudice is never a good thing, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be an educational thing.
Japan’s got a tough hurdle to overcome, too. For ~250 years, their military dictatorship closed the country to all foreign influence, save for a few ports kept open for very limited foreign trade, and this only ended in the mid/late 1800s. I can think of few better ways to breed xenophobia than that. And as the wise master tells us, “Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering..."

Question 3: Involvement?
This one gets my goat. On some level I can accept that Tokyo police might use this word because asking foreigners if they know of fellow out-of-towners breaking the law might seem a little combative. Doesn't make it any less passive-aggressive. The solution isn't to directly quiz us about the nefarious ways of our white/black/hispanic/other brethren, though - it's to extract head from ass and realize that the overwhelming majority of foreigners who make it all the fucking way to Japan are educated and generally successful (excepting a few asshats in the military who make the whole organization look bad). Educated, successful people are not breeding grounds for crime, because we're happy with the direction we're going. This is some pretty basic shit. Require a little education in statistics and social science for cops, and they'll see this. Sure, some people come here and then misbehave. Show me some verifiable evidence that these people represent the majority of criminals in Japan and I will display my gaijin card with glowing lights on it to every damn cop I pass.

In the end, there is no simple solution to this. The responsibility lies on the shoulders of no one involved party more than others. Japanese cops need education, and exposure to foreign ways of life – if for no other reason than so they see that we aren’t a collective den of criminals. And if we start early...

This is why I strongly support programs like JET. JETs aren’t necessarily English teachers – after all, not every Japanese child wants to learn English. (And who’s going to blame them, really? I didn’t exactly have the hots for Spanish when I was 13.) But what teaching abroad programs do do is expose students to ways of life other than their own, so that the next time they see a foreigner, they don’t scream, duck and cover, or stare in befuddled awe. It may not seem like much, but for a country cut off from almost everything for so long, continued survival in an undeniably international world requires it.

Devil in my Dictionary

Some things just need to be seen to be believed. By the way, some of this post is NSFW. Don't continue reading if you're currently at a workplace you like and don't want to get fired from it.

The other day, my coworker asked me what the best way was to express a particular Japanese phrase in English (あくせく働く, for the immediately curious). It basically means to work in a busy-body way, all-work-and-no-play, etc.

However, I couldn't think of any particularly succinct way to express this on the spot, so I consulted my wonderful electronic dictionary for ideas. It has a phrase reference tool that's usually useful, although it sometimes comes up with interesting examples - generally nothing that would get you ostracized by polite company, but might raise an eyebrow or two. This time, though...

I could simply type down what it gave me, but - well, if someone just told me this one without photographic proof, I'd probably have trouble accepting it as truth, too.

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I shit you not. Apparently the Canon Wordtank G55 is a racist pig.

There are plenty of other stereotypes and such that I see the Japanese take to unnecessary lengths at times, too. How, for example, could one possibly market a product like this in the United States?

(For those of you familiar with the chain, these were found at Don Quijote in Shinjuku. No, not Tsuyoshi's House of Porn.)

It's just as cute (sometimes better) when the Japanese make a funny without even realizing it. I'll generally forgive them just because English is such a weird and convoluted language, but that won't keep me from laughing - sometimes out loud, in public. I don't know, maybe I'm just retarded, but I found these instructions on a Whack-a-Mole game in Odaiba to be drop dead hilarious.

Be sure not to engage in Whack-a-Mole whilst drunk out of your mind, kids. Oh, and if you would be so kind as to not beat the holy crap out of yourself or passerby in the process we would greatly appreciate it, thanks.

And here was an absolutely priceless storefront of a prophylactic shop right outside the children's arcade with the drunken Whack-a-Mole. Say hi to Lubey, Pokey, and Ribber for me the next time you stop by, eh?

Some of the most over-the-top sexual humor I run into here is totally unintentional, too. I think.

Oh come on, Japan. Seriously?

Really the most fascinating, though, would have to be the people here themselves. Held to rigid social standards of proper dress, behavior, and language for several hundred (if not thousand) years has affected the citizens of this proud nation in myriad ways. Many accept their role as cogs in the Great Machine. Some explore unique fashion trends. Others pick up an axe and murder their family. And a few...

"Hey, big boy. Wanna party?"

The wrong side of the tracks

I've been horrible at updating this thing recently. Absolutely godawful. Inexcusable. Time to change that.

So, this is my third time living in Japan, but only the second time I have had to actually fend for myself. On my first trip here I was a high school exchange student who got coddled by rich host families, so I had no worries beyond walking the dog and (occasionally) studying Japanese. The first time I had to manage my own affairs was quite different, though:

1. I had a salary.


2. Said salary was not too shabby for the amount of work I did.


3. I was living in the absolute ass-end of nowhere, meaning that everything was cheap. I never worried about affording anything that I actually needed.

These days, life's a little different. I live in Tokyo, the largest metropolitan area on the entire fucking planet, and one of the most expensive cities in the world. And I make bupkis. In fact, my only (semi-)regular income right now is the ~$30/hour I can make tutoring English, and that's at best twice a week. One can quickly see how $240/month just ain't gonna cut it here.

This place will, however, fool you. Or maybe it won't, but it fooled me a little, at first. "Fool me once, shame on - shame on you. Fool me - you can't get fooled again!"

Bushisms aside, though, I know now that I came here lacking the perspective I required. I live in a pretty nice, upscale neighborhood, and have a pretty nice, upscale monthly rent to match. This is fine; one expense like that won't kill me, and it comes with amenities that I require like enough space for a 188cm person, a tatami floor to sleep on, and my own damn bathroom. In that, I'm confident I'm getting what I pay for.

Food is an entirely different matter, though. The closest grocery store to my house is Kinokuniya, and when I first saw the inside of it, I was ecstatic. At this point, anyone who has lived here long enough is gasping or shaking their head in pity...allow me to explain. Kinokuniya is a high-quality mostly organic store, and is the most expensive grocer. ANYWHERE. EVER. I mean, in the entire history of mankind. I have never seen such common household foods and amenities sold as such high prices so utterly shamelessly. I think shopping there must be a sort of status symbol, kind of like belonging to a $50,000/year country club - you don't actually get what you pay for, but everyone knows how much money you're blowing, and to a select crowd of idiots, that makes you look important/worthwhile/classy/sexy.

When I came to this country two months ago, my wallet was armored with several hundred thousand yen (a few thousand bucks), and it noticed not the savage kick to its groin* that Kinokuniya delivered on the few occasions I made shopping trips there. A few weeks into my brainless consumerism, though, I did a little math and realized that to sustain my then current buying habits, I would need a 6-figure salary. Remember that part where I said I don't make any money?

*Yes, my wallet has its own twig and berries. Don't ask.

Solving this problem would require complicated, unprecedented, dire steps, boldly going where no...nevermind. Mustering my courage, I exited my apartment and walked the opposite direction from Kinokuniya. Wild, huh?

And the fruits of my labor? The Other Side of the Tracks.

Sounds ominous, but that's the name I've given to this charming little outdoor mall-street. As far as I can tell, it has everything I really need:

Food: marts for Chinese, baked goods, and normal groceries, plus a few yakiniku and such if I get lazy.

Barber: Japanese barber still includes the straight-razor shave, back and neck massage, etc. It's pretty boss.

Butcher: Little old grandpa and grandma who seemed to memorize all my preferences after I had only been there twice.

Cakes: If you've had Japanese cakes, you understand. If not...Tokyo's great this time of year! Come see us!

Hell, there's even a dry cleaner, a jeweler, and a futon store, for all my regular...uh...bedding needs, I guess.

The point I'm getting to with this rambly post is that everything on The Other Side of the Tracks costs 1/3 to 1/2 of what the trendfucker joints are charging, probably even less in some cases. This is one of the many tricks that Japanese people know so that they can survive in cities like Tokyo. Moral of the story? If you're paying any more than you would in smaller largish cities for basic household needs, ask around. Wander. Get away from the main streets. Shop to meet your budget, and not your ego or sense of laziness. It's a wide and wonderful world out there, but you gotta open your eyes and take that first step.

Gaijin Score!!

On the train this last weekend, I invented a new game – well, not totally new, but it’s an extension of another idea I really like. Anyone who has read Azrael’s blog is familiar with the concept of Gaijin Smash, loosely defined as a technique used by foreigners (外人 – gaijin; lit. “outside person”) in Japan in order to impose their will on the Japanese. Examples include charging through a subway turnstile without paying, sitting in the elderly/disabled seats when you’re clearly neither, and other sorts of general dickheadedness. Gaijin have the remarkable ability in this country to completely avoid all punitive measures so long as the action in question doesn’t break any serious laws or badly upset the social order, because most Japanese people are nervous about or unwilling to confront us. Reasons include:

1) They assume we don’t speak Japanese and won’t understand

2) They assume that even if we speak Japanese, we won’t understand the complexities of their rules and society

3) Culturally, most Japanese avoid confrontation if at all possible – they don’t view it as worthwhile

4) We’re really goddamn tall and intimidating

Along with the Gaijin Smash, other terms such as the Gaijin Perimeter have come into regular use in the last few years. The GP is the effect we foreigners have in public, when Japanese will naturally put a little extra space between themselves and us without even thinking about it. It’s kind of funny to observe this one in action because people do it here so obliviously that it’s almost like they’re on autopilot – as if there’s some mild magnetic repulsion taking place that no one discusses or even acknowledges.

I’m sure there are a few others, too, but that’s not the focus of this entry. Nay, today I’m writing about my own contribution to this little field of ex-pat humor, a simple game that I have termed the Gaijin Score. It’s not complex, and just started as one more way for me to amuse myself on boring bus/train rides.

To play, you have to be on public transit that isn’t too busy. This doesn’t work during a crowded-as-fuck rush hour, because no one has any choice but to be pressed together like canned sardines. No, your Japanese co-riders must have a little room to move about. Now, in order:

1) Find a seat that has an open space next to it. Sit in it. There must be room for someone to sit next to you.

2) At each stop, count how many people choose to remain standing rather than take the plunge and sit within mere centimeters of a foreign barbarian. Each person = 1 point. You only gain a point if they choose to stand as opposed to sit next to you. It doesn’t count if they choose to stand when they have plenty of sitting options – they may just want to stretch.

3) Gain 2 points any time a Japanese person already sitting next to you gets up and moves to another seat when it becomes available, because your powers over them are nigh legendary if you can make them take action specifically to get away from you.

4) Divide your total score by the number of stops your train makes – this allows you to compete with friends who are on different trains at different times.

5) Remember that if all competitors are on the same train, there must be enough distance between you so that everyone knows who gets to claim each point.

6) Finally, half your total score if you have any particular smell about you that would cause most normal people to move away – you can dress however you want, but bad BO is just cheating.

My top Score is 8 so far, going between Jiyugaoka and Shibuya.

Guess who’s back, back again. Shady’s back, tell a friend…

I miss wheat bread. I’ve been back in Japan for about three weeks, I’m updating a blog I haven’t touched in over a year, and…yeah – that’s really the first thing that comes to mind. The country doesn’t completely fail at bread, and in fact has been known to create some very delicious varieties of the paler species, but whole grains seem to be the proverbial needle in the haystack. So much for nutrients from that food group.

…Wow. I thought for about five minutes and realized that in my current position, updating this blog is going to be a pain in the ass…maybe. When I was a teacher in Japan, I could rest easy knowing that nothing I posted here had the slightest chance of negatively affecting my job – my boss and most of my coworkers didn’t speak English, except for a few who couldn’t care less what some website said about all the weird crap that happened at Kosaka Jr. High on a semi-regular basis. Now, in my wide, wide world of teh internets and a bilingual office and an American boss and the thought of landing a real job in this country, I am realizing that I have to be kind of careful. I mean, think about it. What would be the first thing you’d do to learn more about a person you didn’t really know but were considering hiring? Go ahead, think about it. I’ll wait.

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Was your answer something like, Google them? I have, of course, Googled myself before, and I know while nothing horribly scandalous comes up, it’s not hard to start there and find your way to places like this blog, where I have and continue to talk about topics generally considered too risqué for a work environment. So, puzzle puzzle. What do I do now? Do I delete my whole blog, or at least remove it from online access? That kind of kills the original point, though, and frankly, there’s a lot of writing in here that I’m proud of and want to share with my readers. And I’m certainly not going to comb through every previous post to censor the naughty bits that a conservative employer might frown upon. I guess I could migrate it to Facebook, where only people I have pre-approved will have access to it. It’s fair to say that most of my readers are probably already Facebook friends. But I don’t like Facebook Notes. It’s stiff and unwieldy. I can’t embed pictures in my entries. It doesn’t accept HTML/font modification of any kind. And of course, no one new who happens to hear about my blog can take a look without getting my rubber stamp of approval first. That’s just not in the spirit of what I feel like doing. And ‘sides, all my stuff’s here, anyway.

This leaves option four, taking a risk and saying, “to hell with it.” – which is more or less what I’m doing. That doesn’t mean I have no standards with regard to what I’ll post here from now on out, but it does mean that I am putting my foot firmly down with regard to my opinion of net-snooping. In short, information is easy to get these days – so easy, I say, that the gatherer of said information bears the responsibility of using it wisely more so than ever. No matter what you learn online, there are some things you probably shouldn’t do.

You shouldn’t cite Wikipedia on a formal research paper.

You shouldn’t send spam mail.

You shouldn’t make purchases with credit card numbers other than your own.

You shouldn’t use someone’s SSN to steal their identity.

You shouldn’t use MySpace to stalk teenage girls (or anyone, really).

And I’d like to add to that one more. You shouldn’t base your opinions of someone you barely know on information gleaned from sources that have nothing to do with your relationship to them. I can imagine what some of you are thinking now. That’s cute, Brett, but this is reality. And in reality, we keep our damn mouths shut and do what we’re told.

Yeah, well. Raise your hand if you know me well enough to know that I’m a bit of an idealist. *cough* Maybe more than a bit. *cough* Raise your hand if you’ve ever known me to challenge the status quo. I believe that within the bounds of sensibility, we all need to stand up for what we think from time to time, not even if, but most especially if it runs against the grain. I’ve never known real reality to be black and white. There’s a lot of gray to be enjoyed, if you can handle the big kid responsibility of knowing when it’s actually OK to color outside the lines and when you should listen to your internal filter.

So, wrapping up this blather and getting to the point: if you’re reading this and forming opinions of me, either deliberately or involuntarily, think about how well you really know me. Who are you? Are you my friend, my relative, my boss? Are you thinking about hiring me, firing me, or just unfriending me on Facebook? What do you know about the rest of me that I may not write about here?

And after all of that, if you still really are immature enough to take negative action against me for exercising my right to free speech within the bounds of reason, fine. Do it. I probably wouldn’t have wanted to associate with you anyway.

[/rant]

Not end entry, though. That got kind of bitchy, especially toward the end, so I’d rather conclude with some of the silliness and absurdity that Japan never fails to provide. Hold on to your hats, children…

** Fair Warning** Stop reading here if you have a weak stomach. This next part is maybe a little less than pleasant. I know – with a lead-in like that, I’ve grabbed your curiosity by the throat and you’re not going to stop reading no matter how badly you want to. Still, I did want to at least be fair. Kind of.

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So, on the train into work a few mornings ago, I saw the most disgusting PDA (I think?) that exists in recent memory. Now, this may not mean much since I have the short-term memory of a goldfish, but…

Anyway, this rather overweight (only important because no one is fat here, so they already stood out) foreign couple – I’d guess them to be SE Asian – were cuddling and smooching in the middle of the crowd, whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears, etc. In and of itself, a little against the grain here, but not too nauseating, right? Well, the guy leans over for what I assume to be some more osculation Ha! Do you know that word? …but instead of any sort of traditional gesture of affection that we’re all accustomed to, he sticks his finger in his lady-friend’s nose. And then he removes something that I didn’t care to inspect in great detail. And then he eats it. Eats it. As in, he dined on her snot and boogers right in the middle of a densely packed train of shoulder-to-shoulder Japanese businesspeople at 9 o’clock in the goddamned morning. I understand that sometimes we skip breakfast and get a little peckish, but…

It was like someone bent over the social order that normally (more or less) exists here and raped it right in front of me. Oh, but that’s not all…!

The world couldn’t possibly be so kind as to end this horrible rape metaphor that was taking place right in front of my poor, virgin eyes. No, it continued…with her picking something off a bulbous growth on the inside of this man-child’s ear and YES. EATING IT. It was like watching monkeys grooming, except about 6 million times more horrible. It was like watching my childhood idol sodomize a cow. It was like…I don’t know, I got nothin’. I only remember briefly exchanging a mortified look with a nearby man about my age, and then…I may have blacked out briefly. Next I remember, they were getting off the train and I was muttering under my breath, “Oh, most merciful God...” No, not because I was about to eat. I don’t think I (or any other witnesses to this atrocity) ate for the rest of that day.