Survival Porn

For reasons that I shant explain I was researching spring snares and figure-4 deadfalls (basic small game traps) when I ran across this article. It is one of the strangest intersections of bad writing (intending-as bad writing often does-to be very good writing), misguided subject matter, and unintentional confession, that I have ever run across. It reads like a 1st person porn confessional, yet more carnal and disturbing. Behold! (at your own peril).

Soccer Roster

The roster is out for the U.S. game in South Africa on the 17th. Adu and Altidore are in, Rad. I like the look of this team.

Don't Mess with Diaz

Nick Diaz fights this weekend. I enjoy the Nick Diaz.

Update: The unthinkable is true. Nick lost via a doctors stoppage due to cuts around his eyes. Reports differ as to the wisdom of this decision.

Judo Dilemma

The free ride was bound to end someday. I have been scolded. Admonished. Upbraided. Reproached. Suwa Sensei, the amiable drunk judo coach that befriended me, showed me his secret room, tried to get me to go to a house of ill repute and invited me to judo club, freaked out on me in the teacher's room on Wednsesday. I really have no clue why. The argument stems from issues surrounding my judo-gi. The dojo at the school has two dressing rooms and a teacher's office. He told me to leave my dogi in an empty locker in the teacher's office. I asked many times if he was sure that was okay. I was assured that it was. As I am not always able to go to judo club, and then not for the whole time, I would leave my dogi there during the week and then take it home and wash it on Friday. A month or so ago, Suwa Sensei told me, "No, use it twice wash it once. Ok?" I told him it would be no problem as I would be just as happy to take it home everyday, but he had asked me to use the locker. As I was busy with bunkasai preparations I wasn't always able to go to judo. I went on Monday, and couldn't go on Wednesday. I was very busy with English club when Suwa Sensei found me and said, "Take home your gi!" I told him that I was sorry, but that I hadn't brought my gym bag that day. "No! You have to take it home every two practices." "Ok. Got it." Ever since, Suwa has been really cold to me. We both had colds though so, I wrote it up to that. This week I had made sure to ask him very politely if I could come to judo. Monday was fine. I hung my gi in the locker. Wednesday, I asked him very politely if I could come to judo. He freaked out and said "You left it again! Your...that thing...you left it!" I apologized and told him that I was taking it home after every two practices like he had said. "That's just an excuse! I don't want to hear it. You just don't listen. You are not a real teacher here anyway so you should just do everything like you are a student and not a teacher, because you're not. DO you understand! Do you understand!?!?" I went along because a lot of these old gruff guys just want to see that you are willing to take it and then they will be nice. He wasn't even close to nice after. I have become progressively more pissed-off as these two days have passed. I didn't decide that the Japanese government is racist and won't allow non-ethnic Japanese to be public employees. Today I asked Yoshida Sensei, the lady who sits next to me, about it. She said that the judo club kids really like me and they are scared of Suwa, so maybe that pisses him off. I don't know. He was so nice to me when I first got there. It should be pointed out that old Japanese guys are hard to understand under the best of circumstances. Why would they not expect some misunderstanding? Why would I need an excuse? I'm not a teenager. I really don't mind taking my gi home. Odd.

My Internet

Was turned off for a few days. Not due to poverty. Something with the building. Sorry. I know you live for this shit.

Goodbye Lance

http://lancehahn.org/

I loved Lance's music more than I love almost anything. We were lucky enough to play one show with him and I didn't talk to him because I dug the guy so much that I didn't want to sound like a fan. They didn't sound so great, as J-Church was prone not to, but they were still wonderful shining geniuses. Lance wrote the best songs I know. People write them off I think because they seem simple and they are about his cats, or a trip he took or a movie he watched. But they are all special. He was really special. I mailed him when I found out he was sick to tell him that. Maybe he read it. I think of all the strange little corners of Hawaii or San Francisco that I would never known about had Lance not sung them to me. I will miss hearing about overworked waitresses and lesbian high-school basketball team members. The best thing I can say about who lives and who dies is that at least he didn't get shot in the back. I want to write something better for him but I really don't feel like it right now. Maybe punk really is dead. Next thing you know, Greenday will be really famous and Jawbreaker will have a music video...wait...Spill a Corona for the mighty Lance Hahn.

So where's my sense of humor
My life is a disaster
No one's got a future
So let's all get there faster

In the morning the sun fills my room
I think I'll call in sick today and keep my afternoon.

Drunkity Drunk Drunk

This Saturday evening past saw me coaxed from my hole after weeks of mind bending flu-like symptoms, and equally otherworldish school festivals. My odd friend Akko, and her friends were attending the opening of a new reggae club. Oh, Japanese reggae you hotbed of invention. You petri dish of cleverness. Oh Japanese reggae, who never saw a microphone not fit to be shouted unintelligibly into. My cup of tea, you ask. Iced. 11:30 at night and Akko's friends, Kaori, whom I have met and a boy and girl whom I have not are dead set on eating dinner first. I had manufactured curry-rice, minus rice with rancid potatoes from the dollar store. My stomach is swimming for safety. It is long before the first beer that I realize that Akko's friend whom I don't know-the girl-is decidedly my typish. Confounded. To the izakaya. As I have stated, Akko is an odd one. Our relationship consists of what would appear from the outside as 'dates' but merely involve her getting very drunk, delivering a vague, mysterious monologue about her year in Australia, slowly passing out and then snapping to declaring that she has to be somewhere else immediately. She often says things that I can't quite here and when I ask, "What did you just say?" She responds, "Nothing, why?" And then looks at me like I forgot to zip up my fly. She is also taken with the notion that I am fat and struggling with my weight. I am not. Two beers down and her guy friend has decided that I am a good guy. The story about my busted up keitai is a hit all around, but we must run to the reggae club as their pal "Autolock" has taken to the microphone.
I am the only foreigner in the crowded club and do not stand out at all. Autolock is MCing about the days of the week. I would be less than honest if I didn't say that he wasn't, in fact, somewhat better than bad. I think Japan manufactures vacuous attractive women, stores them, and then fires them out of cannons, like grape shot, at me. So that I don't pause and tell you throughout my story, I drank many Coronas this evening. Many. People bought them for me. I bought them for people. At the end of the night I threw somebody onto a floor. In between some other stuff happened.
One MC, wearing a camouflage jacket and sunglasses took to the stage yelling, "It is normal for a guy to like girls...you know what I'm sayin!" I was hoping I had misunderstood until he launched into a spiel in which the only discernible words were "Batty boy." I told Akko that I was going to shove a Corona up his ass. In typical Japan fashioned she explained, "People don't know what he is saying. These guys are amateurs, not pros." As we all know, rampant violent homophobia and its encouragement are acceptable as long as you aren't playing in the bigs, like chewing tobacco in reverse. I was going to confront him later but I gradually forgot what everyone looked like. Except for this one girl Kana who was wearing a white, long-sleeved sweater and pink hot pants. As a licensed representative of Miyazaki hospitality, I took it upon myself to speak with her. I came to understand that she was only interested in speaking to foreigners if they were black. Who ever accused the Japanese people of shallowness. Forsooth. I ask you dear reader, who is blacker than me? Really.
The drunker I got the more I felt it was my duty to spread my friendliness to the masses. Unfortunately the gift of language, so unique to us humans, had forsaken me. I ended up being driven home, possibly by a drunk person-although I certainly hope not, after wandering arm and arm with various people through the Kiyamachi sunrise protesting that I didn't need any ride home. I tossed myself into the shower and plunged into my newly bought futon sometime around 6. I see that there is a mail on my phone from 6:30. I am scared to look. What did I do? Did I drunk mail? Oh, I think you know that I most certainly labadid.
I awoke to a severe migraine inspired in part by the beer, but largely from my lingering sinus infection which had hardened into a tobacco provoked ball of hardened mucus somewhere amongst my brains. I took Excedrin, thanked God for its invention and went back to bed. What great sleep, I thought, and then remembered that it was the first time in a month that I hadn't slept on a piece of wood with a blanket. I also used shampoo and soap. The only thing missing from my familiar Sunday morning was the obligatory phone call from Ed asking, "Do you remember what you were doing last night?" "No. If I don't remember, then don't tell me." "Hahahaha." "Don't tell me."

Bonus Tune

One of my favorite tunes ever.

Tune for the Day

My Escorts: Miyu and the other girl

imaichi bunkasai172, originally uploaded by wwc photos.

I liked this ikebana

imaichi bunkasai168, originally uploaded by wwc photos.

Imaichi Bunkasai

imaichi bunkasai015, originally uploaded by wwc photos.

Friday we had our bunkasai at Imaichi-chu. For those of you who can't read Japanese, that is what it says behind the band dressed like pirates. The bunkasai is nice , because it means that I don't have to work, but it is rough because it means that all of the kids have been exhausted for the last several weeks with preparations. Bunkasai, means culture festival. It is the Japanese education systems companion piece to the other big event of the year, the sports festival. Unlike last weeks bunkasai at Mikuni, which was held in a large hall and featured the best junior high band I have seen on any level, this one was held in the gym and the band was about what you would expect, except they were dressed like pirates. I felt bad, but I wanted to take everyone to see the Mikuni band instead. Aoyama-sensei accompanied them on the accordian and was just as bad as he was last time, but everyone had fun. The percussion section danced around with maracas and smiled, which was odd because they are not really outgoing kids. Sorry Susan, but the band always makes me think of you being uncomfortable but dancing around anyway.
These pirates were followed by a performance from the book club. I have no need to tell you how captivating that was. Books.
The chorus contest winers from Thursday came out and sang with more elaborate comedy skits featuring their home room teachers. Usually this involves yelling whatever is the catchphrase at the moment, which, if you live in Japan you know is the unfortunate, "sore ha kankene...opapi." Which is decidedly not funny and has limited me from saying, "Sore ha kankeneshi." Which was useful when teaching. Natuski has admitted that she thinks it is very funny. Not a good sign.
Then the English club went. Oh the English club. I had been helping them prepare their production of Little Red Riding Hood since I first came to the school. ABout a month ago I said, "You guys should really think about blocking this out pretty soon." "Hai." They responded meekly. Attending their practice last week I was assured that they had it blocked and had even thrown in a dance number. Little did I know this involved the grandmother, a pudgy girl who couldn't bring herself to yell raise her voice above a conversational drone even in the snug confines of practice, confessing to really being the grandfather which sets off a huge dance finale to the song, "In the Tiki Room." In which all of the cast dance around, do the splits and take their bows in character. Yes Ghost Dog, ancient Japan was a strange and interesting place.
The mentally handicapped school from across the street stopped by and did a song for us. I thought many things that I won't say and was very impressed that all 400 students sat through it very politely and applauded.
Last came the 3rd year chorus contest. Finally the class I picked one. It was 3-4. What a darkhorse. It turns out that crazy-ass Obata, the loudest girl I have ever met and with nutty pigtails and braces to boot, has a lovely singing voice. I had to listen to the song "Tabibito"-we are travelers through time, we are travelers through dreams-far too many times. To conclude that entire student body sang the song from yesterday, "Furusato." "The rabbit here tastes great."
After a very nice bento lunch, I wandered the school checking out the exhibits. The science projects were half-assed. American ones are better. No kidding. Don't believe the hype. There was some nice Ikebana and other artwork. I hung out with the girls from 3-2, as the boys at Imaichi are weird. I went by home ec. twice because the teacher is hot. Sneaking out early, I went home and fell asleep.

Love, Exciting and New.

Ladies and gentlemen; my new fiancee.

Flu? What Flu?

I felt decent this morning. Decent being tired, and worn out, and defeated. You know, normal. At Sanjo, there was a lady looking tired and confused in a devil costume with her hair all messed up. The train ride of shame. I felt a tremendous sense of loss.
Today was the chorus contest at school. I heard a song which begins "The rabbit here tastes good." 11 times. Every class I voted for to win came in second. I have a special talent. They let me go early and I weighed coming back to Kyoto and changing my address on my Alien Registration and insurance, but decided to finally go out to the Toulouse-Lautrec exhibit at the Suntory museum as it ends on Sunday and I didn't want to be there in a weekend crowd. Lautrec is one of the few painters that I can actually stare at and stare at and feel somewhat effected. His stuff is so amazing in person. There were a crowd of Australian people there uttering things like "I think I've seen this stuff somewhere." And, "I think these are just some sketches." When I looked up to see who the dumb foreigners were I realized they were all Asian so I couldn't immediately tell who the morons were. They weren't dressed like Australians; boots with shorts and a comedic t-shirt that isn't funny. There was a Japanese lady in black, high-heeled boots and a big black hat. That was rad.

Happy Halloween

Sometimes I miss the radio show. I would have been doing my annual Halloween show this week. Here is a tune I always played on it. I guess it would be Saito Kofun Matsuri practice about now. And Kagoshima dragon boat racing. And Miyakonojo Halloween party. Instead I taught the handicapped class about colors and gave them a little plastic pumpkin. I bought a few of them and a bunch of candy to give out until I remembered that it is a Japanese school and I can't give out candy.

Me = a Prick?

I will tell you my story. You be the judge. I will explain my reasoning after.
I awoke this morning after sleeping a solid 12 hours on cold medicine last night. I wandered down to Omiya station in a flu like daze around 7, chugging on a warm Royal Milk Tea and trying to come to terms with the universe as it revolved.
On the platform I realized that I was standing in the line for the 3-door train when the 2-door train was coming. Losing my place in line, I shook my mucous sodden head and moved to the back. As the line further formed behind me I heard a voice with surprised energy declare questioningly, "America!?!" (everything said by me from this moment on will be in Japanese-as I refuse to entertain these people-everything said by the perpetrator will be in dumb English.) I looked around at the air and subway tiles and the backs of people's heads and settled on the face of a balding man in a boring grey suit next to me. I looked around for a while again and then turned back to him and said, "Japan!?!" "Yes, Yes. America?" He responded with enthusiasm. I pondered for a second. I couldn't think. I couldn't really grasp what was going on. "What do you think.....I don't know.....maybe." Was all I could come up with. "Oh. I don't know. Perhaps." He said, pleased with himself.
At this point, I whipped out the razor blade that I keep tucked between my lip and my gums like a wad of tobacco and sliced both of his cheeks open so his face flapped like a tall ship at the bicentennial. "Happy Halloween motherfucker!" I screamed, did an Indian war whoop and jumped off the platform, running into the darkness of the tunnel screaming.
Now, part of that story is completely false. As for the part that isn't; it might be hard to understand if you don't live in another country. Not so much if you are not white and live in America. You probably know what it is like to have someone remind you every day for no reason that you are not one of them. I am waiting on a 7:18 train to go to work with a cold, and all I exist for is to amuse some yahoo with the fact that I am not him. It gets old. Maybe if he was a hot chick, I would be happy about it. It just works my nerves. Do you know me? It is a weird approach anyway. It isn't, "Oh, I see you in the morning. Do you take the train to work?" Or anything like that. It is just shouting your speculated nationality at you.

Still Feel Like Garbage

I need to write about the bunkasai. I need to return my late videos. All I can do is come home sleep. I wake up in the middle of the night, struggle to go back to sleep, wake up tired and then repeat the process again.

Today at school we tried to teach "I like. He/She likes." It went terribly. The underlying problem is that the kids have never been taught subject/verb. They don't understand verbs. I explained "He is. She is. I am. He likes. She likes. I like." So they would write things like "He is likes." I told the teacher that it is hard to go forwards when they can't understand that you can't have two verbs. She said, "Maybe. But this is what we have to teach now." So we have to teach them something they don't understand when they have no structure to fall back on and then we move on from there. That is why no one can speak English here.

I Feel Like Doo-Doo

I have a ton of stuff to write about but I feel like the marrow is slowly being sucked from my bones. I cowboyed up and got the bunkasai together this week. I even made it to the nomikai (drinking party). I thought if I slept late on Saturday and everything would be all good. As usual the rule has been followed; whenever "all good" is uttered, things are far from good. Witness Murray's for the Miyazaki literate. I think my cold crashed dived into my tendons and is now devouring every solid structure in my body. I sucked it up and went downtown today, as the weather is beautiful but I found that my cold, and its accompanying medicine had rendered my sense of depth perception out of whack. Not conducive to a weekend in the Kyoto shotengai. I was getting freaked out just looking at people moving so I packed it in and came home. All I can do is sit here or sleep. Unfortunately I have to meet up with my friend Akko tonight as I promised to take her to birthday dinner last week, but that never materialized either. I should prove great company, not being able to taste anything and counting down the minutes until I can slip back to sleep. I don't even have the energy to return my late videos.

Miyazaki's Blowin' Up

An article giving props to Miyazaki.

Genarlow Wilson

The Georgia Supreme Court corrected a huge injustice, although 2 years to late, and has ordered Genarlow Wilson freed from jail. This case was disgusting and ridiculous. I hope it has drawn enough attention to get Mr. Wilson a second chance at college.