The quest for internet continues…

Two weeks was the quote I got today. It’ll probably be the longest two weeks of my life. You’d be amazed at the amount of bureaucracy that goes into registering someone for internet service. You need an alien registration card, a telephone number, a sponsor, and proof of employment. I can get a firearm in the States for less paperwork… The upside however, is that when it arrives it’ll be 10 times faster than what I’m used to in U.S. of A. meaning I’ll be able to concurrently surf 10 different porn sites! Oh the wonders of modern technology…

As predicted, I fell off the wagon pretty early, the first day in fact. There are no laws prohibiting the sale or consumption of alcohol anywhere at anytime, so it’s fairly common to see salary-men sloppy at 8 pm. Additionally, all the bars in Japan offer nome hodai which is an 80 minute period of all you can drink any type of booze for about 12 dollars. The button-down crowd absolutely loves it, they get done with their jobs and go for an intense sprint of drinking before wobbling home on the trains for a late dinner. For those that have been imbibed past the point of basic navigation and motor control, there are the infamous “coffin” hotels. 5,000 yen (55 bucks) rents a space that would give a corpse claustrophobia.

I’ve begun to settle into the lifestyle of this place, though with a few hitches. I’m certainly expressing style but it’s what the Japanese refer to as “gaijin smash.” When a foreigner knows (s)he’s taking a nosedive in cultural etiquette and decides simply to power through it (it’s the ‘Merican way!) E.g. Sunday night saw me board a train in Yokohama (an hour and three changes from my house) with a computer chair, desk, and shelving in tow. Now Japanese trains are notoriously crowded, so much so that there’s a person whose job it is to push/pack people into the cars enough for the doors to close. Needless to say bags occupying the space normally allotted for people are (non)violently frowned upon, but if you’re a gaijin.... smash.

I realize that something should be said about being culturally insensitive, but from where I’m standing (towering over the natives) I draw the same looks regardless of whether I’m gaijin smashing or not. In fact, I’d even go so far as to say that if I spoke perfect Japanese, knew all the etiquette, and dressed just like them, I’d still be gawked at. So I used the handicap ticket gate and tried to position myself in a corner on the trains. There’s definitely something daunting in being stared at from all sides. Thankfully I made it home without too much trouble, in fact, I so enjoyed myself that I’ll be attempting is again on Sunday. Nothing like the draw of a free sofa-bed to kinder my frugal spirit…. Wish me luck!

Rantings from a man without internet.

First five thoughts on my recent travels (in no particular order): (1) How do they make these salty noodles taste so good? (MSG?!?) I've never had something so simple take me so close to gastronomical bliss. It’s like my taste buds have rewired themselves directly into my brain’s dopamine dispensers. They must have like 30 different kinds of 'salty'. Akin to the Eskimo's many words for snow. (2) Coffee, a jet-lager's wet dream! Dispensed from 24 hour vending machines that are never more than 100 meters away regardless of where you are in the country. Score! Now if I can just stop these damn tremors... (3) Describe the locals in two words: Androgynous, (yesterday, while sitting in a park people watching I spied an unheard of couple, a Japanese man with western woman. As you know, from the standpoint of a gaijin Asian men are not the most fetching of the races. Perplexed I stood to get a better look and discovered it was merely two Asian men walking side by side. I assumed the one was a western woman because it had longer blond hair and wasn't as short as the local females...) and the other word, polite-to-the-point-of-embarrassing-hilarity. I was sitting on the train this morning when I felt something bony collide with my shoulder. When I turned to see I found that it was a middle-aged woman's ass (there's that androgyny again, women with flatter bums than me, if you can believe it) the spectacle that followed was something I'd have been entertained to be watching on National Geographic. She started in with the sumimasens (excuse me/I'm sorry) but about half way through she implemented a repetitive bow supplement. It was drawn out for so long that I wasn't sure if she was still bowing or having a seizure. (4) Is getting half of all my protein from cheap tofu going to feminize me........more? My current budget calls for $4 or less per meal and tofu is insanely cheap. Cheaper (yes!) than horse meat, but will it sustain me? (5) What the fuck have I gotten myself into? Flight complications, language barrier, business attire, a bare, bleak apartment I can almost touch both opposing walls in, expenses I can't afford, commutes through millions (literally) of people. This will take some getting used to. I will, however, say that the gawks kindof flattering. Never in my life have I had so many people pay such close attention to me…

Bartering Mountains for Sushi

And so it begins. Tomorrow a plan that's been over a year in the making invades my world with the fierce unfamiliarity of seriousness. This strange territory of responsibility and obligation bare the title of "my first real job" and I can only hope that its ominous nature doesn't mean the death of the 24 year childhood I've so passionately adored. My first instinct is to approach it with the same attitude I approach everything else in my life; not to take it too seriously. How could I with it having such a comical birth site?

To elaborate, just over 13 months ago I was sitting in a mangy hostel in Mendoza, Argentina. The cheap plastic picnic tables were sighing not only because of an ant infestation but also because this particular night, they'd drawn the unlucky lot of a beer bottle infestation. I remember my face was warm, probably a combination of a beard that matched the hostel decor and having personally hugged half of the bottles cluttering the tables. My drinking companion was a man that I had initially pegged as an impractical traveler. He'd shown up at the hostel lugging a large suitcase, fighting it all the way up the stairs, where as all the rest of the guests simply slid into the straps of their camping backpacks and negotiated the passage to the second floor with ease. As the beers went down this fact began to itch at me so when a stoppage in the flow of conversation occurred, I quizzed him on it. He was quiet for a bit and I wasn't sure he'd heard me until a wry smile crossed his face. I now know he was pausing for dramatic effect, he'd told the story a fair number of times. The lead in hook statement: "well, that's just how it's been for the past 2 years."

Traveling for two years?!?! My holier than thou tone melted into admiration, it was as though we had just whipped it out to see whose was bigger and my epic six month journey was recast as a weekend at the seaside. "How do you finance something like that?" I queried.

"That's' the best part" he replied. "I was on the road when I was working for it."

He went on to tell me how he'd taught English in Japan for two straight years subsisting on little more than rice and traveling all over the Asian isle. He had a bottomless trove of stories and could swear proficiently in 7 different languages. By the end of the night I was piggy-backing the residual wave of elation. That's something I could do...