The Sun Also Rises

So I just realized it's been about 3 months since my last posting, which pretty accurately depicts the state of my life these days: busy as hell but not much worth talking about, though somehow I find a way... Anyway, the present moment finds me in a hotel room in Japan, which means I have something besides my bitchy roommate to blog about.

So here I am, drinking a can of "Pocari Sweat," and yes Charlotte, that's just how it's spelled. The can also says "Ion Supply Drink," which I suppose makes it just the thing for space aliens whose flux capacitors are running low. Actually upon closer translation it appears to be the local version of Gatorade, which gives it a leg up on most Engrish, in that it actually makes some sense.

As a matter of fact, there is English everywhere in Japan, and there's millions in prize money out there for anyone who can make any sense of it. Actually, I am convinced that there is a tiny group of drunk Aussies somewhere in Japan who come up with stuff like this simply to amuse themselves. Just as there are a small number of Chinese tattoo artists in the States who go around tattooing the Chinese characters for "Candy Ass Pole Smoker" on trendy MTV-watching urbanites. You know, the kind who aren't Asian but drive souped-up Hondas and all that. Hey, here's a freaking hint people: if you can't read what it says, don't wear it. Pretty simple rule if you ask me.

One thing that's almost refreshing about being in a foreign country, especially if you're a snobby sophisticate like me, is that you're totally clueless about pretty much everything. This morning I had to take the train somewhere, and so I waited by the platform. After about ten minutes, I looked around, and realized that everyone other than me had formed into pairs of lines where the train's doors would be when it arrived. I grimaced sheepishly and went to the end of one. When the train showed up, the pairs of lines split like DNA, leaving a space for people to exit the cars, and then the smash began. The car looked full when only about 1/4 of the poeple had gotten on. So each person simply turned his back to the mob, and slowly backed in.

I had a similar experience at dinner. Now, America (esp. in the cities) in general has great coverage when it comes to foreign food. Notwithstanding, I've yet to go anywhere and not be surprised. Tonight I went to the Japanese restaraunt in the hotel, and decided to go for the "Traditional Japanese Fixed Price Dinner" which the menu described as "One Soup and Four Dishes." I've had enough weird shit so I don't scare easy, but when the tray came, with everything on it, let's just say the only thing I recognized was the soup. And even that came without anything like a spoon. There were about ten plates total, one of which was obviously a dipping sauce. I figured that the bigger plates must be the entrees and the smaller ones condiments. Anyway, I didn't know what to do with the condiments, so I experimented. As I ate I could imagine the waitresses saying to one another, "Look at the American, he's eating the mustard right out of the jar!"

After walking around on the streets though, the whole Asian schoolgirl fetish makes a lot more sense. Everyone wears school uniforms and they follow the Catholic pattern. I've always thought the Church to be simply hypocritcal in that sense. On one hand they preach about impure thoughts and the sexualization of society. On othe other they dress the girls up like Britney Spears in a music video. Okay, I know it actually happened the other way around, but so what? Do those skirts have to be that short? Perhaps this is their way of combating the spreading epidemic of homosexuality. Doesn't seem to be taking though, at least not in Boston.

Speaking of walking around here, one is startled by the sheer modernity of it all. There's more construction here than in Boston, which is saying a lot. Actually, the Big Dig guys would be envious. Hell, they're building things that weren't there before, at least. Everywhere you go here, there's solid marble sidewalks in the sky, fifteen feet above perfectly good ones down on the ground. And monorails, too. No shit. And the cabs here are surreal. The drivers wear uniforms with blazers and white gloves. The seats are have lace covers, just like the pillows on your grandmother's couch, and the doors open automatically. Cross Disney World with Blade Runner and you're beginning to get the idea.

Stay tuned- more dispatches from the stranger in a strange land to come!