Eaten Alive

Eaten Alive
Originally uploaded by listenyellowlova

I don't usually post just pictures, but this is by far the coolest picture I've ever taken. I was coming home, and I heard a "bzzz....bzz ...bzzzz" sound. I looked down to see this orgy of insects, and I couldn't quite figure out what was going on. With a closer inspection, I realized that a poor cicada was being eaten by a wickedly large praying mantis.

Luckily this was all happening right outside of my neighbor's driveway, so I ran upstaris, grabbed my D40, and came back down to snap some shots.

Damn, people complain about dying, but how about death by having your face eaten off?

Stepping Up

Over the past month or so I've given up the following:

-Anything English; movies, music, books, etc. If it has English, I don't get near it (with exception to my job)
-Alcohol. Of course I never had a drinking problem, but being in an altered state at any time makes me that less sharp
-Dating
-Going out on weekends
-Pretty much going out at all
-Social networking sites (myspace, mixi, facebook, etc)
-Video games


Why? Quite simply, I want to be good at something. I want to feel like I actually did something with my life. After this conquest, chances are I'll spend the rest of my life punching and punching out, find my way to retirement, grow old and die. But at least I can die knowing I worked towards a goal and completed it.

I've seen too many people live wasted lives, ignore their potential and turn out to be average (or less than average) Joe Slob who is content with mediocrity.

Not me.

Other than staying fit by going to the gym and snapping the occasional photo, I've cut out any part of my life that could be spent otherwise bettering myself at Japanese.

This isn't for a test I want to pass.

This isn't for getting job with a Japanese company.

It's for me.

It's to look back years from now when I'm bald, wrinkled, and fragile, and be able to think, "I did something. And I did it well."

Yummies

Video post of stuff I picked up at the convenience store right down the street.

Imagine...

No, not the utopian society where John Lennon imagines there aren't any more countries. Imagine this:

-You were given the gift of going to work, and being able to 100% tune out all of the dramatic crap that flies around the office.

-You were able to divert tons of responsibility at work (with no added benefit or pay even if you did it) by being simple being ignorant of what is being said to you.

-Annnoying commercials? Don't understand them!

-Annoying neighbors bitching? Gone!

Damn.. why did I learn Japanese?

So I'll be going home in less than a month! It'll be nice to catch up with friends and family, eat 'brerros and look at the pretty beach. I can't wait.

Updates basically stopped because I have become accustumed to life here. It's like asking somebody to write something interesting about their hometown; they'll probably say, "what should I write? The same things happen every day. It's boring". That's basically how it is over here. If interesting things happen, I'll post it here. But for the most part, I'm living the same boring life you are, just in a different country with a lot of Japanese folk.

I can't wait to be home though.

High School is Universally Awkward

High School knows no cultural bounds when it comes to having the most intensely awkward moments of your life. And those are the formative years that hurt: if you're in your mid 20s and you get turned down by someone of the opposite sex, you brush it off and find somebody else. But if you're 16, your voice just started cracking, and you find yourself in an inescapable situation that will leave you feeling rejected and humiliated for years to come, it will leave an emotional scar.


I certainly just witnessed one of those moments tonight.


Coming out of the room that my Japanese lessons were held, I noticed a high school boy and a girl silently looking out a window. They boy had his hands crossed in front of him when I first looked. I talked a bit to everyone else leaving the class, and when I looked over again, the kid made his move. His hand was holding hers, both still looking silently out the window. Go kid!, I thought.

The group that I meet up with every week hung out for a few minutes later. During that time the couple descended down the stairs and left. I myself followed suit a few minutes later and hopped on my bike to head home. Peddling down a dark street, I noticed the same couple I saw a few minutes earlier, only they weren't holding hands. In fact, they still weren't talking. It was worse than that. There they were, walking in near pitch black and dead silence, while the girl was reading a book. That's right. She was using both of her hands to hold the book close to her face and attempt to read it under the extremely dim streetlight.

This was the most awkward situation I've ever had the privilege of seeing. Not only is the girl saying "I don't want to hold your hand" because both of her hands are occupied, she's saying "don't look at me because I'm reading and don't talk to me because I'm trying to concentrate". And I've seen nerds here and there walk home and read books, but certainly not at night.

I hope at least it was an interesting book.

Training for Stardom

Today I realized that being in Japan and speaking decent Japanese has a lot of parallels to being a movie star. Take any known musician, and they are probably stopped numerous times a day to be told how amazing they are, and how their music has changed so and so's life, etc. The first few times, they must be absolutely flabbergasted and amazed, but after a while the initial euphoria wears off. Eventually that musician gets the same comments, the same questions, etc. He gets tired of it, yet at the same time, he can't tell them to bugger off; because the person is praising him, trying to take advantage of a once in a lifetime opportunity to tell somebody how they were moved by their work. How can you possibly be a dick to somebody who has something like that to say? So the musician doesn't tell said fan to bugger off, nor does he get all excited, because he's heard it all a million times. What does he learn to do? He learns to politely smile and tell them "thank you".

That's where I'm at. Modesty aside, my spoken Japanese is pretty decent. Japanese make it a point to make sure they aren't simply giving me the polite "your Japanese is good", they continue on to say how shocked and amazed they are I can speak their mother tongue so well. Then come the barrage of the same questions I hear day in day out: "How long have you studied?" "How long have you been in Japan?" "Do you have a Japanese girlfriend?" "...want one?".

Okay, I made the last one up. But in any case, I have canned answers ready for all of these questions, and I'm polite enough to make it sound like it's the first time I've been asked these things. Hell, at least a musician's fan prefaces their comments with "I know you've been told this a million times but"...



In another completely related story, I was startled when coming home tonight. For those of you that know me, I'm easily startled. If you come up behind me and start speaking without my knowledge, I'll jump. Well, a girl certainly got the jump on me tonight. And I damned near reached out and punched her in the face.

Coming back to my apartment around 10pm, there weren't a lot of people on my route home. I cross through the train station to get home, and usually the only people around are those waiting for their train. Crossing over the tracks, there is a set of stairs and an escalator, which is painfully slow. If somebody is descending the escalator and just standing on it, it's much faster to take the adjacent stairway. Heading towards the escalator, I saw somebody already making their way down while remaining stationary, so I took the stairs to the right. All the while I had my headphones in, so I couldn't hear a damned thing. As soon as I got to the bottom of the stairs this girl pops out of nowhere (well she came from the left) staring at my face from about half a foot away. I jump, she just kinda shrugs it off and keeps walking.

So I suppose if she's writing her own blog entry, this is how it would go:

"I was walking home last night, and as I was going down the escalator, I see this weird, human-like thing pass me on the right. It looks human, but its eyes are far to big and the way he walked was really weird. Deciding I only had on chance to see what this creature looked like from the front, I rushed down the escalator cut him off as he was about to make it down the last step, and looked at him straight in the face. I scared him! He jumped back and his eyes got really wide. (and by wide, I mean HUGE. His eyes were really round already). Maybe it was the first time he's ever seen a human? Welcome to earth!"

Flags, Emotion, and Anger

All three were flying high this Saturday morning. When I left my apartment, I thought that I would have to make the half hour hike to where the beginning of the torch relay was to be held. Instead, as soon as I came out of the other side of the station, I was bombarded by megaphones, chants, police, and flags.

Police littered the streets, many of the younger ones looking very anxious. I kept making my way to the center of the noise and flags, and eventually found myself completely surrounded by all the ensuing madness. Tibet protesters and Chinese protesters were separated by a bright blue rope the police had put up to keep them from killing each other. Once side chanted "Free Tibet" while the other tried to overpower the other side in volume.

At one point a Japanese man wrapped in a Tibet Flag sat down, took out a miniature Chinese flag, and proceeded to eat it, from the plastic pole up. What followed was many Chinese becoming extremely livid; the shouted, pointed, and even attempted to cross the blue barrier to go inflict some physical pain. The police successfully held back the angered mob from tearing this guy apart. As the man kept on eating the flag, the men in blue unsuccessfully attempted to persuade him to do otherwise.


Other times the police weren't quite as successful at controlling the crowds; a few men and blue rope can only do so much. When an over-zealous protester would say something inflammatory, mobs of Chinese would rush over and attempt to pound his head in. These moments didn't usually last too long; the police would swoop in and break up the fights, (without arresting anybody, which impressed me). At one point a couple grapping each other was coming right toward me and other idiots such as myself trying to document the ongoing anger; we had to run (backwards, of course, so we could still get shots) back to the other side of the street to safety.

After hanging around there for a while and getting a few snaps in, I proceeded north to where the torch was supposed to come. Thousands of Chinese lined the streets, all holding flags, signs, and other patriotic artifacts. Once I got away from the Tibet supporters, it became apparent that the Chinese vastly outnumbered the protesters. I had to squeeze and push my way up the side of the street, sticking out like a white grain of rice in a bowl of tapioca pudding. Eventually I made it as far north as I could go and decided to wait around until the torch made its appearance.

Eventually, the torch made its way up to the street. A line of police cars, supporters, other vehicles came in front of and behind the torch, forming a barricade between any would-be demonstrators who would attempt to steal the torch or try to douse the flame. I managed to get a few shots in, none too good, but hey, how many other people have pictures of the Olympic torch?

Apparently other idiocy ensued, but I wasn't there to witness it. All in all, two people were arrested for trying to steal the torch, and a handful of people came out of the escapade battered and bruised.

To see the rest of my photos, click here

Witnessing History

Even though elections for the Pennsylvania primary are just around the corner, that isn't what I'm referring to. We all know how that's going to end anyway; Obama will lose anywhere from 7-10 points, Clinton will stubbornly cling to the hope that she can pick up the nomination and further hinder the possibility of the one decent candidate getting into the white house. All we're witnessing here is the media in a self-gratifying suckfest, making a huge spectacle out of absolutely nothing to simply pump up ratings.


It hasn't even happened yet, but it's old news.


No, I'm talking about in the most literal sense of witnessing something historical. This weekend the Olympic torch will be coming through my city, and it sure as hell isn't going to be peaceful. Japan has allowed its citizens to participate in protests, as long as they don't turn violent. Originally the torch was supposed to start at Zenkoji Temple, located about 25 minutes by foot from my house, but the folks running that joint pulled due to everything going on in Tibet. So rather than the torch start off somewhere sacred and holy, it is now starting its arduous journey in a parking lot.


So I'll be there with my trusty Nikon D40 snapping away. And if things get too out of hand, my D40 does have some heft to it; a quick thunk to the head to an out-of-hand protester should subdue him for at least a couple minutes.

I'll just make sure to remove my memory card beforehand so my snaps don't get damaged.

Spit-up Ramen and a Pissed-off Man

There is this amazing ramen place called Miso-ya on the west side of the station. It's essentially the equivalent of going to Hodads in OB when you want an amazing burger. This place, like the best burger place in San Diego, has two things on its menu: a bowl of ramen, and a bigger bowl of ramen. They fry up tender slices of pork, sprinkle in an unhealty amount of green onions, and load the bowl with the best damned noodles your tongue has ever had the experience of salivating all over.


But Ramen wouldn't be complete without making it spicy and hot as hell itself. In front of you is a pepper shaker type object which has a special spicy blend of peppers only available in Nagano. To the left of this spicy pepper is a jar filled with a red spicy-paste, equally delicious as it is scorching. Once you put in the red pepper-type stuff and the red hot paste, the bowl isn't only as hot as hell, it starts to look like it. The broth turns a surly shade of red, in turn tinting the color of noodles as well. You don't have to use any of these spices, of course, but that's like eating Mexican food without drenching it in hot sauce - it just isn't done.


I ventured to Miso-ya a few hours ago, looking forward to the spicy-red deliciousness that was about to ensue. The inside of the tiny place is one long bar that wraps around the kitchen; there are about 15 bar stools fixed in place, only about a foot from each other. You are pretty much elbow to elbow with the other sadists cramming all that spicy stuff into their mouths. I took a seat at one of the stools and placed my order.


As soon as my food arrived, a middle-aged Japanese guy in a suit sat to the right of me. He placed his order and I took the first bite of my ramen. Deliciousness swirled around my mouth, and tears came to my eyes; out of pure happiness or because I knew I'd be sitting on the toilet shedding real tears in 6 or so hours, I'm not sure, but it was a joyous moment. The ramen being also hot in temperature make it difficult to simply 'eat' the noodles; you have to half inhale them so they are cooled down by the time they enter your mouth. Luckily in Japan making slurping sounds is the norm. Japanese have had years upon years of perfecting the art of sucking in food while making sure it goes down the right pipe; I've only had about 8 or so months at establishing this new art.


During the second slurp, I felt a chunk of hot-paste enter the back of my throat. I've had this happen before, and I can usually control it well enough so that I can finish swallowing my current mouthful of hell and then wash down the stuff in my windpipe with a few gulps of water. Unfortunately this was too much for my inexperienced throat to handle; I started uncontrollably coughing. I tried keeping my mouth shut as well as I could but a noodle creeped out of the corner of my mouth, and a good amount of broth sprayed back into my bowl. To be fair, I did keep my head down as to not spew on anybody else.


Unforunately for the Japanese suit, the sight of a foreigner hacking up bits and pieces of ramen back into his bowl, then continuting to eat out of the same bowl was too much for him. He picked up his briefcase and hastily moved to the far corner of the bar.


Sorry guy, but once I reach your level of noodle-slurping expertise I'll try my best not to gross out the Japanese population with my eating habits any more.

Cribs, Part Deux

It's been a good six months since I've been here, and I thought I would show how my apartment has changed since then. It's a bit lengthy, but there are flippin' ninjas (literally) and broken paper walls, so it's worth grabbing a beer and beef jerky, settling down in your chair for 8 minutes and watching my video.

Enjoy.

$500 and 6 months later, I have internet

Why pay for something you can get for free? It seems like decent logic, and most of the time it holds water. Of course when "for free" actually means "stealing", the question loses its protection of being a rhetorical question and becomes more of a philosophical one; if you can download an mp3 for free instead of buying it, is there really any harm in downloading it? Even though you aren't stealing anything physical, as in going to a CD shop and stuffing Fall Out Boy's latest craptastic release under your sweatshirt, are you still "stealing"?

In the same vein, is hopping onto someone else Wifi signal stealing?

When I plopped my laptop down in my room for the first time and switched it on, I didn't spend any time philosophizing what it is to "steal" - I smiled, shouted "free!" to myself and let myself become a zombie in front of my 14 inch screen. When I first got to Japan, I didn't have any friends, co-workers (I didn't work for three weeks), cell phone, or toilet paper; the things that usually make you feel comfortable in any living situation. So when I arrived in my apartment the first and discovered that I had a free, instant, connection to the rest of the world, my friends, news, and vast amounts of midget porn, I wasn't about to wonder if it was "okay" to borrow the wireless signal. After all, if they really don't want someone using it, they could lock the signal, right?

The months rolled on, I got my foreigner registration card (which I needed in order to sign up for anything; internet, cell phone, bank account, etc), and I had a decent amount of green stuff stored in my bank account, but using something that was free seemed like a hell of a better idea. I wasn't heavily using the internet by any means; it was just a way to check my email and chat to friends occasionally; I also figured it was good karma for keeping my own internet connection open back home.

But all good things come to an end... kinda. The signal started becoming finicky, cutting in and out. Sometimes it would cut out for days on end. Needing my internet fix, I was desperate to find a way to get connected again. I looked at the box my mobile phone came in, and inside I found a cable that allowed me to connect it to my laptop. A few minutes later, I had my phone acting as a modem, connecting me to the internet. "Great!", I thought. I used it sparingly, knowing it was somewhat expensive. I checked my mail and news with it occasionally for a week or so until my free wireless signal finally kicked back on.

A week later, I started getting messages from my cellphone provider, saying something the lines of "Uh.. Mr. Peterson, we need you to contact us regarding your bill for next month, thank you". I figured 'Whatever, an extra 50-100 bucks isn't gonna kill me". But their persistence continued; after two more messages from the, I finally called them back. My "light usage" ended up costing me over $500.

Needless to say, I was pretty damned shocked. It would have been cheaper to sign up for internet from the get-go, but of course I didn't realize this months back.

Hindsight is 20/20!