cock-a-doodle death
Mmmmmm avian flu! What did I tell you before I left for Japan? That I'd contract some crazy bird flu and die before the year's out. Now the whole world is shitting its pants (maybe literally--I don't know what the symptoms are) over the imminent flu pandemic, and mark my words they'll trace the mutant strain for human-to-human contact back to my bloated corpse. Don't worry, I'm not sick...yet. But let's not forget I'm the idiot who had a mysterious gastrointestinal disease, pink-eye, and some bizarre leg infection that nearly turned gangrenous all in the span of two months. So really it's only a matter of time before I'm hacking up my lungs and who knows what else. It's a good thing there isn't a chicken coop at my elementary school. Oh haha, that's right, I forgot...there is! Yup, right next to the rabbit cages, and we all know how sanitary rabbits are. Especially when tended to by young children. I'd like to think the "please wash your hands" signs are making a difference, but the other day I watched a kid eat his lunch with the chopsticks he'd just used to pick his nose. But what can you do, eh? We've been told not to eat eggs, and those precautionary face masks so ubiquitous to Asia are popping up all over the place, but I'm just crossing my thoroughly-washed fingers and biding my time.
But enough gloom and doom! In the meantime, I'm livin' it up here in bizarro land! Monday was yet another holiday, so there were plenty of activities to fill up the three day weekend. Friday night I went to some local hole in the wall bar/horse stable with the Yoshikawa gents, got real drunk, belted out a lil' "American Woman" karaoke while the waitress backed me up on tambourine, and rode my bike home wasted through the pouring rain balancing an umbrella. Rather impressive, if I do say so myself. Saturday night, one of the oba-sans took Peter and me to a jazz club in Tokyo which was lovely. But on our way to the club she took us on a detour through "American Street", which is the least American street I've ever seen and could quite possibly be the secret gateway to Tokyo's black market. Lots of raw meat and dead animals hanging from hooks in the open-air markets and shrink-wrapped Nike's for 50,000 yen. We passed a western tourist family, who clearly were lost, quickly ushering their kids through the alley ordering them not to look at or touch anything. Then Sunday night it was back to Tokyo for what I'll call the "Yoshikawa Punk Rock Showcase". Kinchan rented out a club for his band and his friends' bands to perform, so Che, Peter, Alex, and I all went to check that out. The highlight of the evening would have to be the brilliant rendition of Queen's "We Will Lock You".
Then Che and I stayed in Tokyo to meet up with her fellow Aussie friends in Roppongi and party on through the night until the first trains started back up at 5am. We ended up at some bar and we were the only ones there since it was still early, but the bartenders spoke good English so we were chatting with them. The one guy was wearing a beater and trucker hat, so I taught him that the shirt he was wearing was a "wife beater" and why it was called that. So he got a big kick out of that and kept running around the bar fake bitch-slapping the air. Ah yes, all in a day's work as a "cultural ambassador" on the JET Programme. Then we stumbled on out of there and ended up at club...wait for it, wait for it...GAS PANIC! They were selling Gas Panic tshirts, and I really wanted one but was running out of cash, so I decided to haggle with the moderately attractive, 5'3" Japanese bartender. But the only relevant Japanese I know is numbers, "present", and how to call people a liar so the conversation went a little something like "Konnichiwa! Tshirto! 200 yen! Presento kudasai!" And when he laughed and said no no 2000 yen I called him a liar. It was a great lil' line and must have worked because he rescued me when an exceptionally tall Chinese man who may or may not have been Yao Ming kept hitting on me. But I never did get my Gas Panic shirt. Too bad!
But enough gloom and doom! In the meantime, I'm livin' it up here in bizarro land! Monday was yet another holiday, so there were plenty of activities to fill up the three day weekend. Friday night I went to some local hole in the wall bar/horse stable with the Yoshikawa gents, got real drunk, belted out a lil' "American Woman" karaoke while the waitress backed me up on tambourine, and rode my bike home wasted through the pouring rain balancing an umbrella. Rather impressive, if I do say so myself. Saturday night, one of the oba-sans took Peter and me to a jazz club in Tokyo which was lovely. But on our way to the club she took us on a detour through "American Street", which is the least American street I've ever seen and could quite possibly be the secret gateway to Tokyo's black market. Lots of raw meat and dead animals hanging from hooks in the open-air markets and shrink-wrapped Nike's for 50,000 yen. We passed a western tourist family, who clearly were lost, quickly ushering their kids through the alley ordering them not to look at or touch anything. Then Sunday night it was back to Tokyo for what I'll call the "Yoshikawa Punk Rock Showcase". Kinchan rented out a club for his band and his friends' bands to perform, so Che, Peter, Alex, and I all went to check that out. The highlight of the evening would have to be the brilliant rendition of Queen's "We Will Lock You".
Then Che and I stayed in Tokyo to meet up with her fellow Aussie friends in Roppongi and party on through the night until the first trains started back up at 5am. We ended up at some bar and we were the only ones there since it was still early, but the bartenders spoke good English so we were chatting with them. The one guy was wearing a beater and trucker hat, so I taught him that the shirt he was wearing was a "wife beater" and why it was called that. So he got a big kick out of that and kept running around the bar fake bitch-slapping the air. Ah yes, all in a day's work as a "cultural ambassador" on the JET Programme. Then we stumbled on out of there and ended up at club...wait for it, wait for it...GAS PANIC! They were selling Gas Panic tshirts, and I really wanted one but was running out of cash, so I decided to haggle with the moderately attractive, 5'3" Japanese bartender. But the only relevant Japanese I know is numbers, "present", and how to call people a liar so the conversation went a little something like "Konnichiwa! Tshirto! 200 yen! Presento kudasai!" And when he laughed and said no no 2000 yen I called him a liar. It was a great lil' line and must have worked because he rescued me when an exceptionally tall Chinese man who may or may not have been Yao Ming kept hitting on me. But I never did get my Gas Panic shirt. Too bad!