Buying condoms in this country is embarrassing. Not because of the simple fact that you're buying condoms, and your heavily diluted puritan upbringing has made you feel that sex and anything related to it is shameful. Oh no. Buying condoms and lube is embarrassing because of all the fan fare that goes into it.
First finding condoms in a Japanese pharmacy for the first time is like looking for gold in the Colorado River minus the Hoover Dam. You'll be washed away in beauty products long before you find anything of use. Actually odds are you'll walk by the condoms six times and swear on multiple visits that they do not sell them. The trick to actually seeing the condoms is to look for cigarettes. Condoms are so "embarrassing" here that they disguise them as everything but. I once bought a pack of condoms that said "Menthol" on the box.
Secondly, once you've decided on your box of cigarettes and have wandered up to the counter and exchanged dirty looks with the made-up whores ( how was I to know that I had a strange assortment of goodies: condoms, lube, body wash, face soap, and toilet paper.) the clerk gives you a look like, "Oh my god! You're buying these now?!" (please imagine him as gay and lisping with his hand permanently attached to his chest in an "oh my stars" manner.) Then rings up your shit at lightning speed and flings it into the brightest, most blinding, and most annoying pink bag I or you have ever seen. This bag is like neon or some shit.
Anyway he puts that bag in another bag and hands it to you after you pay of course.
Seems like a lot of work, yeah?
Not really. But it just seems like the condom search is too difficult. Every pharmacy is different. And in truth the condoms don't fit. Well not normal sized people. but they fit the Japanese so that is cool. The condoms are not even long enough. What the fuck is that?
Monday, April 30, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Surrounded
Today the payment for my credit card is due, but I don't get paid until the 12th. I have explained this to the company, but not having money at your fingertips and being a foreigner just don't click in their brains. So they, the company, are going to turn my card off until they get their money. They probably already have. I'm not angry. I already bought my groceries.
I've been having strange feelings about Japan lately. It feels like they are surrounding me. With their thoughts and ways and existence. The Japanese seem to like unity. I don't mean unity as in we have all JOYFULLY decided to be on the same page in life. No. The unity of which I speak is forced. It is hammered into the poor fools heads from the moment they are born.
BE THE SAME! THE SAME IS GOOD! THE SAME IS SAFE!
The enlightened ones will tell you. Enlightened doesn't necessarily mean bucking against the system. They are just aware of it.
As a result of all this hammering you end up with people who work the same, think the same, laugh at the same jokes, enjoy the same fashion, who end up being the same. Some times I look into a crowd and see one face. Now don't get me wrong. I'm not gonna go running up to a random man screaming, "Toshi-san, Toshi-san!" That would make Hideki wet himself and only give me and my fellow gaijin something to laugh at. The laugh is a little sad though because we know that no matter what we do we can never be like them. So what do we do as the permanent outsiders. We fuck with them. I like to corner the "smart" ones in my class and ask them all kinds of life disturbing questions. "Why the hell do Japanese do blah, blah, blah? Why do you do it? What is it for? Why? Why? Why?"
If you want to disturb a Japanese person's day ask them "why." They will all but scream the question back at you. Not because they don't understand, but because they are shocked that you would even ask and, as I like to believe, because they haven't.
This country has embraced the uniform. Not for simple economical reasons. Not simply as a way of showing where you work, go to school, or what kind of job you have (you can spot a construction worker's "hammer pants" a mile away), but as a means of defining who you are. You are the uniform. The uniform is your company or school. You are your company, and your company like most things in this country is controlled by someone else. So they mindlessly go along with things because that is the way it is. If they fuck up they fuck up the whole company. They're whole little group.
Peons
I've been having strange feelings about Japan lately. It feels like they are surrounding me. With their thoughts and ways and existence. The Japanese seem to like unity. I don't mean unity as in we have all JOYFULLY decided to be on the same page in life. No. The unity of which I speak is forced. It is hammered into the poor fools heads from the moment they are born.
BE THE SAME! THE SAME IS GOOD! THE SAME IS SAFE!
The enlightened ones will tell you. Enlightened doesn't necessarily mean bucking against the system. They are just aware of it.
As a result of all this hammering you end up with people who work the same, think the same, laugh at the same jokes, enjoy the same fashion, who end up being the same. Some times I look into a crowd and see one face. Now don't get me wrong. I'm not gonna go running up to a random man screaming, "Toshi-san, Toshi-san!" That would make Hideki wet himself and only give me and my fellow gaijin something to laugh at. The laugh is a little sad though because we know that no matter what we do we can never be like them. So what do we do as the permanent outsiders. We fuck with them. I like to corner the "smart" ones in my class and ask them all kinds of life disturbing questions. "Why the hell do Japanese do blah, blah, blah? Why do you do it? What is it for? Why? Why? Why?"
If you want to disturb a Japanese person's day ask them "why." They will all but scream the question back at you. Not because they don't understand, but because they are shocked that you would even ask and, as I like to believe, because they haven't.
This country has embraced the uniform. Not for simple economical reasons. Not simply as a way of showing where you work, go to school, or what kind of job you have (you can spot a construction worker's "hammer pants" a mile away), but as a means of defining who you are. You are the uniform. The uniform is your company or school. You are your company, and your company like most things in this country is controlled by someone else. So they mindlessly go along with things because that is the way it is. If they fuck up they fuck up the whole company. They're whole little group.
Peons
A simple Sign
I'm sick. I think I have strep throat and hay fever. So a bitch can't sleep and my cravings for food have become pretty weak. Actually they have vanished. I'm eating out of necessity. I figured I would test my lack of cravings today (what else is a sick man to do but play with his body?) by eating only once. So this morning I had a lame as omelet and half a grilled cheese sandwich an like 3 liters of water. Really liters. The water was all before ten. I'm part camel or something. Anyway around 9pm tonight I reached a conclusion:
You know you've let your hunger cravings go far beyond acceptable levels when you start mistaking them for involuntary bowel movements.
Yes, diarrhea. I was so hungry that I thought, believed that I had suddenly developed violent diarrhea.
Of course I didn't, but I did not realize that until I had excused myself from class to "blow my nose" (read "check my ass"). I generally don't like fluids leaving my body unless certain conditions are met:
Sweat>>> with sports
Tears>>> moments of extreme emtional or physical distress
Piss>>>> the fucking men's room or those odd male bonding moments
Cum>>> in preceense and result of hard work of cute man or men
Those are the only four liquids that are acceptable. Liquid or solid shit would result in either spontaneous death or me leaping onto and airplane back to the US with whatevr the fuck I was carrying. Pencil, ruler, wad of paper. It could be the most mudane thing in the world and that would be all I would have to show of my time in Japan... and a poo stain.
It would be a catastrophe. Which is why sudden violent diarrhea is somewhat high on my suicide worthy list.
Don't worry. For the suicide worthy list to even become a factor in my life I would have had to experince no less than 1 months of depression and recently been gang raped by a herd of midget transvetite women.
So don't worry.
You know you've let your hunger cravings go far beyond acceptable levels when you start mistaking them for involuntary bowel movements.
Yes, diarrhea. I was so hungry that I thought, believed that I had suddenly developed violent diarrhea.
Of course I didn't, but I did not realize that until I had excused myself from class to "blow my nose" (read "check my ass"). I generally don't like fluids leaving my body unless certain conditions are met:
Sweat>>> with sports
Tears>>> moments of extreme emtional or physical distress
Piss>>>> the fucking men's room or those odd male bonding moments
Cum>>> in preceense and result of hard work of cute man or men
Those are the only four liquids that are acceptable. Liquid or solid shit would result in either spontaneous death or me leaping onto and airplane back to the US with whatevr the fuck I was carrying. Pencil, ruler, wad of paper. It could be the most mudane thing in the world and that would be all I would have to show of my time in Japan... and a poo stain.
It would be a catastrophe. Which is why sudden violent diarrhea is somewhat high on my suicide worthy list.
Don't worry. For the suicide worthy list to even become a factor in my life I would have had to experince no less than 1 months of depression and recently been gang raped by a herd of midget transvetite women.
So don't worry.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
I just realized that in the absence of my preferred writing I suddenly an overwhelming urge to write... or at least rattle on about nonsensical things in my life. (My internet is "down" and my handwriting is autrocious.) I was always taught to move with the spirit so now I write.
I was at work today talking with a student, as is my habit and duty, and somehow or another we ended up comparing driver's licences. (I'll have you know that the majority of licenses I've seen from the US are a thousand times cuter than anything Japan is trying to produce.) As the student was starting at my Oz-esque photo she suddenly squealed a little and then said that my face was thinner. I was happy, of course, but she made me think of another time in my life. A darker time. A time were seeing myself... in a picture sent me into convulsions.
Years and years ago at one of my younger sister's birthday parties my older sister and I were taking turns playing cameraman. We were both operating with the unspoken but understood, agreement that we would avoid taking photos of each other at all cost. For the majority of the day we were successful. Our efforts to avoid each other result in a wide array of sliding and ariel shots. Truly it was art. I was the best at avoiding my sister. From my footage you would think that I only had one sister.
Playing cameraman with a 15 pound monster can quickly becoming tiring so at some point my sister and I abandoned the camera. This is when my mother gained control.
Her "loving" eye produced some of the most shocking and horrifying footage I have ever seen. She has since that day been banned from video camera use. No exceptions.
After the party, we, my family and I, watched the type with great satisfaction. The work my sister and I created produced real Oohs and Aahs. When my mother section of the tape came my sister and I feel silent. There before us was a work my mother was proud of. The Blair Witch done Annette style. My sister was treated gently by my mother. I was not so lucky. I appeared suddenly from the top of the screen moving slowly. In and out of focus. Like a ghost. That day I had thought that I had dressed myself nicely, but the tape proved me wrong.
My large comfotable white shirt had been transformed into a long, flowing, bone white gown of death. My jeans. My oh so comfortable jeans. They reminded me of those pants that Aladdin and his folk wore.
I looked a mess. A large jerky, flowing, Blair Witch, the Ring-like mess.
I didn't mention my arms. My arms looked long and huge. My hands were even bigger. Like those things from that gargoyles movie.
long story short. The footage was so horrible, so fear inspiring that is was "misplaced" in a dumpster 5 miles away from my house after being "lightly" mutilalted with a screwdriver. When asked about it I just tell them that maybe we taped over it... or the witch got jealous.
I was at work today talking with a student, as is my habit and duty, and somehow or another we ended up comparing driver's licences. (I'll have you know that the majority of licenses I've seen from the US are a thousand times cuter than anything Japan is trying to produce.) As the student was starting at my Oz-esque photo she suddenly squealed a little and then said that my face was thinner. I was happy, of course, but she made me think of another time in my life. A darker time. A time were seeing myself... in a picture sent me into convulsions.
Years and years ago at one of my younger sister's birthday parties my older sister and I were taking turns playing cameraman. We were both operating with the unspoken but understood, agreement that we would avoid taking photos of each other at all cost. For the majority of the day we were successful. Our efforts to avoid each other result in a wide array of sliding and ariel shots. Truly it was art. I was the best at avoiding my sister. From my footage you would think that I only had one sister.
Playing cameraman with a 15 pound monster can quickly becoming tiring so at some point my sister and I abandoned the camera. This is when my mother gained control.
Her "loving" eye produced some of the most shocking and horrifying footage I have ever seen. She has since that day been banned from video camera use. No exceptions.
After the party, we, my family and I, watched the type with great satisfaction. The work my sister and I created produced real Oohs and Aahs. When my mother section of the tape came my sister and I feel silent. There before us was a work my mother was proud of. The Blair Witch done Annette style. My sister was treated gently by my mother. I was not so lucky. I appeared suddenly from the top of the screen moving slowly. In and out of focus. Like a ghost. That day I had thought that I had dressed myself nicely, but the tape proved me wrong.
My large comfotable white shirt had been transformed into a long, flowing, bone white gown of death. My jeans. My oh so comfortable jeans. They reminded me of those pants that Aladdin and his folk wore.
I looked a mess. A large jerky, flowing, Blair Witch, the Ring-like mess.
I didn't mention my arms. My arms looked long and huge. My hands were even bigger. Like those things from that gargoyles movie.
long story short. The footage was so horrible, so fear inspiring that is was "misplaced" in a dumpster 5 miles away from my house after being "lightly" mutilalted with a screwdriver. When asked about it I just tell them that maybe we taped over it... or the witch got jealous.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
rambling
"It was a dark and stormy night...."
Why does that phrase have such power? Its mere utterance is enough to make the some people go peeking over their shoulders. As an intro I think its lame. You could have the same amount of luck with "...it was night and a terrible storm was raging..." At least that way you're not forced or at the very least expected to tell a horror story.
Dark and Stormy. Ha! I am afraid of the dark. I share it with the kids at work to gain a bit of trust sometimes, and with the adults to get a few laughs. dark. can mean so many things to so many people. To me it always meant something is waiting with deep, rattling breath, and such an underdeveloped sense of urgency that waiting patiently in the dark for the duration of my life has yet to prove boring... or my squirming in the dark is enough to justify patience.
Why does that phrase have such power? Its mere utterance is enough to make the some people go peeking over their shoulders. As an intro I think its lame. You could have the same amount of luck with "...it was night and a terrible storm was raging..." At least that way you're not forced or at the very least expected to tell a horror story.
Dark and Stormy. Ha! I am afraid of the dark. I share it with the kids at work to gain a bit of trust sometimes, and with the adults to get a few laughs. dark. can mean so many things to so many people. To me it always meant something is waiting with deep, rattling breath, and such an underdeveloped sense of urgency that waiting patiently in the dark for the duration of my life has yet to prove boring... or my squirming in the dark is enough to justify patience.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Religion of Bells
Japan is a country that resembles a herd of cats. Well at least as far as accessories are concerned. Should you ever see a herd of cats I encourage you to kill them. They are not cats. Cats in a herd. I wonder if phrases can be oxymorons. Cats, house cats, are considered for the most part to be really independent. Well to me they are. They pick their human and their one or two friend cats and that is it. Everyone else they flee from or bear claws and teeth. A herd, at least in my mind again, implies a surrendering of the mind and body to the wants and needs of the herd. Since all present have surrendered their mind and bodies all you are left with is a mindless mass that responds only to the most basic and extreme of outside stimuli. Bright lights (TV), loud noise (mediocre music), commands from someone who has recognized the herd for what it is: an opportunity, power, idiots.
Cats don’t really fall into that herd category so I want to take this time to apologize to all cats in the world for comparing them to the Japanese.
What kind of cat am I?
It’s true. I can only right a sentence that I am pleased with after reading something written by someone who exhibits more intelligence than me. Truthfully, it is not all that hard to outsmart me. I am what the old people call dim. But in my own defense I can say that all of my written thoughts are mine.
Japan may not be the perfect herd of cats, but it does share with cats a reverence and complete infatuation with the bell. Yes, the bell. It seems to me that almost everyone (me included) has in their possession at least one bell. It has quickly become difficult for me to believe that anything in this country can be considered comlete until it has bneen crowned with a bell. The bell for Japan would be the equivalent of the cross to Christians or the Star of David to Jews.
The bell creates an impenetrable ring of protection. No harm can come to the person or thing that is in possession of the bell. The Japanese are extremely skiddish which is why buildings, cars, bags, phones, shoes, children, and a mulitiude of other things that I can not think of right now are adorned with bells.
I love bells. I think they’re cute, but then again I at times want nothing more than to “accidently” remove the arms of a child because the bells (not the “s”) that his mother has attached to his bag have driven me to the point of uncontrollable violence. ( The straps on these kids bags here are often made of leather and I am certain that his little 7 year old arms will give long before the straps do.)
Cats don’t really fall into that herd category so I want to take this time to apologize to all cats in the world for comparing them to the Japanese.
What kind of cat am I?
It’s true. I can only right a sentence that I am pleased with after reading something written by someone who exhibits more intelligence than me. Truthfully, it is not all that hard to outsmart me. I am what the old people call dim. But in my own defense I can say that all of my written thoughts are mine.
Japan may not be the perfect herd of cats, but it does share with cats a reverence and complete infatuation with the bell. Yes, the bell. It seems to me that almost everyone (me included) has in their possession at least one bell. It has quickly become difficult for me to believe that anything in this country can be considered comlete until it has bneen crowned with a bell. The bell for Japan would be the equivalent of the cross to Christians or the Star of David to Jews.
The bell creates an impenetrable ring of protection. No harm can come to the person or thing that is in possession of the bell. The Japanese are extremely skiddish which is why buildings, cars, bags, phones, shoes, children, and a mulitiude of other things that I can not think of right now are adorned with bells.
I love bells. I think they’re cute, but then again I at times want nothing more than to “accidently” remove the arms of a child because the bells (not the “s”) that his mother has attached to his bag have driven me to the point of uncontrollable violence. ( The straps on these kids bags here are often made of leather and I am certain that his little 7 year old arms will give long before the straps do.)
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