How a River of Raw Sewage Got Cody Laid (Part I)
a.k.a "The Most IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIInappropriate Post I've EVER Written" (Part I)
Seemingly overnight, the cherry trees have exploded to life. Each year, for thousands of years, the Japanese wait with bated breath for this brief, brilliant harbinger of spring…. And it’s here. The tree-lined streets have stood bare for months - spindly branches creak and croon, pathetically knobbed with sleepy buds. Then, all of a sudden, the blossoms burst, setting everything ablaze with fluffy plumes of pink and white. Somehow these little flowers, of all things, excite the Japanese more than kids in a candy store. More than Cancun-plans or the year’s first swim-suit sale, the cherry trees, coated with plump clumps of popcorn and colored sugar-cotton, whet their appetite for warm days ahead. Yet, snack time is short and the Japanese horde en masse to forests and manicured parks for a gorging. Within a week or two, the trees will weep their delicate blossoms and blanket every surface with still-pristine petals. One can see why the cherry flowers were once the symbol of the fierce samurai warriors of centuries past - No, they weren’t pink-loving pussies. Rather, the blossom, like their lives, gloriously shines and then falls honorably in the moment of its greatest beauty.
With Spring’s awakening, it’s hard to believe just a few weeks ago, that cantankerous bastard, Ol’ Man Winter, continued to stubbornly hack up the occasional snow spat. Cold snaps hit so fast you’d get whiplash, and frosty gales still heckled high valley hamlets, biting flesh like a million, greedy mites. Yet, defying expectation, 20-some-odd, pan-Japan JET’s of the queer-persuasion convened on the sleepy town of Okayama for a momentous event.
Oh, I see you question with raised eyebrows, “Twenty?!” I see you scoff and cough, “My dear Cody, I might have been born at night, but not last night, bud!! Is there really a way to bring together THAT MANY of Japan’s finest twinkle-toed teachers, muff-munching mentors, and allied English educators?! What sort of HOMOnanigans could possibly cure that queeny breed of their legendary acrimony?! Pray, Monsieur, and do tell us of the magical Piper’s song, the mystical remedy of lore that united bitter brothers n’ sour sisters when it was 5 degrees outside and spitting sleet?!?”
Well, I say, ONLY the rare combination of abundant drink and A THOUSAND NAKED MEN MOSHING in the rain - DUH!!
But first, a bit of background: Japan, as many uninformed foreigners often (mistakenly) claim, is a stifled and reserved country of straight-laced business men and their soft-spoken geisha consorts. The people (these ignorami might contend) are always modest and polite to a T as they follow strict and unspoken guidelines for proper behavior. The culture, as well, represents a 3,000 year culmination of Buddhist serenity, Confucian practicality, and home-grown aesthetic sensibility. Feudal lords, ninjas, and all those other bad boys of the past were simply dashes of flavor. And as for that nasty war a few years back and the ransacking of China - well, that was just a kooky blip on the timeline. Like a silken screen painting or a soft shamisen song, life here is picturesque…..
Bitch please.
In my opinion, yes, most of the demons that reside in the depths of Japan’s soul have been burned away or abandoned. And undoubtedly this place is, for the most part, sincerely good-natured and safe. But that doesn’t mean something isn’t lurking beneath the water. That doesn’t mean that every now and then, something doesn’t spurt to the surface. I guarantee you that for every 10 sleepy-time tea ceremonies, for every 20 polite-speech-spouting office ladies, and for every 30 emasculating bows of deference, there is a glorious desire for debauchery seething in the subconscious. Ok ok, admittedly, Japan still needs to loosen up and take a chill pill. Let’s be real, yo! Alcoholism and suicide (like jumping in front of a train!!!) are rampant, though hardly talked about. And anyone who’s ever read a manga or seen anime [hmmm, is that an under-aged school girl being viciously penetrated to death by a multi-tentacled alien cyborg?!?!] knows there MUST be some major unresolved psycho-sexual issues lurking in the collective psyche. But in the end, I believe addiction and the “hentai” subculture are simply bad-apple deviancies which happen to be bi-products of (and proliferated by) certain cultural characteristics. They are alarmingly accepted by many, but it’s still fucked-up for most decent, rice-fed folk.
What I find more intriguing, however, are the historically celebrated AND culturally sanctioned days of crazy, energetic release - the acceptable displays of raunch that are euphemistically called “festivals”. See, 90% of the time, a majority of Japanese try so desperately to restrain, subdue, and suppress - but unless the whole country wants to keel over from a stress-induced infarction, they gotta party-hardy once in awhile! Typically, these holiday festivals are an excuse to just get drunk and look at flowers. But that’s small pittance compared to the more unusual and less advertised celebrations. Occasionally, like an imprisoned Catholic priest on a conjugal visit to Toys ‘R Us, the collective pressure builds beyond control, the portico is allowed to crack and BAM! Cultural cum-shot to the face!!
Case in point: 2003. Aichi Prefecture. The “Good Year” Festival. An innocently named event, it’s a throwback to ancient Shinto rituals, steeped in even older pagan beliefs. The theme: dick, dick, and more dick. Apparently, the male organ (particularly my favorite type: those of the throbbing veined variety) are not just about baby-making and Saturday night fun n’ games, but are potent charms for assuring fertility and a year of prosperity. In a tiny town outside of Nagoya, there is a shrine dedicated solely to the male member. On the appointed day, throngs of people attend to watch a procession of penii. Holy men stroll down the packed avenues singing and dancing. Some are dressed as gods, others as devils. Priests bless the crowd, too, but not with the usual laurels and wands, but with 14-inch wooden dildos. And let me tell you, there are more jerk-jobs here than in any Ho Chi Min whore house! One young man got particularly “hands-on”. Accompanied by his beautiful wife and new baby boy, he first vigorously rubbed the blessed rod and then rubbed his own rod for blessing. Why? Most likely to ensure he wouldn’t be shootin’ blanks next time the ol’ ball n’ chain wanted to bake another bun in her over - I guess prosperity is measured in more than one kind of dough.
Artisans, too, joined in on the party. Every imaginable ware was for sale, but of course it was all fitting with the afternoon’s motif. Phallic-shaped pottery. Phallic-shaped tea kettles. Hell, they even had phallic-shaped Buddhas! I mean, Christianity has been accused of phallo-centrism, but I doubt the early Church Fathers had this in mind when saying Jesus was “HUNG on the cross” and would “RISE again.”
The highlight of the event, however, was when several dozen designated men paraded around town with the temple’s most cherished relic. You guessed it: a giant wood (literally and figuratively). This massive boner burden was an 8 foot-long cock carved from an entire tree log. Hoisted onto larger wooden beams, the giant Johnson was carried on the men’s shoulders as they made their way through the streets. Funny, though, the thing was painted a strange shade of pink and looked more like a misplaced paper-Mache wiener one sees on top of Oscar-Meyer delivery trucks. It even spawned the ever-appropriate pick-up line, “Is that a 3 ton sacred lingam in your Shinto shrine, or are you just happy to see me?!” Yeah, so, maybe I’m horribly sacrilegious for poking fun, but this hallowed tradition was quite the hoot for dirty-minded foreigners such as myself - Hey, sometimes the Japanese are just asking for it!!
Ohmigod, apologies for the rant! Back to the story at hand….. Where was I? Ah, yes: How A River of Raw Sewage Got Cody Laid.
To be continued with…..
Part II: One Thousand Naked Stags and Twenty Drunken JET Fags!
Seemingly overnight, the cherry trees have exploded to life. Each year, for thousands of years, the Japanese wait with bated breath for this brief, brilliant harbinger of spring…. And it’s here. The tree-lined streets have stood bare for months - spindly branches creak and croon, pathetically knobbed with sleepy buds. Then, all of a sudden, the blossoms burst, setting everything ablaze with fluffy plumes of pink and white. Somehow these little flowers, of all things, excite the Japanese more than kids in a candy store. More than Cancun-plans or the year’s first swim-suit sale, the cherry trees, coated with plump clumps of popcorn and colored sugar-cotton, whet their appetite for warm days ahead. Yet, snack time is short and the Japanese horde en masse to forests and manicured parks for a gorging. Within a week or two, the trees will weep their delicate blossoms and blanket every surface with still-pristine petals. One can see why the cherry flowers were once the symbol of the fierce samurai warriors of centuries past - No, they weren’t pink-loving pussies. Rather, the blossom, like their lives, gloriously shines and then falls honorably in the moment of its greatest beauty.
With Spring’s awakening, it’s hard to believe just a few weeks ago, that cantankerous bastard, Ol’ Man Winter, continued to stubbornly hack up the occasional snow spat. Cold snaps hit so fast you’d get whiplash, and frosty gales still heckled high valley hamlets, biting flesh like a million, greedy mites. Yet, defying expectation, 20-some-odd, pan-Japan JET’s of the queer-persuasion convened on the sleepy town of Okayama for a momentous event.
Oh, I see you question with raised eyebrows, “Twenty?!” I see you scoff and cough, “My dear Cody, I might have been born at night, but not last night, bud!! Is there really a way to bring together THAT MANY of Japan’s finest twinkle-toed teachers, muff-munching mentors, and allied English educators?! What sort of HOMOnanigans could possibly cure that queeny breed of their legendary acrimony?! Pray, Monsieur, and do tell us of the magical Piper’s song, the mystical remedy of lore that united bitter brothers n’ sour sisters when it was 5 degrees outside and spitting sleet?!?”
Well, I say, ONLY the rare combination of abundant drink and A THOUSAND NAKED MEN MOSHING in the rain - DUH!!
But first, a bit of background: Japan, as many uninformed foreigners often (mistakenly) claim, is a stifled and reserved country of straight-laced business men and their soft-spoken geisha consorts. The people (these ignorami might contend) are always modest and polite to a T as they follow strict and unspoken guidelines for proper behavior. The culture, as well, represents a 3,000 year culmination of Buddhist serenity, Confucian practicality, and home-grown aesthetic sensibility. Feudal lords, ninjas, and all those other bad boys of the past were simply dashes of flavor. And as for that nasty war a few years back and the ransacking of China - well, that was just a kooky blip on the timeline. Like a silken screen painting or a soft shamisen song, life here is picturesque…..
Bitch please.
In my opinion, yes, most of the demons that reside in the depths of Japan’s soul have been burned away or abandoned. And undoubtedly this place is, for the most part, sincerely good-natured and safe. But that doesn’t mean something isn’t lurking beneath the water. That doesn’t mean that every now and then, something doesn’t spurt to the surface. I guarantee you that for every 10 sleepy-time tea ceremonies, for every 20 polite-speech-spouting office ladies, and for every 30 emasculating bows of deference, there is a glorious desire for debauchery seething in the subconscious. Ok ok, admittedly, Japan still needs to loosen up and take a chill pill. Let’s be real, yo! Alcoholism and suicide (like jumping in front of a train!!!) are rampant, though hardly talked about. And anyone who’s ever read a manga or seen anime [hmmm, is that an under-aged school girl being viciously penetrated to death by a multi-tentacled alien cyborg?!?!] knows there MUST be some major unresolved psycho-sexual issues lurking in the collective psyche. But in the end, I believe addiction and the “hentai” subculture are simply bad-apple deviancies which happen to be bi-products of (and proliferated by) certain cultural characteristics. They are alarmingly accepted by many, but it’s still fucked-up for most decent, rice-fed folk.
What I find more intriguing, however, are the historically celebrated AND culturally sanctioned days of crazy, energetic release - the acceptable displays of raunch that are euphemistically called “festivals”. See, 90% of the time, a majority of Japanese try so desperately to restrain, subdue, and suppress - but unless the whole country wants to keel over from a stress-induced infarction, they gotta party-hardy once in awhile! Typically, these holiday festivals are an excuse to just get drunk and look at flowers. But that’s small pittance compared to the more unusual and less advertised celebrations. Occasionally, like an imprisoned Catholic priest on a conjugal visit to Toys ‘R Us, the collective pressure builds beyond control, the portico is allowed to crack and BAM! Cultural cum-shot to the face!!
Case in point: 2003. Aichi Prefecture. The “Good Year” Festival. An innocently named event, it’s a throwback to ancient Shinto rituals, steeped in even older pagan beliefs. The theme: dick, dick, and more dick. Apparently, the male organ (particularly my favorite type: those of the throbbing veined variety) are not just about baby-making and Saturday night fun n’ games, but are potent charms for assuring fertility and a year of prosperity. In a tiny town outside of Nagoya, there is a shrine dedicated solely to the male member. On the appointed day, throngs of people attend to watch a procession of penii. Holy men stroll down the packed avenues singing and dancing. Some are dressed as gods, others as devils. Priests bless the crowd, too, but not with the usual laurels and wands, but with 14-inch wooden dildos. And let me tell you, there are more jerk-jobs here than in any Ho Chi Min whore house! One young man got particularly “hands-on”. Accompanied by his beautiful wife and new baby boy, he first vigorously rubbed the blessed rod and then rubbed his own rod for blessing. Why? Most likely to ensure he wouldn’t be shootin’ blanks next time the ol’ ball n’ chain wanted to bake another bun in her over - I guess prosperity is measured in more than one kind of dough.
Artisans, too, joined in on the party. Every imaginable ware was for sale, but of course it was all fitting with the afternoon’s motif. Phallic-shaped pottery. Phallic-shaped tea kettles. Hell, they even had phallic-shaped Buddhas! I mean, Christianity has been accused of phallo-centrism, but I doubt the early Church Fathers had this in mind when saying Jesus was “HUNG on the cross” and would “RISE again.”
The highlight of the event, however, was when several dozen designated men paraded around town with the temple’s most cherished relic. You guessed it: a giant wood (literally and figuratively). This massive boner burden was an 8 foot-long cock carved from an entire tree log. Hoisted onto larger wooden beams, the giant Johnson was carried on the men’s shoulders as they made their way through the streets. Funny, though, the thing was painted a strange shade of pink and looked more like a misplaced paper-Mache wiener one sees on top of Oscar-Meyer delivery trucks. It even spawned the ever-appropriate pick-up line, “Is that a 3 ton sacred lingam in your Shinto shrine, or are you just happy to see me?!” Yeah, so, maybe I’m horribly sacrilegious for poking fun, but this hallowed tradition was quite the hoot for dirty-minded foreigners such as myself - Hey, sometimes the Japanese are just asking for it!!
Ohmigod, apologies for the rant! Back to the story at hand….. Where was I? Ah, yes: How A River of Raw Sewage Got Cody Laid.
To be continued with…..
Part II: One Thousand Naked Stags and Twenty Drunken JET Fags!