SEX AND THE CITY IS A MOVIE NOW!!!!

OH MY FUCKING GAWD!!! I MUST SEE THIS MOVIE NOW!!!!!

NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What Kind of Guy Will You Fall For?
	You would fall for the sensitive guy. You'll find your future man wherever turtlenecks are sold. He will have depth, introspection, and a disturbing knowledge of musical theatre. And he may be a little weird. But hey, while your girlfriends cry over broken hearts, you'll be having Shakespeare read to you every night.
Find Your Character @ BrainFall.com

Waiting for a student...

...who is has a chronic lateness problem. She is only 16 so I don't expect her to be standing in the lobby looking constipated like the older students, but trying to get here within five minutes of the class starting time would be nice.

4 days.

Only 4 days stand between me and my family. I am so excited. I can honestly say that I have never in my life been so excited about seeing my family. I wonder if this feeling will last through my entire trip or will it suddenly fall flat after being faced with my real family. They are all so perfect in my mind right now. Wonderful people. Totally perfect.

This might be bad.

Them not being perfect as I am imagining worries me. Actually everything about this trip worries and excites me. A lot. So much so that I am finding it more and more difficult to care about work. Now I am not being mean to kids or being rude to adults. My lack of caring is manifesting itself through my wardrobe. Any desire that I had diversify my wardrobe has died completely. I have this one shirt that I really like. I use to try to rotate it out so that it could be fresh and exciting but now I don't care. I wear that shirt 3 or 4 times a week now.

Yes. I wash it... Once a week.

I don't care anymore. No one seems to care about my clothes but me and as my trip home approaches the inadequacies of my wardrobe are becoming more and more apparent. I think that is resulting in my lack of caring. My wardrobe just isn't me anymore. And, more importantly, most of my stuff is ugly. I have two pairs of casual pants and I never really broke one pair in so I rarely wear them. I have worn the other pair to death. Those pants are like the Knight Badge of Courage... or Power or some other lame thing. I hate my clothes and since I am going back to America I can shop.

I CAN SHOP!!!

I'm going shopping. I am so happy. I am so excited. I am so worried. I am absolutely insane with expectancy.

Does that make sense? NO!

Sitting at my boss's desk

Why do I always get to work so early? My shift today doesn't start until 3:25 and my students don't arrive until 3:50, but, for some reason that I don't understand, I felt compelled to arrive at 2:30. I call it prep time, but it always just ends up being boring Knight time. It only takes me 35 minutes to prepare for all of my classes. Why do I do this to myself?

Even in my dreams I can't swim..

It is true. Last night I had a very interesting dream.

It started with me looking out across a frozen glacier. My older sister and two older guys were there. It is my dream so I assume I was in charge of the group. I took one look at the glacier and decided that we, actually just me, needed to get across the glacier immediately. I decided that the best way to do it would be to use a hover craft and so we did. We were almost immediately whizzing across the glacier in the hover craft.

Now I have absolutely no real world experience with hovercrafts so I guess that is why the inside of the hovercraft looked just like the inside of my dad's old boat. That boat was really old and rotten on the inside. On more than one occasion the motor would be ripped off the back of the boat by really rough waves. I guess that is why we stopped going fishing in the gulf. Once my dad and my uncle had to row the boat back inland after the motor fell off.

At any rate the hover craft looked just like my dad's boat until we got clear of the ice and then it changed into a regular boat. The glacier also changed. It became a large frozen canal. There were pieces of ice floating every where and for some reason large lion heads. They were all sculpted from ice. The were large and milky white with clear blue teeth. They were huge and all over the place. Some where stuck in large pieces of ice and others were floating freely in the water. After a while the ice disappeared from the canal and we were able to drive the boat quicker. That is when I saw another boat.

Actually there wasn't a boat. I could just see the wake from the "boat" as it drove past us. As it went by it splashed water on us and suddenly our boat became a large floating ceramic tub. Then we flipped. My sister and the guys fell out the tub, but I hung on for a long as I could. I didn't want to let go of it for fear of sinking so I had my arms and legs wrapped around the rim of the tub. I wiggled my feet to try to push the boat back into a level position but continued to sink and then I woke up.

I think I should learn to swim or something. That shit woke me up.

Sports

Since being in Japan I have been amazed on an almost daily basis by the sheer number of "sports" that people take seriously. There are literally thousands of sports, and, like most southern born Americans, I was raised to accept the big ones i.e. Football, Baseball, Soccer, Basketball, Track and Field, Tennis, and Wrestling. After straying a bit from my father's "expansive" world of sports I was able to start to appreciate most of the pool sports, Rugby, and kickboxing. I actually love kickboxing and would love to study it.

Japan seems to be in love with other sports though. I have respect for Track and Field, but I could never sit in front of my TV all day and watch a marathon. I have students who do this and report the results of the marathons to me. I smile and feign interest, but I honestly don't care. Marathons just seem to be long and boring and full of frighteningly thin people who never get tired. Sometimes they look like a more human version of that child-eating creature on Pan's Labyrinth.

The Japanese also seemed to like Ping Pong or Table Tennis or whatever the hell you want to call it. As a person who has actually played tennis I refuse to refer to it as table tennis unless I am being paid to do so. Ping Pong in my mind is so far from tennis that to even openly compare the two should be taken by all within earshot as an open attack on their lives.

What really amazes me is the fact that Ping Pong gets televised here. It is actually showing TV right now. The athletes look really serious too. Are they athletes?

Forrest Gump breathed a little bit of life into Ping Pong in America, but its been over ten years now. Ping Pong is stupid unless there is an Atari involved.

If I remember correctly Badminton was played in a Disney cartoon by a chicken and a duck. I think it was in Robin Hood. I could be wrong though. That one little episode is responsible for setting me against badminton. I could argue a case for badminton being a real sport, but the fact of the matter is that when I was in high school playing in gym class my classmates and I were playing badminton on the same level as the people on TV.

Why did I not get my 15 minutes of fame on ESPN?

I'll tell you why. Badminton is not a sport. It is a game. A GAME!!! Only good games like chess get on ESPN.

I am sure that every man and woman in the world will agree with me that volleyball is only interesting if it is played at a beach with the smallest and tightest swimsuits possible. "

One can not hope to win at volleyball until one is naked while being clothed."

~wise old pervert

Waiting to be fed to Children

I am in the midst of a gay breakdown!

I just realized that in just under two weeks I will go shopping for the first time in almost two years. All of the clothes that I have now are remnants of the me that was at university. I am not that person anymore. Thank God. I never really bought that "transitioning into adulthood" set of clothes.

Sure, I bought some suits, but that was more of a requirement and less of a sign of a changing mindset. My mind is changed now and I want my clothes to actually reflect the me that I am now. I want to retire my university t-shirts. I want to confine them to the small space that is my apartment and then eventually confine them to an even smaller space in the bottom of my drawer. Maybe nostalgia will one day make me take them out and take a wistful trip down memory lane. Hopefully necessity will never ever make me thrust my hands in the direction of my university t-shirts again.

But the point is that I don't know what to buy when I finally arrive in America. I know I like earth tones and hate anything that reminds me of the Easter Bunny. (pastels. ew!) I also know that I have zero desire to resemble a rapper. Timberlands are only cute on Tomo and thuggish guys. I am so not a thug. I am from the suburbs, people.

Is Tomo a thug?

Long story short, I need a stylist. I need a pro. Some oddly dressed chick who looks like she got dressed in the back of a dark closet but has an almost preternatural knowledge of what does and does not look good on me. Don't I deserve that? I've been good. I've been kind to old ladies even when they take my seat on the train or give me the evil eye even after I've gotten off the train. I've hugged trees. I've tried to rationalize with clearly insane children. I've even called them kawaii. I deserve a stylist. It's my right. Well not a right, but in the great game show call life it is my consolation prize. Yes, I lose at life sometimes.

Now were is my damn STYLIST!!!

Train Rant: Arms

My biceps are unbalanced. My right is definitely bigger and more defined, while my left is, this pains me so much, a gelatinous balloon of fat. It completely lacks definition. Now don't get me wrong my right arm is in no way prepared for the Mr. Universe competition, but when you compare it to my left arm you quickly realize that it could win an award for simply not sucking.

I think I should switch arms... for masturbating. That could help. That is the most basic arm exercise that a man can do. Their could be a problem with that though. If I switch arms there is a chance that only my forearm would benefit from that exercise.

Now I am not ashamed about masturbating. I just don't want to announce it to the world. That is what a swollen forearm means. To me at least. You can assume with 85% accuracy that the guy who's forearm is really huge uses that arm to masturbate. It is one of the great certainties of life. If you are still not sure have the guy squeeze something. His strong hand is his wanking hand.

It's true. Try it.

A "fun" Sunday

This has got to be one of the lamest days of my life. I spent the vast majority of the day in my apartment in a pair of sweat pants telling myself to not eat. Not eating is actually very easy seeing as how I have a pack of spaghetti sauce, one persimmon, and about two days worth of spaghetti noodles left.

No food. No eat. Very simple.

I probably mentioned this at some point in the past two weeks but I will say it again. I bought my ticket home for Christmas and effectively destroyed my budget for the month. I've been rationing food and money trying to make it to the day when the money my mom was supposed to send me would arrive.

As of now that money has yet to arrive. Apparently there was some type of mix up at the UPS office and the money was sent via USPS, and at this time of year the USPS is already stuffed to bursting with lame ass Christmas cards and shitty gifts. This happened with my Christmas gift last year. My mom sent me a gift and I didn't get it until the middle of January. It really made my Christmas sad. I think I may have gotten really depressed. It was my first Christmas away from my family and it just felt like they had forgotten about me. I knew they hadn't but I had a really hard time getting that thought out of my mind.

This time I'm not depressed. I am oscillating between frustration and extreme anger. I put off going back home for so long because of the strain it would put on my budget. Now it seems like I should have waited a wee bit longer.

At any rate my day was boring. I took a break from my thriftiness to walk over to the pet shop. I was planning on getting a Guinea Pig after Christmas, but after doing a few Internet searches and talking to one of my students I realized that guinea pigs are difficult to come by in Japan. So now I am looking at hamsters. Actually I have already decided. After Christmas probably within two or three days of getting back I'm gonna go and buy a hamster.

I haven't decided on a name for the hamster just yet. I was thinking of naming it Asashoryu if it is a boy and Koda Kumi if it is a girl.

I just made a joke. I admit it wasn't funny, but I tried and trying gets a chuckle or two, right? Right?

Anyway, at the pet shop today I just wanted to look at the hamster cages and try to gauge prices. I walked the 25 minutes to the pet shop and right before going in the door almost passed out. The pet shop is really crowded and I think hard to clean. It smells strongly of animal pee. The two people working in their must have like sniffed pure shit as children cause that is the only way that I can imagine anyone sitting in that stench for an extended period of time. At any rate I didn't go in. I wanted to, but the smell was just too much for my delicate composition. Maybe another day.

I actually wanted to check out their cages and look at the monkey. Yes, a monkey. The pet shop sales monkeys. MONKEYS!!!! I love monkeys. I don't think I could ever imagine having one as a pet, but looking at them is OK. I always thought it was illegal to sale them though. Oh well.

The pet shop isn't repulsive or particularly offensive I just didn't have the same motivation I had on Friday to go bouncing in happily to look at rodents. I will, however, have that motivation when I go to buy my hamster and cage.

quietly and then louder

My roommates cat just died. She says it has cancer. She is now starting to cry.

Not much. Kinda quietly, but I can hear her.

Am I bad for turning the music on my computer up?

My dog died while I was here, but I didn't announce it and start crying. I was pissed... but then again she isn't me. I should say something nice, and not send her a cat e-card that says, "Why aren't you here?"

That would be mean, but very funny.

hmm...

Just Some Pictures that I like

Yes. I am a turkey artiste. Respect me bitches!

These disembodied alien heads are apparently just stylish enough to sell hats... or give nightmares.

Personal Treasure

It has been almost two years since I moved to Japan. I've had my ups and my downs and lots of weird twists and turns. I've met lots of great people and a fair number of bastards. Real bastards. Not just people who get on your nerves. I've also done a bit of moving. A lot of moving actually. So far me address count includes three cities and at least 4 addresses. One of those addresses was actually in Peanuts name. So legally it wasn't mine, but I did get mail there so I'm gonna claim it on a technicality. Peanut can argue with me when he comes to visit.

Let's see... I've lived in Ogaki, Osaka, and Nagoya. I actually moved across town in Nagoya and that is how I got my forth address. I actually stayed very briefly (one week) in Okayama, but I don't think I should count that.

Anyway with all of this moving I have surprised myself by not actually losing anything. Most of the things that I have been thinking I lost, like the hat I am wearing right now, are just hiding in unopened suitcases. I just opened my big suitcase and found:

pictures
a video game (that I am going to sell in the morning)
some stinky Avon deodorant (thanks Mom)
a pair of misplaced yet still wearable shoes (I love you Skechers!!)
a money clip
a large pile of clean t-shirts
a dress shirt that is still in the plastic (talk about fresh)

All this moving has allowed me to create my very own personal treasure chest. I feel like I've gone and traversed the darkest oceans, beat down a horde of shinobi women, and seduced their "helpless" husbands. I feel wonderful.

Just call me A. Knight, Treasure Hunter (and Husband Seducer) extraordinaire!

Beaver

No. I am not searching the market for a vagina. I just found this amusing.

In Dreams

I can't sleep lately. Not well at least. As it gets closer and closer to the time that I go home for Christmas my dreams are getting more and more frightening. My latest and most vivid dream involves a bear.

If I understand correctly most bears are not really all that big. (by "all that big" I mean smaller than a gorilla.) In my dream that bear that chases me is pretty small and kinda nimble. Like he lumbers and kinda stomps, but still is able to navigate the halls of my church without doing any lasting damage to the walls or floors.

Oh, yes! This dream takes place in my church on a particularly crowded day. The sanctuary and the annex are both full. I start in the sanctuary in a bit of a daze. I haven't actually listened to a sermon in church in the last 9 or 10 years. Suddenly the bear bursts through the front door and starts calling my name. Yes, the bear talks. When I see the bear I, like every one else in the church, scream loudly and start running.

Now I mentioned that the bear was nimble, but still lumbered. Well he didn't really do either one of those at this point in the dream. He just kinda came crashing through all of the people trying to get to me. It was a massacre. Truly horrible. Not at all worthy of writing about here.

Eventually I made my way to the back of the church, which for some reason was completely empty. I ran into the bathroom to try to hide. The bear found me almost immediately and then began to say some things to me. I can't remember what it said, but I do remember that I felt an overwhelming urge to get away.

So I did.

I ran out the door of the bathroom and down the hall. I could hear the bear's loud steps and heavy breathing behind me. I crashed through a door at the end of the hall and saw my father and a group of men having dinner, and then I woke up.

I actually had that dream a few nights ago. It seemed much more horrible then.

Dreams are supposed to mean some thing, right?

Well I've been trying to figure out what this dream means and I have reached a conclusion. I think the dream is just stress. *tada!*

When I go home for Christmas I want to tell my family that I am gay. I know some people think that is impossible for your parents to not already know that you're gay. I think that is some crap. A dismissed suspicion does not constitute explicit knowledge. I think my parents may have dismissed the suspicion a few times.

Once after finding some pictures of me cupping a guy's ass and staring seductively into a camera my dad asked if I was gay. I was 16 and did the only thing that I knew how to do well back then. I lied. I claimed we were just playing and that I had just taken the pictures so that no one else would see them. He bought it and that crisis was averted. What bothers me about that incident is the way that my father asked me about it. My father is a big man. He exudes a very large presence whenever he is in the room.

When he asked me he seemed very small. He quietly called me into his room and all but whispered that he had found the pictures in my car. He seemed really disturbed and worried.

I am afraid that my family will not respond well to my announcement. Actually I am pretty sure that they are going to scream and force me to pray. I don't want to do that, but I can probably deal with it. I was raised in the church so that kinda stuff feels normal for me.

I am most worried about their long term reactions. My uncle on my father's side of the family is an alcoholic war veteran and he has drug and alcohol induced schizophrenia or something . My father loves him (i think) but loathes his presence. Whenever my uncle is around my father is constantly commenting on the fact that he is not married, never has owned a house, or how he can't seem to keep a job. My dad believes that if you're not married you are not a real man.

I really don't want that turned on me. I don't want to eventually take my uncles place at family gatherings.

Money, Money. Money

I hate money. Hate it. If I never saw money again it would be too soon.

I paid for my flight to America yesterday and now I'm broke. Well not completely broke. I have just enough money to go to work and eat spaghetti or ramen until payday. I am not happy. Actually I feel quite sad.

Being sad makes me tired which is why I probably passed out on my bed immediately after eating my spaghetti last night. I think I may have been snoring loudly cause my roommate came and shut my door.

Speaking of my roommate, she is sick. I don't think she is gonna die or anything, but I can feel her coughing through the floor. She sounds like a semi-truck that will not start.


So much money. I can't even get my thoughts together.

Peace at Last

My friend, Jolo, came to visit me recently. Well he didn't come just to visit me, but he did sleep at my apartment...

I'm kinda sleepy and feeling really scatter-brained. Jolo came to visit from Australia. He lived in Japan for about 11 months last year and for like 7 of those months he was my neighbor. He is a really good guy. Actually he takes some getting used to. He has a really strong personality and his brain-to-mouth filter is severely underdeveloped.

He stayed at my place for the last five days and now he is gone. I feel free. Which is different for me. I remember when Peanut stayed with me and how I got all choked up and had to kinda jog through the train station to avoid letting my emotions get the best of me. ( I eventually had a light breakdown on the train.) When he left I felt like the last person who could link me to my home was leaving me.

Jolo was different. I could only think of all of the sleep I could get now.

It was fun having him here, but now peace is so sweet.

On the Train

Recently, last night actually, I realized a few things:

First, it seems that I am almost always thinking about sex. It's not problematic or anything. If I catch myself having one of those thoughts I usually can beat myself into shape quickly. (pun intended)

Second, this is probably the only reason why I am writing at all right now. I realized that I am still afraid of being alone in the dark. I thought that I had gotten over this fear but I was wrong. I scare myself so easily. It is really tragic. Sounds, shapes, the sound of my own breathing can send me cowering under the cover like a frightened six year old. Just last night I imagined that the black border on my closet door was slowly coming at my face. I had to touch it to prove myself wrong.

Well that is it. I actually realized a few more things, but just now I realized that writing a bunch of pointless realizations is pointless... and I'm tired of writing.

I have a dream.

Actually I have a nightmare.

I dream (Does one dream a nightmare or simply flee it?) that I am in my apartment looking out the window. The light is normal for autumn in the city. Nice, bright, warm. There is a slight chill in the air. The kind of chill you only recognize if you happen to find yourself in a shadow.

It is a nice day... maybe a Thursday.

Suddenly I hear rumbling and I see birds suddenly fly up off in the distance. The rumbling gets louder and louder and then I see it. The city is rolling. The buildings are actually going up and down and crashing into each other. The rumbling and the rolling gets closer and closer to my building. I am horrified but at the same time spell bound by the sheer beauty of it.

Nature claiming this city that man has built.

I think I die in that nightmare. I never find out because I always wake up and check the view from my window. There will actually be a large earthquake here in the near-ish future. The Tokai Earthquake. It is supposed to happen every 25 to 50 years and it is actually about 30 years late. Maybe more. They say that when the earthquake finally comes Fuji will erupt or that Fuji will erupt and then the earthquake will come. At any rate the two will be linked and I will flee the country as quickly as I can.

I have no desire to die surrounded by rubble under the cover of a volcanic night. No thank you.

Dead Fantasy

Yesterday I saw grass and mountains. Lots of it. And trees. Not planted by the city in straight lines to make the street look pretty trees. Trees that just happened. Trees that looked happy.


I think I need to leave the city more often.

I know there are all kinds of Barbies. From Malibu to Holiday. But, I never thought I’d see a Poop and Scoop Barbie.
Yes, there is now a Barbie whose dog, Tanner, takes a crap. The dolls come with a handful (no pun intended) of little plastic turds that Tanner pinches off and that Barbie can scoop up and put in a waste can. I’m not sure if this is supposed to teach kids to be polite and pick up after their doggie make s a doodie or if it’s to teach young people that body functions are a natural part of life.
Probably not the latter, otherwise it would have been BM Barbie and her dream house would finally be equipped with plumbing.
And a good thing, too. Because you know that from there it would be just one small step to Nocturnal Emission Ken and a slippery slope (again, no pun intended) to Bloody Discharge Barbie.
Next thing you know, the adult toy industry would want their piece of the consumer pie.
And what better way grab a slice than with a Barbie that serves edible pie? Cream Pie Barbie will come (pun intended) with Cunnilingus Ken, who eats Barbie’s plastic gash and accepts her creamy flow into a special internal receptacle where the liquid is recycled and stored for use until the roles are reversed. (Deep Throat Barbie and Skull Fuck Ken…finally Ken will ship with something in his britches).
Their fluids will transfer from one to the other and back again. As many times as you want! Talk about the cycle of life!
Skull Fuck Ken can also come with a gay modification to match him up with and anally take the loads of other Kens. Afterwards, you can hook him up with Barbie’s former man and, voila!, old straight Cunnilingus Ken becomes Felching Ken.
Naturally, Felching Ken also easily adapts as Rim Job Ken or Scat Whore Ken.
Before you know it, there will be endless combinations of Barbies and Kens pooping and eating and sucking and rimming and trimming. (Throw Tanner in the mix and it’s a BM/bestiality field day!)
After all, they say there is nothing that Barbie can’t (an apparently won’t) do. Who am I to poop on her dreams?

from LargeTony.com, poop and scoop barbie

Afro Samurai

The Ignoring of Afro Physics

Look at this picture. Look long and hard. It looks really cool doesn't it? This guy looks like he could either force your bitch ass to buy a car or at least sell GAP jeans, but one thing is wrong with him. Do you see it? Look carefully.

Yeah you see it. The Afro. It is moving.

Afros on black people do not move, but of course Japanese people don't know this.

This is a picture of the Afro Samurai, the brainchild of Takashi Okazaki, a Japanese dude. Afro Samurai has lots of famous hip-hop people involved with it and Samuel Jackson being a new type of annoying, he plays Afro's imaginary friend, big mouthed, white haired, ninja guy who can adhere to damn near anything and talk about nonsense for a little over three hours without breaking a sweat.

Oh and you heard right. The character is named Afro. It isn't a nickname, well it might be but they never mention it in the show. Japanese people never cease to amaze me with their creativity.

Anyway what upsets me about this show is the fact that many black people were involved in the making of this show yet never felt it necessary to mention the laws of Afro physics. I list the for you.

Afro Physics: Laws and Theories (on black people)

1. The hair of an afro does can not move in the presence of a light wind.

2. Given a strong wind an afro may be slightly affected by said wind, but the the afro may not flow in the damn wind.

3. Dammit wind has little to no affect on AFROS!!!

4. As with any other type of hair afros are affected by water. After the water is gone an afro has to be resuscitated through the use of a pick or prayer and a good bit of ibuprofen.

5. Although afros seem magical they are not and and afro has yet to support the weight of any person. A spear to the center of an afro will meet a skull not more hair.

In the show Afro Samurai all of these rules were ignored repeatedly. Like every five minutes. Especially the whole billowy thing. Like they should have named him Permed Afro Samurai cause I ain't ever seen an afro do all that crazy shit.

Did I mentioned I watched the entire show yesterday. It was only five episodes. I like it even if they don't understand afros.

When In Rome?

I often find myself complaining about Japan. To my friends and to my students. I try not to, but it is so hard. You see Japan is not America. Try as it will it just can't jump that hurdle into America land, and that is OK. At least I tell myself, but time and again I find that all of my complaints about Japan are summed up in simply as it ain't America. The United States of America to be exact.

I sometimes share my feelings about Japan with some of my students. I know they don't like it. They never question the foundation of their belief systems. Why would they? They have lived in it their whole lives. It is so hard to evaluate your current position in life from your current position in life. That can be applied to thoughts, practices, national identities easily. Challenging my students with my opinions often ends up with me getting that greatest of Japanese weapons, the Wall of Silence. They literally fold their arms and space out until I changed the conversation to something light and airy like how the U.S. is responsible for the moral, religious, and economic decline of the world. I don't really through that ball out there but if i did I'm pretty sure that they would be more than willing to kick it around for a while.

I recently talked with Tomo, who actually isn't one of my students, about my recent trip to the sex store across the street appropriately named, Pink Zaurus Sexy World. It is three stories of of pink throbbing neon lights. Inside you'll find everything from poo porn to strange floating bench devices. (You strap in and let your struggling drive the "floating" penis in and out of whatever orifice you offer up. ) Also at Sexy World you can find the nastiest most scary bathrooms in Aichi-ken and kiddy porn.

Yes. Kiddy porn.

The porn in question does not show naked children performing sex acts. That would be perverse. This porn material shows little girls, probably no more than 9 or 10, just smiling and doing things that little kids do. Playing with a bicycle, running around outside, playing with a doll. Basically being children. These pictures of little girls were displayed prominently across from the poo porn. I shit you not. I turned away from the on screen poo porn in deep and violent disgust only to be greeted by what could be the face of one of the little girls in my classes.

To say I was surprised would be an understatement. I mentioned this to Tomo and he said that their is a small group of people who consider that a fetish. Then he told me "When in Rome."

I've heard that many time from the Japanese people who are well versed in English, but I'm starting to wonder, "How long must you be in Rome before you are allowed to have an opinion?" I n the U.S. I figure that is is based on your citizenship status. So probably around 7 years. But in those years while waiting to be a full citizen should you just sit by while your ears burn with rage at what you see. Is this what those agree Jihad-ist feel when they look at pictures of America? Disgust? Confusion? A complete lack of a right to say or change anything?

I'm sure I'm reaching here.

My point. I know that I say something about Japan that I may see as wrong I am dismissed almost immediately because I am not Japanese. But when exactly would I stop being dismissed? When will someone listen to me explain why kiddy porn is not a fetish but a serious problem and someone, you nasty perverted men or women, should be beaten in a dark alley with thick lead pipes?


I also realized that in America we are much, much more severe with our punishments for child molestation and shit like that.

Go Team America!

The most upsetting day of my life...

...had to be the day that I realized that Ken had no penis. I was probably around 6 or 7 and prior to then had not really been concerned with penis. I knew it was there. I peed with mine. My dad had one. Actually all the guys around me had one. I had seen them. (I was mad about the cock from an early age.)

One day while playing with my sister's dolls and remarking to myself how well formed Ken was I undressed him and found those hard plastic molded underwear. I was beside myself. I think that one moment made me gay. That moment gave me my life's purpose: to verify that there are no real men in the word with hard, molded plastic underwear.... and no penis.

Hell Barbie at least got a hint of a snatch. All those creases lead somewhere dammit.

I finally did it. I went to the gym for the first time in a year and I even bought a membership. It only cost about 16 dollars for a one month membership. It honestly wasn't that bad either. I don't know if it is because it is Sunday or what not but the gym was full of middle age-ish people or Little kids in their karate get ups. I honestly didn't do that much today. I was in there for maybe 40 minutes. I was still a bit nervous. I can't help myself. I am a nervous person. Tomo says I shouldn't be that way but I can't help it.

He did admit that when a foreigner comes to the gym, especially a black person, the Japanese folks talk. A lot. A bunch of "sugoi's" and "eeehhhhh's". SO he says I should work hard to not embarrass myself in the gym. Isn't he a great motivator?

Bear Force One

Hair- Black Boys/ White Boys

Cold Water

Lately my sleep has been getting pretty fucked up. I think it is stress.

Why am I stressed?

Lets see.... debt. I forgot to pay a few of my bills last month and the month before. Actually it was just two. The power and gas bills in July. I honestly don't know what happened. I just forgot and seeing as how my roommate can't surface from her haze of angst for anything other than throwing a pity party there are very little reminders about bills. She really aggravates me sometimes. I don't understand how some people can not open an envelope with their name on it. Like if something comes from me i have to open it soon. Maybe within the next hour. I have placed enveloped on her desk and watched as she moved the unopened envelope of her desk onto a pie of junk on the table. She wonders why her working visa almost expired before she knew it.

Anyway, Japan doesn't have the common sense that America does. If you miss one of your bill payments I do believe that the power company will simply add it to your next bill. Japan though will send you the bill for the next month with no mention of the previous months missed payment. They will then start flooding you with wave after wave of announcements. I sure they say something about the bill not being paid, but my kanji skills are truly abysmal. (Imagine trying to read The Ugly Duckling when you only know 8 letters of the alphabet and no grammar rules.) They just don't seem helpful sometimes.

This past Thursday they, the gas company, sent a little old bitch out to my apartment at 9:30 in the morning. Yes I know that isn't exactly and ungodly hour, but I was still asleep. When I looked out the peep hole and could barely make out the top of her head I was sorely tempted to answer the door in my bed clothes... nothing.

So I open the door and she has this huge grin on her face and starts rambling something in Japanese and gesturing at a clipboard she is holding. I don't know this bitch from Adam so I am like asking, "Who are you?", in English. You would think that since about 80% of the people in my building have totally unjapanese names and I was speaking English that she would understand that I don't know what the fuck she was saying, but, no. That light never clicked in her head. So we were going back in forth in the doorway for like three minutes. She trying to make her speech and me trying to figure out who she is. I was getting aggravated cause I could I figured she wanted money or to save my soul. (Actually she couldn't want my soul cause the Jehovah's witnesses come prepared for about 30 languages. They have a cute little book.) I was about to shut the door on her but then I realized that she had the door to my gas meter open and then I started to cry on the inside. I hadn't taken a shower yet and I didn't have that much cash on me and I just knew she was gonna turn my shit off.

So I started trying to bargain for time. 1o minutes was all I wanted, but I just didn't know how to say hold on for ten minutes. I know how to say wait, but i haven't learned ten minutes yet. So there we were for another ten minutes. She kept reaching for the gas thing and I kept pointing at her clock and holding up both of my hands. Finally my roommate, the self proclaimed insomniac and speaker of Japanese poked her head out the door and said she had some money. I got it and we paid the bitch.

I was so close to having to bathe in ice cold water, but I was saved. It still doesn't change the fact that my roommate doesn't really consciously contribute to the bill paying process. I just drop a paid bill on her desk and she gives me half. Sometimes I forget. I'm only human. I feel like I am part of a marriage... to a white chick with varicose veins.

You know those things are disgusting.

Back in my teacher days, one day I was asked to keep watch over a classroom while the teacher was out doing...who knows what. Hard narcotics, perhaps. I went out to the classroom and found some ninensei girls chatting inside. Absorbed in conversation, they didn't really hear me as I approached and entered the classroom. Most of the girls were gathered around one girl, who seemed to be explaining something to them.

Girl: Now, there all sorts of different types. Long and thin, short and stumpy, taut, floppy, etc. And some are cut, while others are not.

...What in blue tarnation is she talking about? At this point, I decide to butt into the conversation.

Me: ...What's taut, floppy, cut, uncut, and so forth?

Girls: *gasping, giggling* Oh no, it's Az-sensei!

Girl 1: *unabashed* Oh, you know what we were talking about.Me: ...No I don't. Enlighten me.

Girl 1: Sure you do. It's something you have, but we girls don't.Me: ...An appreciation for full-contact sports?

Girl 1: No...you know.Me: You don't mean...?

Girls: *shy little giggles*Me: Oh God, you do.

Girl 1: Like I was saying, there are all sorts of different types!

Me: And, how would you know about that?

Girl 1: *quickly* Onsens.

Me: ...Onsens?

Girl 1: Yeah, onsens. You know, my father used to take me into the male side when I was younger. I was pretty curious, so I always made observations.

Even if we are to believe her "onsens" story, it's still an absolutely disturbing thought. That somewhere in Japan, right this very minute, there might be a pre-teen girl standing amidst a throng of naked Japanese men, making observations and thinking stuff like "okay, that must be a short and stumpy one."
I decided that whatever the outcome, this wasn't a conversation I wanted to be a part of. I excused myself from the circle and went to sit over at the front of the class. Normally, I would have walked away, but remember, I was supposed to be "protecting" this classroom. The girls continue on with their round-table penis discussion. You know, when I was a 14-year old boy, I don't remember having intimately detailed discussions about the vagina with my male buddies. Any talk about the vagina was limited to how it was a magical candy-filled wonderland, and how much we wanted to go to it.

Anyway, the discussion continues.

Girl 2: Well, what happens during sex? Don't they change?

Girl 1: I'm pretty sure they do.

Girl 3: I heard they get a lot bigger!

Girl 4: I heard they don't get bigger, just harder.

Girl 2: I heard that one too.

Girl 5: Oh, but I've heard about the getting bigger thing as well.

Girl 3: Maybe its both? I dunno...Me: Hey God. If there is a God in Heaven, please, please, PLEASE do *not* let them...

Girl 1: *you can more or less see the lightbulb go off in her head as she turns to me* Hey Az, which one is it? Do they get bigger, or just harder? Or both?

Me: ...To hell I send thee, eh?

Girl 2: C'mon, tell us!

Me: Seriously - why do you think I'd ever enter into a conversation about penises with a group of middle school girls. Do I look THAT irresponsible?

Girl 2: It's not irresponsibility.

Girl 4: Yeah, we're just curious.

Girl 3: Seriously, it's just anatomy.

Girl 1: And if you don't tell us, then we're proabably going to go out and find out from some other source. Can you even think of all the potential trouble a group of 14-year old girls can get into trying to find out what an erect penis is like?

Me: ......Jesus jumpin' jehosevat.

Girl 2: So yeah, you tell us, our curiosity is satisfied, end of the story. Simple, isn't it?

Me: .........Okay, fine.

...I KNOW. Not the best idea. Hindsight is 20/20. Plowing the Titanic through an iceberg field? Not the best idea. Trading Babe Ruth to the Yankees? Not the best idea. Accepting an oral sex maneuver named "The Octopus" from a slutty Japanese girl? Not the best idea. Giving Sarah Silverman her own TV show? Not the best idea.

Me: It depends on the guy.

Girl 1: Huh? What do you mean?

Me: Well, some guys get harder and bigger, while other guys just get harder and the size doesn't change.

Girls: *in unison* Ohhhhhh I see.

Me: Okay, there. I've answered your question. Curiousity over, right? Now can you go back to talking about celebrity gossip or daisies or Hello Kitty or whatever shit you girls talk about?

Girl 2: I see...so some guys get bigger and harder, while some guys just get harder.

Girl 1: Hey Az, which are you?

Me: ....See, there's a question I am NEVER going to answer.

I may be stupid, but I'm not fundamentally retarded...

Chris Hansen: Allright Az, you're going to have to come with me. You're under arrest for inappropriate acts with a Japanese schoolgirl.

Me: What? I never...

Chris Hansen: Our brave young victim has come forth and is speaking out...

Girl 1: Hi Az!

Me: WTF! I never touched that bitch!

Girl 1: Sure you did. You touched me in all my special forbidden places, and then your penis got bigger and harder!

Chris Hansen: I've heard enough. Let's take this sicko away.

***
So Father, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I promise to never use the powers bestowed to my penis for evil again. I will only use it for the betterment of Japanese society, and to improve the quality of life for all humanity as a whole.

~From GaijinSmash.com

Walk it Out

I don't know why I like this picture but I do. It is supposed to represnt my zodiac sign, Taurus.

The weather is changing.

Here in Nagoya the weather, which about a week ago was hot and humid, has turned quickly to dreary and cold. To most people that would be a bad thing, but to me, a long time hater of heat and humidity, this is nothing short of heaven. Heaven I say. I haven't slept this well in months. The sleep of babies you could say. Unfortunately tonight I am not sleeping.

My mind is troubled. Well not troubled, but definitely wondering.

Why do people seek out relationships? Mates really. The answer is easily known with straight people. The continuation of the species. Nothing else could possibly be more important. Yes I know there is more to it than that, but honestly when you get down to it all those damn emotions of love and shit are simply Nature's idea of insurance. Some people are despicable, but they carry good genes and somewhere in the world some weak minded fool will subconsciously see them for the genetic gold they are and instantly fall head over heels with the fool. At least that is what their hot burning, mildly masochistic loins will be telling them.


But that is straight people. When you ask the same question to gays it becomes a little more complicated. We cannot continue the species. We are, for better or worse, one shot deals. If we have golden genes there is a large chance that it will not worm it's way back into the gene pool. So why seek out mates? What is there to gain? A small family? What is a family really? A social group that we grow in our bedrooms or just a collection of people that we decide to be close to? Why go through the pain and heartache of seeking out one person?

So much heartache. Is it necessary?

I don't know. None of us do. The "dastardly duo" is just what most of us has been taught is best. It is what we should work towards. Is it possible to reject it? Are we programmed... REALLY programmed to want someone? to need someone? to not feel peace until we find someone?

Really?

I just don't know...

My Futon is Yellow

When I bought my futon last year it was green. Now it is yellow and dingy and smells like my man parts. Yes I smell my futon. Don't you. I think one year is considered a long life for something that is just a glorified body pillow. My comforter has also turned yellow. My futon and comforter matched when I first got them. They still match now.

Sun-bleached, sweat stained yellow


I remember when I first bought the futon and comforter. I got naked and rubbed my body all over them. You see I had spent the previous month sleeping on a pile of clothes... on the floor. I would put on my jacket and wear sweat pants because I would get cold at night. I balled up one of my coats and used it as a pillow at night. So when I got my futon and comforter I was so happy. They were so soft and smelled so good and just made me feel warm and fuzzy. The first night I slept on them was wonderful. I have only slept that well at a few other points in my life.

long story short. I think it is time to buy a new futon. Something swank and cool. Something with a large He-Man logo on it. None of that Doraemon evilness for me.

Knight Rant

Today is my sisters birthday. She is 29 now. She is intensely afraid of becoming 30. She thinks she will be old then. 30 isn't old, right? Legend has it, as I get older I place more faith in this, that 30 is the new 20. I'm 25 now and I recall how I looked at 20... I think I would prefer my 30 to be the new 16. I think that with the body I had then I could be fierce. (Gay word of the day!!!)

The guy at the convenience store next door has callouses across the palms of his hands. I touched them while he was handing me back my change. He shaved today. I think he likes me. He always runs to take my money. It doesn't matter how many people are already working on the counter. If he sees me he comes running. He has long hair. He is kind of cute. He is definitely older than me. I wonder how he got those callouses.

It is very easy to see that we evolved from apes when you look at Japanese people sit.

I envy my neighbors, Jam and Rag. (Of course those are not their real names!) They have been together for about 5 years now. That isn't what I envy though. I envy the way that they, especially Jam, are able to just say, without any hesitation what so ever, that they're gay. Like in a conversation Jam will explain his stance on something by saying that it is because he is gay. I think it is a poor argument, but still one that I would like to be able to make...

They are both older than me; about 28 I think. When I reach that age I hope I'll be able to easily say that I'm gay... Actually I don't. Big declarative statements like that are not really my style (even if they are cool.) I'm more inclined to let people know I'm gay by whispering to them about the sexiness of the guy with the smooth skin and the nice ass.

I hate MOHELA. BITCHES!!!

I have not seen my boyfriend in three or four weeks. I no longer think of myself as a needy bitch. I am allowed to demand an audience with him. I'm actually starting to not feel close to him anymore.

Is he trying to shut me out? This is what Robert did before we broke up....

An Awkward Moment

My roommate is currently in her room sobbing.
Yes. Sobbing.

She came home about fifteen minutes ago looking all glassy eyed and a wee bit defeated. She said she was gonna go hide in her room and cry for a bit and so she did.

She is. Now. Loudly with some horrible rock music playing. (she is so cliche at times.) I don't know if I should go knock on her door or not. Loud crying in my book is clearly a cry for help, but then again my roommate is a bit of a drama queen. I am a kind person and normally don't mind listening to her overly dramatized stories. Lately, she has been getting on my nerves a little with all this emotional crisis stuff. We work together on Thursdays and she is always complaining about her schedule. She doesn't like to 1-on-1 lessons. She thinks they are too difficult. She also doesn't like for any part of her schedule to change without her getting notice.

I got pissed last week and told her to stop complaining. We all have the same problems. It was actually more of a snap than a simple telling.

Oh shit she is teetering into my room and she is full of water.

the secret to surviving an exceptionally long time in a horror movie is to be as crazy if not crazier than the villain

Rules of Knight: Vol. 1

1. If your shorts fail to pass a certain point on your thigh you lose the right to speak. This rule goes for women and men. Along with your right to speak you also lose the right to make any kind of visual protest. Such is the penalty for taking on the form of a whore. I will stare at you and if you say a damn thing I will point at your partially exposed ass or your one-weight-shift-away-from-being-exposed penis and then slap you in the mouth to make you shut up.

2. Feel free to stare at the big black man. He has accepted that he is an anomaly in your everyday life, but the moment you say "Billy," "Bobby," "sugoi," or simply scream you place yourself in the hands of said big black man.

3. Do not offer a gay man a "massage-ee" at 4:45 in the morning. Actually do not off a "massage-ee" to any man after 3. Especially if you are clearly not able to handle a proper dicking.

Where are the Britney Spears fans of years past? Have they grown up? Have they suddenly realized the true lack of singing ability of their Red-Necked Deity? Have they, dare I say it, become Beyonce fans?

I say, "YES, DAMMIT!"

I have been reading about this Britney Spears VMA fiasco on countless blogs and news sites. I've heard that it is so legendarily un-Britney that people have begun to doubt that she will ever rise to her leathery red goodness of 2000. (If you're curious I'm referring to the only Britney video that I learned the moves to: "Oops, I did it Again.") She will never again make us beg for more of her nasally abuse like she did in 2002. ("Slave") This performance is soooo bad, but I can't find the damn thing anywhere.

The Beyonce fans and haters would and have ripped YouTube apart to put virtually every breath of the woman on the Internet. Can the Britney fans not do the same?

Or will they not do the same?

Perhaps those surviving few have decided that she can not be seen in this condition. They have buried her work and I feel that very soon they will bury her. Like any "great" pop figure her fans only want what is good about her to carry on. Her "sexiness", her "strong and beautiful" NASALLY voice, her *snicker* song writing ability, and lets not forget her ability to follow choreography.

Good Bye Britney Spears. I will miss you... and "not" have a party.

I just realized that I am a needy bitch. Tomo hasn't talked to me that much in like 2 days and of course i jumped to the worst conclusion and started to panic and then felt a little depressed. Then I started wondering what I had done.

It was a horrible 20 minutes.

He just sent me and e-mail saying that he is almost finished packing. He has been helping his parents move out of their house and into an apartment.He has been actually busy and I've been all "gimme gimme gimme attention" over here.

I'm crazy. LOL

Sunday: 4 liters of shochu on my counter

There are 4 liters of shochu on my counter. Jun and one of his friends brought it over and gave to me. I think it was some kinda peace offering. I kinda got drunk and told Jun to not touch me anymore. About ten minutes later he stormed out of my apartment refusing to talk to me. I then sent him an email saying bring my DS back. Then he threatened to remove my phone number from his phone book, and I said, "Whatever!"

Something decidedly more evil than me had snuck into my apartment and bit my pinky and index fingers. Like both on the second joint. I think this might be the work of some Japanese obeah, but since I am American and not afraid of wet long haired girls it all just comes off as light skin irritations.

I have decided to not see Tomo this weekend. We usually meet on Friday and Sunday, but he canceled on Friday cause he had to clean up parts of his house. He is moving out of it with his parents to a new apartment. In protest I ended up drinking 2 bottles of wine and 3 beers. Yeah I was fucked up. My roommate thought I was gonna die. Today I canceled on him because I have not cleaned my apartment all weekend and with my roommate never helping with that endeavor I just don't see how it will ever happen. I won't be drinking today. Well not much. Jun is gonna come back over and try to make choke down some more shochu. The "no touching" rule will still be in effect though. So he will have to force with his cheers and jeers from across the room.

Work Work Watching!!!

KAWAII!!!

Remembering Latoya

Today, actually yesterday, I was watching an episode of Boston Public. That show was truly doomed the moment it went into production. Each episode was about some new social issue that might take place in the school. In this episode they covered terrorism, racial profiling, sex education, AIDS and teen girls, and bad parents of gay children. That was only one episode. The show was destined to simply implode upon itself. It was great, but just ran through the list of social issues much too quickly.

I used to love this show and the episode that I saw made me remember a very important moment in my life. The day that I learned about AIDS. I was maybe 11 or 12 and up until that point had never been given any formal information on AIDS or how it was contracted. I sure as hell didn't know that there was any connection between AIDS and the HIV (pronounced in my young mind like "give") virus. I came across my knowledge of the virus on a church trip. I also fondled a girls breast and was all but invited to drill a hole in her vagina. Naturally, my fear of pussy saved me from that experience. It failed me later.

On this church trip all of the kids were ushered in small groups into about three rooms to listen to different special speakers. There was the prison room complete with inmates, the drug room complete with gun toting cops, and the AIDS room complete with a soon to be dead woman. That is very insensitive of me, but I have found myself wondering lately, "Is she still alive?"

I think her name was Latoya, and while she was nothing wonderful to look at she was by no means ugly. I think you could call her cute. She had graham cracker colored skin, big kinda slanted eyes, and good teeth. I think her hair was done nicely and she wore clothes. I can't remember much about them accept that they didn't really flatter her figure.

She told us within minutes of sitting down that she had AIDS. She told us with a great bit of energy about how she got it, but then became very solemn when she admitted that yeah she would die eventually. I think she even said within the next five years or less. Something like that. She seemed positive but only in light spurts. She made AIDS scary.

This entry isn't really about AIDS it is about Latoya. I wonder where she is. How she is. If she is... you know....

I am...

...officially one of them. An Axe. In my search to find a fragrance that can handle my manly american musk with force, yet not drive people away in coughing fits I have until now been unsuccessful. Japan just doesn't believe people stink. Well not in a stinky way.

As I've mentioned before, these people do not sweat. They glisten. My boyfriend has helped me prove my theory. I walked him with him in the middle of the day once. The temperature was very high and the the humidity level was high as always. I immediately started to sweat bullets and then rivers. His skin started to produce this sheen that made it look like he had just been rubbed down with baby oil and then he started to sparkle. He never sweated. He shined. He sparkled. He glistened. He smelled good. After getting back inside and stopping the flow of the river going down my back I realized that I had an odor. He didn't. Well he actually spelled lightly of salt water.

THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH THE JAPANESE!!!

...but the world is already aware of that truth. So I decided to try to cheap odor alternatives here. Aerosol deodorant. Yes, that environmentally safe solution to funk. I tried the Japanese offerings (Gatsby, Shiseido, and some company that after one spray I threw in the trash.) and immediately found them all lacking. They make zero attempt to stop sweating, and since I smelled of something more rotten than sea water there odor blocking abilities only lasted as long as the next time I stepped outside.

There is hope though. Axe is becoming popular here. America is looking out for me. I had seen the commercials for Axe in America before I left and had just figured it all to be hype. No spray is gonna make a woman drape herself around you and scream for instant penetration. (I'd sue that nasty bitch anyway.) I was right. I have yet to feel feminine weight, but, more importantly, I smell good. GOOD DAMMIT!!! No embarassing funk that forces me to do a penguin walk to the bathroom. (Yes, I have washed my armpits between classes. I refuse to stink dammit.)

I am offocially an Axe. I love them. My man loves it too. I think the Axe effect works on him too. That is a different story though.

You might be wondering what might inspire me to teach my students the meaning of the word "boo-boo," and to your question I present exhibit A. This incredibly "delicious and appetizing" piece of sushi is known by the amazingly improper name Kani Miso. Actually the brown shit is called Kani Miso. I don't know the proper name for this sushi.

What is Kani Miso?

If you live on the coast I am sure that you have at one point or another encountered one of the raw ingredients of Kani Miso. Take a crab and crack the shell off. That black stuff inside is what you are after. The part that I have discarded for years is saved here and mixed with miso paste.

That is it. The black shit in the crab is mixed with some deep brownish red shit to form this shitty looking concoction. Yes. I ate it. It didn't taste as dradful as I thought it would but I don't think it is something that I will be trying again.

Rain Rambling

The rains of the Japanese summer are becoming a bit of a myth to me. A legend if you will. I always see the signs of rain. Cloudy skies, wet sidewalks, hordes of brain dead girls dragging umbrellas behind them, but the actual rain never comes.

Well let me revise that. About a week ago I was awoken by strong wind and loud thunder entering through my open window. Of course it was raining. It was also 4:30 in the morning. That didn't stop me from standing my naked ass outside in what was arguably the best weather of my summer vacation.

Today, the sky never made good on its promise of rain. I'm not really sure who I should file a complaint with, but something has got to change. I don't have the funds to set up a system of rain alerts for myself. Is that even necessary?

It might be.

I don't want to go dancing in the rain or something. I just want to enjoy the sound and the peace. Some of my most wonderful thoughts came to me while it was raining. Actually that reminds me of a story.

When I was in the tenth grade I met my first boyfriend. He was great; Intelligent to a point, funny within reasonable limits, and not dead set on getting into my pants. Actually he was but I silenced him with a few well placed blow jobs. Unfortunately he was destined to never get into my drawers.

During my year my parents decided, mostly because the couch in the den had sprung a leak, to get new furniture. I saw no reason to for them to completely dispose of the all of the old furniture so I negotiated with them for custody of the old love seat.

That was either the most intelligent or most unbearably stupid thing i had ever done. As I said the couch had sprung a leak. My father and I somehow squeezed that humongous thing in my room, and then I immediately started thinking of ways to stop the damn thing from spewing foam all over my room. I eventually went with the pick all the shit up and stuff it back into the couch approach. It worked for a good while.

The condition of the couch really isn't the point of this poorly constructed story though. I won't even get into the true hideousness of its early 80's inspired brown shit designs. (It was unforgivably ugly!) I had great memories on that couch. My first blow job was given and received on that couch. I got spanked on that couch. My sister burned a hole in it and eventually I realized that my first boyfriend, as "wonderful" as he was, was really not good for me. If I had stuck with him there was a chance, albeit small, that he could have dragged me down into whatever hole he was slipping into.

I don't even know if he was truly slipping anywhere. We were just growing apart. It happened over the course of about two years. He just gradually slipped out of my life. I went to university one year and when I came back he was completely gone. I have no idea where he is now. I actually would like to talk to him again, but knowing my current mindset I am more than likely to fall madly in love with him again.

Actually that mindset is why I'm currently avoiding Jun. He tried to stay over last night. I know he just wanted a blow job or something. I actually think that on some level he actually feels lonely. Like he works all the time and is just surrounded by his coworkers. You would think that would create some kind of family for him, but this the land of the 4 layers of yourself. I would go into those layers, but will jut sum it all up by saying that the layers never actually complete a picture of yourself. The image actually ends up being something society friendly and overtly heartless. Dangerous. Not to be trusted.

I think I can trust Tomo though. I actually made a nickname for him recently. I would write it here but I think I would feel a little silly when SemiSpecial started to tease me about it. I know Peanut might "try" to hold his tongue until he had something truly funny to say.

I had a brief discussion with Tomo about why foreigners might be afraid of the police here in Japan. He thought it was because they didn't speak the language, and in truth that is true. There is more to it though. The police, actually a large part of the population, is racist. Or irrationally distrustful of foreigners.... sometimes violent.... exceptionally rude.... bitches to foreigners. I told him about the case of an African man who was denied medical treatment for a broken leg for 10 days by the Tokyo police. The police would not allow him to be treated until he signed a confession. You can read about it here. The case is going to court soon.


This rant is going for way to long.

There's an outlet mall near the airport in Osaka. I went out there one day to pick up a new pair of shoes. As you can imagine, buying shoes in Japan is damn near impossible for me. I wear somewhere around a size 13 US, which translates into 30~32 centimeters Japanese. I used to go into a shoe store, browse around, find a shoe I liked, only to ask about the sizes and find that they only had up to 28. Eventually, I wised up, and before even looking at one pair of shoes, I'd go directly to the store clerk and ask if they had my size.
Me: Um, excuse me, but do you have a size 32?Clerk: ....EH?!?! 32?!?!?! I'm terribly sorry, but...Me: Okay, well, thanks anyway.Clerk: (as I'm walking away!) Holy FUCK, 32? Was that a human that just came into our store, or a Big-Footed alien?!
Most times, when my shoes are getting worn, I have mom send me a new pair from America. She's got decent taste in shoes, and I've found that it's MUCH easier to ask Mom to send shoes than to send condoms. ...Though I have to wonder, what does poor Mom think?
Friend: Hey, what's your son doing in Japan?Mom: Judging by the care packages I send him, going on massive walking treks, and having lots of sex apparently.
This time though, I didn't have time to put in the Mom request, so I headed out to the outlet. As they import straight from America, and considering the proximity to the airport, they actually do have a decent range of sizes. I bought myself a nice size 32 pair of Timberland's, at a pretty good price.
Interestingly enough though, none of this is actually relevant to the point of this article.
I went with my girlfriend. We went by a train line called Nankai. And that's how we expected to come back, but as we arrived in central Osaka, we found ourselves at a JR station. How, exactly, this happened, we have no bloody idea. I can only say that its Japan, and apparently, trains will just up and change lines for no apparent reason. I think this is why Japanese people have that "wake up at my stop" super power, because if they didn't, they might find that their train has stopped in Russia.
This might have been fine if we were using normal tickets, but of course we weren't. I had my magical sensor card, and my girlfriend was using a pass card. As far as train lines go, JR is retarded, and they don't accept our specific type of magical sensor card and merely ordinary pass card. What this meant was that we were going to have to have to pay out of pocket the JR price, and then get a note from the JR station that the unsettled balance on our rail cards was, in fact, settled, for the next time we wanted to use the cards at the 1.37 billion other train lines in Japan that aren't as retarded as JR.
My girlfriend and I lined up at the gate. She explained our situation, and the JR station guy began to fill out a note for her while she paid the ticket price. While standing there, a light bulb went off in my head - you don't have to pay the ticket price. Just Gaijin Smash this dude. I'm not sure why I came to this conclusion - perhaps it was the way he refused to look directly at me? And while you might argue that he was just focusing his energies on the current patron, the guy did manage to look everywhere else. The look in his eyes too resembled that of prey, hoping that if it didn't make eye contact with the circling predator, maybe, just maybe, it would turn invisible.
So after my girlfriend paid for her ticket...I simply smiled at the guy, and walked through the gate. The guy returns my smile, and says nothing as I pass through. My girlfriend is shocked. "What the hell?! You didn't pay! And he didn't even care! What in the...?!"
I realized then that, in all our time together, while she's been witness to a lot of the other Gaijin Super-Powers, this was her first time seeing a Gaijin Smash.
I repeated the Gaijin Smash at the next train station. Since I hadn't paid at JR, I didn't have the little note saying I'd settled the balance on my card. My girlfriend is freaking out - "You can't do that, they're going to arrest you!" She worries. Maybe, if I was Japanese. But not with the Gaijin Smash on my side! I handed the card to the guy, and in the clearest, most perfect English I could muster, said "Oh, I made a mistake on this card, can you erase it?" Of course, I could have said "I like pleasure spiked with pain and you can be my aeroplane" and it would have been all the same to this guy. He looks at me, blinks a few times, takes the card, and promptly erases the old charge.
The girlfriend is amazed. "Wow, you just rode all the way to the airport and back, totally for free! And just because you're a Gaijin?! Man, I wish I was a Gaijin..."
Though the powers of the Gaijin are great, the burden and responsibility are also much to bear. It is our blessing, it is our curse.

~From GaijinSmash.com

Curses

I have found recently that a curse can be anything. It can be a good wish from your mother or the most evil hope of a child. The source does not change its power. What changes or makes its power good or evil is your personal perception of the curse. Even non-believers end some strength to any curse placed upon them.
I am a non-believer. Years ago I was told by a woman in a God inspired fit that I would one day be a preacher and for years I thought her crazy. If God, the God, wanted me to be a preacher he would find ways to make my way in life a little more acceptable. That is what I thought, but tonight I found myself doing something strange. I do not consider myself a christian, but I found myself telling my roommate to think of her problems as Satan. Not Satan as in some evil entity outside of herself, but Satan as in everything that appears as a problem in your life. Satan is something to stand upon and move forward and upward from. Satan is something to use as a platform into a better life.

I think that may be considered preaching. Is that what that sweaty woman meant all those years ago?
I don't know.
But it feels like I did the right thing and I don't really mind doing it again to help someone who may need it.
How is that for a curse?

YAY!

Create Your Own PaloozaHead - Visit Lollapalooza.com

Gay Breakdown

gay breakdown [gey-breyk-doun] -noun
(see GAY MOMENT, HOT FLASH, "I'm having one of my days, girl.")

1. the sudden appearance of gay or agreed upon gay traits in an otherwise straight or straight acting man or woman.

2. the total loss of the ability to maintain the ability to appear heterosexual

3. suddenly and with no provocation waxing poetic over your love and need for a new, CUTE bag while going down an elevator in crowded department store.

ex. Oh my gawd! I think I'll have another gay breakdown if you show me any more bags, shoes, or things that you can do with your tongue. LAWD!!!!! (followed immediately by a fainting spell)

interesting video

GAY - AZIS - No Kazvam ti stiga (complet)
Uploaded by jief75

I love this picture

I am Happy.

That has become my catch phrase as of late. When people ask how I am I always say, "I'm happy." When I think about it saying something like that sounds a bit strange. Like you're trying to convince people that contrary to what they have heard you are happy and it also seems like you're trying to convince yourself that contrary to what you know you are happy.

I am happy though. It's true... I think.

My happiness as of late comes primarily from dating this wonderful guy, Tomo. He's great. He makes me feel really good, but I'm trying to curb the happy frenzy that I know I can easily slip into. Sometimes I can get so happy that I start to gloss over all the things that are bad. Like, um, a guy who you have great sex with 15 percent of the time, but during the other 85 percent of time he makes you go on this insane emotional roller coaster. Up and down and up and down until you're just a bobble headed doll.

No mind. Just response. I'm trying to avoid that with Tomo. The aftermath of a roller coaster is seldom pretty, and I never want to have to feel aftermath with him, but then that is my happiness talking again.

Anyway, my happiness is the result of the best movie in recorded history... well the best I've seen this month: Transformers.

It is very rare that a movie dealing with something that is mildly important to my childhood is done right. I actually can't think of that many movies that I would consider based on things in my childhood.

Street Fighter. Shit.

Mortal Kombat. OK.

Mortal Kombat 2. Painful sideways shit.

Dead Or Alive. Recent shit.

Captain America. Weird shit.

Fantastic Four. Weak shit.

X-men. Not quite shit, but not quite OK.

X-men 2. OK.

X-men 3. Wonderful.

Transformers. A-fucking-mazing!

Transformers gave me what I needed. What I've always needed: big giant robots tearing the fuck out of a semi major city in a fight that humans happen to get squished in. There were so many explosions and fights and transformations and cool robots and Optimus knifed a bitch through the neck.

I am so happy. I must see this movie again. I felt worried though. I got the same feeling I got when I watched Matrix 3. There was a scene in that Matrix when the sentinels flooded the Zion dock and kinda started to swarm like a great big giant angry snake. In that moment I thought the movie was over. There was no more point. The humans were fucked.

In Transformers I got the same feeling. The robots were so big. Their weapons were so amazing. They were so almost completely impervious to our attacks. I was actually frighted for the human race, but, of course, in true Hollywood fashion the humans ended up luckily destroying the robots with the help of their great friends, the Autobots, who had managed to learn English (American English) through the use of the world wide web. They actually said it that way, " the World Wide Web!) I haven't heard any one say the actual name in years. It made me laugh a little.

At any rate the movie was excellent and I am tired. it is now 2:12 am and I am tired. This was officially day one of my two week vacation and I spent it by playing video games, studying for the GRE, reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, watching the freaking amazing Transformers movie, and then drinking beer and other things. So I am officially tired. At least my brain is. Night.

One Hour At the..

...WORLD COSPLAY SUMMIT!!!!

Recently I went took a small trip to one of the most bizarre places in the world. The World Cosplay Championship. Naturally some of you are not really well versed in what exactly cosplay is, and , to be honest, I was exactly an expert in the beginning either. As far as I could tell "cosplay" was just something that people lamer and geekier than myself did to make their lives seem a little less lame and expendable. (That was a mean sentence wasn't it?)

At any rate I started my cosplay education by first having the word explained to me. Luckily I live in Japan, the land that graced the world with Dragon Ball Z and Gundam (WHOO!!!), so finding the correct definition of the word was as simple as asking my 46 year old junior high school gym teacher student; who just happens to be a female pimp. She has two boyfriends and says that she has no plan to get rid of either one, because "two is better." She explained to me that, "Cosplay is COStume PLAYer. The people are really weird. I think dressing up like anime characters gets them excited.) I admit she didn't say it as eloquently as that, but, yeah, she basically accused them of dressing up to get off.

When she mentioned "excited" I was immediately reminded of another group of people who like to dress up like... things.

The Furries are so cute and horribly provocative. Dressing up like lions and tigers and bears to get their jollies. *shudder*

Luckily Cosplay is not like that. They, the totally uncrazy and not lame, um, players? dress up as their favorite anime, manga, or video game characters. I imagine it makes them feel closer to God. At the world competition competitors were required to appear in full costume and do a 2 or 3 minute scene from their chosen thing. I have crappy video that i will load later of this chick beating down a chick to some really bad music. Actually the music isn't that bad. It is Requiem for a Dream. Well the theme music from the movie which goes by the same name.

Cosplay is totally pc and boring. I went to the convention on last Sunday and was bored out of my mind. Actually I'm lying. I was exhilarated. For once, since I've come to Japan, no one was staring at me. I was surrounded by blue, pink, and green hair. I saw a really unsensible robot totter into a McDonald's. I gave evil looks at a pair of meandering junior high school love cat children. I even saw Fran from Final Fantasy 12. What? You don't know Fran. Well take a look at this.

This is Fran. I saw a little Japanese girl dressed as her and cried a little before laughing hysterically at the perverted men who wear eating her up with their eyes.

I was gonna write more but I'm out of ideas. Basically I spent an hour at the W.C.S. being bored out of my damn mind and trying to ignore the fact that the dude packed in behind me kept touching my butt. HE was cute. I allow certain things.

Here are some pics that I was able to get before My boredom overwhelmed me and caused me to leave with Mr. Pokey Ass.