Dropped Trou

T'other day, went to the dry cleaners.  At last.

The late Mitch Hedberg said "this jacket is dry clean only... so it's dirty."  Yeah, that about sums it up.  Only manage to haul the cleaning in once every six months or so.  Anyway, carted in the semiannual batch and, whilst happily traipsing along with suits slung o'er mah shoulder, a pair of pants slid off the hanger and fell on the ground.  Yup.  That's right.  I dropped my pants in the street.  Didn't even notice.

Picked up the dry cleaning a week later.  Upon arriving home, noticed this alarming state of pantslessness.  Ran back to speak to the dry cleaner, only to realize what had occurred.  Checked the receipts, and the trousers were never checked in.  Brought so many pieces, didn't even notice.  Crapital.

Now, walking around the neighborhood, every pair of gray trousers catches my eye: on businessmen, on homeless guys, on dogs... you name it.  Oh, the vexation.  Fully prepared to offer a handsome bounty if they turn up on a homeless man's cart.  No joke.

Pug Head Tilt

So, walking down the street t'other day, happened to glance over and see a red car.  Not just any red car.  It was a red formula-one-style race car.  More specifically, it  was a miniature red formula-one-style race car... much like those seen in parades being driven by Shriners.  But there was no Shriner at the helm of this little red race car.  No, no, no.  This little red race car was being driven by a cow.  Not an actual cow.  A human in a cow costume.

A thought came to mind: "何それ, where the fuck is my camera!?"  Well, actually that thought came second, fast upon the heels of the first thought: "son of a mother duck... fucking cow driving a goddamned little red race car!!"

じゃー, before furiously ransacking the port pants pocket for said phone, gave a quick glance to starboard.  And there, in a wee park, was a couple about my age (アラフォー).  But not just any couple.  No, no, no.  This couple was out for a constitutional with their pair of falcons.  Yes, falcons: ye bird of prey what knocketh yon sparrow from the air and feasteth merrily upon its giblets.  隼だった。The couple even had matching arm-guards to protect against the talons.  Just assuming they were a couple.  You know, circumstances.  Maybe falcons brought them together.  No clue.

In any event, no photograph was taken then and there.  Well, unless someone passing by snapped a picture of a foreign guy standing still in the middle of the sidewalk doing the pug head tilt.  That's all this author managed to do: stand frozen in derpitude pondering how none would ever believe.  Oh, Tokyo.

Fanboy.

やった... we finally have some fall weather.  And that means one thing: fan in the window.  I cannot get enough of this autumn air.  Especially at night.  I grew up in a relatively cold place.  One of my favorite things was falling asleep with my body wrapped in a blanket like a burrito while enjoying the cool air on my face.  There's a bit about that in Moby Dick.  Melville wrote: "to truly enjoy bodily warmth, some small part of you must be cold, for there is no quality in this world that is not what it is merely by contrast."  If someone had told me a few years ago that I'd be quoting Melville in a blog someday, I probably would've shat myself laughing... and maybe called them an asshat.

But all that aside, my housemate is not the biggest fan of cold.  Thus, my (almost) forty-year-old ass can sometimes be found occupying a little "fort" in the curtains by the window.  I have my cool air and the fan in the window, yet the heavy drapes keep the rest of the apartment relatively warm.  It's a win-win situation, I think.  A rather creative solution, perhaps.  Well, I had to resort to using the curtains because our sofa has only two removable cushions.  That isn't nearly enough to build a proper fort with.

Breakfast fisticuffs.

On the way to work t'other day, I happened upon the worst fight I have ever witnessed with my own two peepers in Japan.

We were stopped in the station (都営浅草線の三田駅) and I caught a glimpse through the window of a sneaker-shod foot flying past.  No, not a disembodied foot (that would have been a helluva thing).  It was a foot in the process of delivering a kick.  I turned around, and beheld some earnest whoop-ass in progress... at 7:00 AM... on the damn subway platform.

A construction worker was fighting with a salaryman.  Kicking, punching, wrestling... the whole bit.  The construction worker was not a big guy.  He was my size, or maybe even a little smaller.  But he was scrappy as hell.  The salaryman or office worker guy was totally getting his ass handed to him in triplicate.  The conductor on the subway platform was yelling at them: 「おい、危ないよ！」  That just means "hey, that's dangerous!"  Well, yeah!  They're going all smackdown on each other's asses at the edge of a subway platform, for fuck sake!  Many of the women on my train were covering their faces with their hands and demurely peeking over their fingers (including some of the students from our school).  They were whispering「ひどい」,「まずい」, etc.  It was eerily Victorian (though nobody actually swooned).  After my initial glance, I only looked back once more as our train started to pull away.  I could see the construction worker had the salaryman pinned on the floor.

I have no idea what started the fight: queue breaking, abstract loss of face, flatulence, fashion faux pas?  I have no idea how it ended, either.  I don't know if the police came, or the station staff intervened, or an off-duty UFC referee was handy to break the shit up.  全然分からない。 If anyone reading this knows, please leave a comment.

On the bright side, because of where we live I was fairly damn certain that neither one of those shitheels had a gun.  In everyday confrontations, firearms (particularly handguns) are like the allspice of støøpid.  Take an everyday argument and add a little sprinkle o' gun to the situation.  In no time at all, an erstwhile humdrum disagreement has transformed into a life-altering (or life-ending) disaster.

Oh well, on that note, for some folks there's nothing like a bit o' fisticuffs for breakfast to invigorate and get the blood moving... probably out of your nose.

McCoffin

Got the results of my physical back this week.  やった!  Not only did my cholesterol fall to positively un-American levels, it seems that my triglycerides are a third of what they were eight months ago.  Yay for running and green tea!  So, to celebrate my good health news, I naturally ate McDonalds for breakfast.

It's only mildly ironic.  I actually have been making healthy choices as of late.  But that has not always been the case.  Twelve years of smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and Lucky Strike non-filters, ten years of drinking grain alcohol like it was a career, countless years of guzzling cola when water or actual food would have been more appropriate, nights of insufficient sleep, and the physical toll of anxiety and anger mismanagement have all left their mark upon my little body.  (Incidentally, all those marks become plainly visible when I see my reflection in the window of the subway).

Well, when I ordered my McDonalds breakfast set, an image came to mind of me pounding a nail (one with a big trademark "M" engraved on the head) into my own coffin.  Kind of like Queequeg.  Except he commissioned his coffin in a febrile state; it wasn't wrought by his own hand.  Speaking of Queequeg and company: flying to America once, a passenger named Ishmael was paged to the counter.  If our plane had plummeted into the Pacific Ocean, I suppose he'd have had better odds than the rest of us.  But I digress.

とにかく... I'm just grateful my health is good enough that I can find the idea of driving my own coffin nails whimsically amusing (if a wee bit dark).

Breakation.

夏休みはほとんどに終わった。 Summer vacation is almost over.  I really hope I can keep this job.  I do enjoy having an old-timey summer vacation.  In fact, this is the longest continuous vacation I've had in over five goddamn years.  It's definitely the most time off I've had while employed.  I had a few things I thought I was going to do.  However, they were all cancelled on account of Xbox and other fartknockery.  Among other things, I forgot what a penchant I have for sloth.  (The word penchant in the foregoing sentence should be pronounced in the French manner to salvage a little dignity.)

I did go back to my hometown for a bit.  Since returning from the New World, however, I've been spending a great deal of time holding the couch down.  This reasonably-priced IKEA fucker ain't gettin' away on my watch.  間違いないよ。  I've been getting up occasionally to make coffee... sometimes before noon, even.  Managed to finish some of my backlog on games.  Bought Alan Wake and blew through it in two days.  Also finished Halo Reach and Halo 4.  The latter was better than expected, by the way.  Other than that, mostly been pondering my navel and growing mushrooms on my ass.  I'm actually looking forward to going back to work.

So, I guess I've had enough break, because I'm broken.

「このレモコンにシャワーのボタンがあるかい。」Is there a shower button on this remote?

Let's get physical.

Right.  So I had my annual physical t'other day.  Most Japanese companies require them.  Such an examination is not very expensive to begin with, and the company picks up the 30% co-pay because the thingus is mandatory.  So it's literally free of charge.

Well, it was about 37ºC outside with high humidity.  Heat index was around "Christ on a bike, it's hot!!"  Hadn't eaten anything since the night before in preparation for blood work.  Anyway, after walking for a couple of clicks, I was feeling pretty depleted and I was not finding the clinic.  I had also forgotten the questionnaire I was supposed to bring.  It was back at work.  However I really didn't want to go into the office.  It was Wednesday and there are people there I would rather avoid for the time being.  Plus, I was not dressed for work.  Not only was I not dressed for work, I was in the midst of growing my beard back and was very sweaty from wandering around in the heat.  I probably looked like a hobo.

But having failed to find the clinic, I decided I had no choice but to go in to the office.  So I trudged a couple more clicks back to work and snuck in the back way.  I made it in and out without seeing anyone I didn't want to.  In fact, I only saw one other teacher and two or three students.  They were students I teach, though.  They looked a little perturbed when they spotted me.  They've never even seen me without a necktie, much less sporting my finest slob chic.  Oh well.  しょうがない。

Anyway, I got what I needed and left.  The papers I'd forgotten had the clinic map on them.  Turns out it was in the general area I'd thought, but I just hadn't walked far enough.  I got to the clinic in time and was done with my physical in thirty minutes.  I can't even get a pizza delivered that quickly.  But during the physical, I saw one other teacher from my school.  However, though I recognized him, he didn't recognize me at all.  He didn't acknowledge me.  Not even after I bowed toward him.  It seemed he had no knowledge of who I was.  I guess all white people really do look the same.

All that aside, I just hope my cholesterol and triglycerides have gone down.

Directly out of my...

Last week, I had a flight out of Duluth, Minnesota.  I had a connecting flight in Minneapolis, MN which would take me directly to 成田空港 (Narita Airport) in Japan.  Normally, I don't fly in or out of my hometown.  It's a small airport and usually adds a lot to the  ticket price.  However, on this occasion, it wasn't that much more expensive.  Plus I had to make haste to an event so I flew all the way there.

Well, the day before I was set to return, I was already in Minneapolis.  So I called the airline to say I'd like to forfeit my seat on the flight from Duluth to Minneapolis.  Simple enough, right?

Not so much.

In order to not use that portion of the flight, I would have had to pay an additional $300 for changing the itinerary.  That's right: you use less product and we'll charge you more money.  Mind you, this is a seat they could have conceivably re-sold to another patron.  Well, I asked what would happen if I "missed" my flight from Duluth.  They said the entire trip would be cancelled.

So, I had to hurry up and find a bus that would take me from Minneapolis back to Duluth... so I wouldn't miss my flight from Duluth to Minneapolis.  The bus ran me $50, but that beats the hell out of $300.  Then, when I got to the airport, I went to check my additional bag.  It was another $100.  Oh joy of joys!!  I vaguely recall a time when two checked bags were included for international flights.  Not anymore.  The real pisser is that all my stuff probably weighed less than 45 kilograms.  Thus, if either one of my bags had been big enough for all my shit, I could have avoided the fee.

By that point I was simply too tired to argue or care.  And, honestly, these are definitely luxury problems.  Still, I don't enjoy blowing money directly out of my ass.

Midnight oil spill.

About this time of year is when I get to enjoy some quality jet lag.  It's also the season for obsessive thoughts.  Combine those two things, and you've got yourself a truly magical cocktail!  Suddenly wide awake at 2:00 AM apropos of nothing?  Splendid!  Let's take this opportunity to ruminate on everything!

You know that thing you forgot seventeen years ago at a time when it was really, really important?  Well, you're god damn well gonna remember it now!

You recall that time you were talking some long, tall shit to your ex while you were completely hammered?  Of course you don't!  But you sure as hell remember everyone telling you about it the next day!  Enjoy!

Oh, about those inappropriate feelings for your coworker... well, we're just gonna throw some neurotransmitter kerosene all over that shit.  It'll drive you right to distraction!  And we're gonna make sure that you feel guilty as hell for even having those feelings!

Hey, remember that man you shot in Reno?  Just to watch him die?  No?

You know that graduate degree you've almost completed?  In education?  Don't forget: you still can't spell "necessary" on the first try!

Do you remember what you have to do tomorrow?  Not so much?  Great!  You aren't going to, either!

The foregoing are just hypothetical examples, mind you.  Well, that "necessary" thing is all the way true.  But I never shot a man in Reno.  I stabbed that fucker... with a herring.  Johnny Cash never shot a man in Reno either.  Nevertheless, I have my own sundry parade of gnarly, cracked-out beavers gnawing away at the log I'm supposed to be sawing peacefully.

I don't relish being alone in the dark.  Granted, there is another human sleeping next to me.  But I can't very well be waking my dear housemate to chase away my trite demons.  As H.P. Lovecraft states it so eloquently in his 1924 story The Shunned House: "one who sits by a sleeper is indeed alone; perhaps more alone than he can realize."  Right now, it's my brain vs. the world.  Well, actually, it's more like my brain vs. itself.  Either way, we're fresh out of sheep so let's count failures instead!  This lifetime of unlovely memories will be our wallpaper in hell.  All the more reason to stop kicking puppies* for yuks.

*The author would like to stress that no puppies were actually kicked during the writing of this blog.

Expatriate games.

Right... so I just attended my 20-year high school reunion.  It was a real gas to see a bunch of people I haven't seen in almost that long.  I was happy I could see some particular people I've only corresponded with on the Facebutts for the last decade.

But back to the reunion: I had such a grand time gabbing with old friends.  I'm finding more and more, however, that when I go back to the United States there is a growing disconnect.  For example, I was the only one at the reunion wearing a coat and tie.  I was the only one with 扇子 (a folding hand fan).  I was, perhaps, the only one not drinking any alcohol (which, whether they knew it or not, was for the good of all).  I'm pretty sure I was the only one who would have preferred chopsticks for his salad.  I was definitely the only one unintentionally using Japanese paralinguistic responses in conversation.  間違いない。

The school where I work has a large number of returnees: students who have lived abroad (particularly in Anglophone countries) for four years or more.  Some of them have a great deal of trouble adjusting (or readjusting) to their new (or old) environment.  They are fish who grew accustomed to being out of water only to be tossed back in it.  It seems to be quite traumatic emotionally.

I can empathize somewhat.  I was always an outsider in school for a variety of reasons.  But now, as a white foreigner living in Japan, I am the dictionary definition of an outsider.  What's more, every time I come back to  America, I find I am more of an outsider there.  Don't misunderstand me: I love where I live.  It is my home now.  But it is not my homeland.  And now my homeland is no longer my home.

I don't really belong anywhere anymore.

Summery executions.

The weather has been particularly toasty the last few days.  Or weeks.  Don't rightly recall.  June is always a blur.  It gets under my skin.  There are no public holidays in June, so it seems like it goes on forever.  I'm not even that busy compared to some of my colleagues.
Some folk in Japan have a habit of sending midsummer greeting cards (暑中お見舞い申し上げます).  The purpose is to inquire after the health of one's friends and family in the heat.  Or, as I might phrase it: "Christ on a bike, it's hot!! is your ass even still alive!?"  That doesn't look as nice on a card, though.  Nor does it translate well.

I generally don't allow myself to complain about the temperature.  It's not something I can control (except to a limited extent indoors).  Mind you, I complain about plenty of other things I can't control: hiccups, for example.  Hiccups drive me utterly mad.  Utterly.
So speaking of the weather and going mad, I think the heat really is doing my head in.  Despite the fact that I try not to complain about it, it still has an effect upon my state of mind.  Patience is a rarified commodity.  I find myself saying stupid, irritable shit to people whilst going about my business.  Spending time getting lost in regret and angst.  That's not something I expected to be feeling at 38.  Angst, that is.  Regret is an unavoidable by-product of continued existence.  I'm sure the regret will continue to accumulate.  It beats the alternative, I suppose.  But angst?  Absurd.  Don't I have everything I need?  What more do I want?

Bah.  In any event, looking forward to upcoming vacation.  I love where I live.  But I love where I'm from, too.  Don't get to see that nearly as often.  Plus the temperature is generally more... agreeable.
「熱核の…くそ奴…」("You thermonuclear... bastard...")

Do you play doctor?

So, for normal medical care, most folk here go to their friendly, neighborhood clinic.  I have a fairly good one just down the street.  I think the longest I've ever had to wait on a walk-in is thirty minutes. The clinics all offer general practitioner services.  But many of them also have particular specialties (depending upon the primary field of whomever the clinic was founded by).

So I chose the clinic I go to because of their proximity to my apartment.  As I said, I'm quite pleased with their services.  After I had been going there about a year, I happened to be reading their sign more closely while waiting for an appointment.  They have two specialties.  One is 皮膚科 (dermatology).  That much I had gleaned from reading the clinic website before my first visit.  However, their secondary specialties are 性病 (STDs) and 勃起障害 (erectile dysfunction).

I find I can no longer look at the other patients in the waiting room quite the same way.  Are they there for a rash?  Or a rash?  Do they need some Preparation H, or some Preparation エッチ?  I also feel compelled to announce my mundane medical problem a little more loudly than is strictly necessary.

「インフルの注射だよ。」("It's a flu shot!")

These are radish people.

I've always been a doodler.  I can't say I'm a particularly gifted artist in the grand scheme of things.  I can't sketch things in photographic detail.  I can't really move paint or pixels around in a manner that elicits a great emotional reaction.  However, what I can do is get a point across with simple pictures.  And I can do it fairly quickly.

Teaching English as a second language for the last half-decade has brought this skill back to the forefront of my life.  I use it constantly in classes to, as I mentioned, get the point across.  Sometimes I feel like my job is like a giant game of Pictionary.  I certainly enjoy it.  I've become notorious for my illustrations among my friends, colleagues, and students.

For many years, I mostly accomplished these tasks through "stick-figure theatre".  However, after working in Japanese elementary schools, I became enamored with the rather endearing style of comic figures that many of the children liked to draw.  This style of cute, pudgy "stick figure" is referred to in Japanese as 大根人間: literally "radish people".  They do look like daikon radishes come to life.  I began to emulate their drawing, and now I can't really draw anything else.  I just love the little things.

In any event, this blog will serve as an outlet for various silly illustrations that are, perhaps, not suitable for my students.  So if you like profanity and cute doodles, have I got a blog for you!