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.