J-Pan Boogie, duhdadanant, duhdadanant, J-Pan Boogie, duhdadanant, duhdadanant…

To begin this day’s update I shall first tell you a funny little story; here she goes. So I was out to eat at a fine little restaurant (where I ate a pizza with lil’ smokey’s, you know, those funny little snausages, ham, and hardboiled egg…I didn’t even request these toppings, it’s just what’s popular here I guess) and was chatting away with a fellow Loras grad and I began to take note of a discomforting presence in my nose, a bat in the cave if you will. I began to poke at it slightly and inconspicuously. Soon enough I realized that my efforts were futile and that it was embedded like a CNN reporter in Iraq. After a quick recon of the table top I noticed a real rarity here in Japan: napkins (this may sound odd, because it is…hardly any of the restaurants here give you napkins of any sort. But they do give you warm towels…which are quite nice). So I grabbed one of the free paper products occupying the corner of our cozy nook and answered the life long question of, “How do you make a napkin dance? You put a little boogie in it!” Ha. Really though I honked away in the napkin until I took care of the little nose insurgent with extreme prejudice and quite a bit of malice as well. Cultural note: Japanese people are really “into” cleanliness. This means that when they are sick they wear those little surgical masks in public. Needless to say I thought that I was about to have a lynch mob surround me and find the nearest bonsai over 6’5”. Boy oh boy was my face red! As soon as I opened my eyes after a resounding and pleasing blow I caught the glare of at least six or seven people’s eyes burning their Japanese hate rays deep into my soul. Okay, that was at least how I felt; but after a quick and honest, “すみません,” or “Sumimasen,” those that were previously staring at me were now laughing at me. I think that they caught onto the fact that I was not bringing the second coming of SARS, but was just in my own world and had forgotten that this place is a little uptight about germs…I am just glad that no body informed them of cooties.
Side story: last year when the SARS epidemic hit China this fine little country that I am temporarily calling home began to fear an invasion. Not the little commies themselves, just their disease. Then the poo hit the ceiling fan in the form of a visitor that later obtained the virus after returning home to the land of Mao. In order to secure the future of J-Pan the government decided that a purge must take place. Not to be confused with past atrocities or pending genocides. I am speaking strictly of germs that may have been left behind by the now is sick, but once was fine, tourist. They began at the airport and continued to visit each and every place that the man had visited; with determined and spectacular zeal. It was major news, or so those that were here tell me. Everyday there were headlines revealing where it was that the man had visited. For example, “Sources say he went to Universal Studios Japan, Cleaning Imminent!” or something like that…I wouldn’t know exactly as I was absent.
“So, what else is new?” you may be thinking. Well you have caught me on a good day, one in which I feel like writing about all of the things that I haven’t really informed you of. For example: have I told you about the bikes in this country? Whew, there are a lot. However I will not take you down the path of boring detail about such things. But I will give you a rough outline of such a boring topic. Here it goes: the bicycles here are all like my older sister’s old bike (yes the one that I used to ride and consequently left outside without a lock and am guilty of allowing it to be stolen. Sorry Sarah) so back to the bikes, they are all shaped similar to those littering the beaches of Florida retirement community, this is to say that they all have the lowered middle bar, curved handles, and long, slender fenders. Another standard option is the stylish and oh so attractive basket. They are a little feminine, but for some odd reason they are also a lot of fun. I once read an article in a magazine given to me by a co-worker that described the adventures of a freakin’ idiot that decided to ride his bike everywhere for a month. Of course it was a tale of fitness and fun! Or that was the yarn that the writer wanted to spin. I didn’t buy it. But then I came here. A land in which you have no choice whether or not you want to ride a bike. My often find my subconscious giving me little pep talks that sound similar to this dialogue, “Do you want to go somewhere? Well get your rear on your bike and peddle fatty.”
As one could guess the furniture in this country is quite similar to the people, places, and things: small. Before leaving the states I told many people that I was expecting to break many different things; such as chairs and other random objects. This was mostly as joke, but nonetheless, I thought that it would be inevitable. Up until now I have proven myself wrong and have left much of the furniture weakened, but not in pieces. Yeah for me. But I cannot say the same for bicycle tires; of which I have gone through two. Explanation: the first was on the bike that I inherited upon arrival. It was a fine bike, at least I am sure that it was quite a catch back in the late 70’s when it was in it’s prime. But by the time that I got to it she was creakin’ more than a geriatric jazzer-cizer bending over to put on her leotard. Not to mention the fact that the tires were as worn as my lovely friend and former co-worker’s knees after a weekend of playing “cops and robbers” with his long time friend and man in uniform.
Bottom line: the bike was old. I am dumb. I did not have a tire gauge and inflated the tires way too much so “pop” went the back tire. Not my fault; at least as far as I am concerned. Next week I purchased my own bicycle as I thought that it would make more sense then me paying to get the old piece of poo fixed.
So I picked out the nice baby blue one. It was the cheapest one and I thought that the color would assist in me being able to identify it in public more easily as I often forget where I parked my bike. No I am not always drunk, but there are a lot, and trust me I mean a lot, of bikes in this country.
And then there was the second tire. Okay, so this one may leave me with a little more guilt then the last. I was stupid and tried to jump up on some stairs with my new and smooth blue bike. Whoops. Not a good idea, I admit it. But here’s the kicker: I was given a ride early last Saturday in a truck, with bike in tow, to a place that would fix the ole girl up. When we arrived I noticed that I did not bring my bike key (all bikes in Japan have a really simple lock that is attached directly above the tire of choice, either front or back, that simply slips between the bike frame and in-between the spokes, thus limiting the movement of the tire. Think of what happens when you place a stick between the spokes of a person’s bike: it stops or at least ceases to be able to move. わかりますか？wakarimasuka-do you understand?).
My ride left after we were informed that it would take about 30 minutes to get the bike fixed. I was tired and feeling a little absent minded and said my goodbyes without a second thought. What could possibly be the problem? I was about to have my fairly new bike back in tip top shape in about 20 more minutes. Right? Oh yeah…I forgot the key.
After 30 minutes the bike was ready to go; but I wasn’t. Ho hum. Oh well. So I hoisted the completely working and just repaired bicycle over my shoulder and began my ten-minute walk back to my home.
As stated before I feel a little out of place at times. Especially when in public. Well this time things were a little different. This time people stared for a little longer and wondered a little harder, or so I am convinced. I really do wish that I could have spoken Japanese at this point and time in my journey; because I would have loved to tell each and every one of them, “I’m stealing this bike. You wouldn’t happen to have a saw or something like that would you?” How would they have responded? I think that they would have looked in their trunk for me; they really are so kind and submissive. But I could only imagine that many of the people who crossed my path began to think, “damn. I wish that I could speak English. I’d love to tell that idiot that he’s supposed to ride that thing not carry it. Poor guy. No wonder Bush got re-elected…”

Well I’ll have to be honest; I think that you got off lucky this time. I was going to go into detail about some of the food that I ate this weekend, as it was a little uncommon from the general experience that I have gotten while I’ve been here. But I am almost to three pages…oops, I mean four…and I honestly don’t think that many of you have the time or patience to read this much. But I will tell you that this past weekend I picked at the head of a squid covered in Mayonnaise. During the same treat I also ate an unidentified food-item, which I would like to remain unknown to be honest. You know that piece of the chicken, I think that it is the tale-bone or something like that, that is really rubbery but still semi-soft? You know the one; it’s chewy enough that you will keep it in your mouth for about 20 seconds before you spit it into your napkin and then cut into your piece of chicken at which point you notice that there is a whole chunk of semi-bone/cartilage like substance on your plate. Well I ate a whole bowl of something like that.
There was actually one point this weekend when I really wanted to take detailed notes of the shit that they eat here because you really wouldn’t believe it. If you have ever thought that seaweed, or kelp, was strange then you should try what is referred to as “devils tongue.” Half the time I can’t tell if a food item is animal, mineral, or human waste. Enough is enough. Have a good one and I hope that you have a nice day.