What shall we do with a drunken sailor...

Billions of blue blistering barnacles! Someone's going to feel crappy tomorrow. Now and again my train terminates at Akabane station so I have to wait for one that continues on down the line to trusty Ukima Funado. While I wait, I like to capture the mood with a few snaps of the local town folk.




















Now don't go getting all angry at the station master for his apparent disregard for the alcohol saturated squater. I stand witness to the station master's attempts to revive the drunken bastard, only to be rewarding with cusses, insults and a even dash of man-handling, allbeit from an indolent, seated position. Well I say the pox on him. I hope he misses his last train...




















Oh yeah! Better bed down for the night old son!

Earthquakes, earthquakes everywhere...

I don't really know what to make of this earthquake business. To be sure, it is unsettling. Take this morning for example. I was sitting on my blue couch, catching up on the morning's headlines in Aus, when I thought I'd had a sudden dizzy spell. I wasn't drinking coffee and I don't smoke so as I regained my sensibilities I turned my attention to the door standing ajar. Sure enough, it was gently swinging on its hinges, back-and-forth, while my shirts on their hangers rocked from side-to-side like a school of cotton jelly fish floating through my bedroom! Weird. But that's exactly what earthquakes are. Weird with a capital W. I got up and pulled on some pants (I was fresh out of the shower) and strode into the living room then back into my bedroom then outside then back inside again and so on, until before I could walk in any more circles it had subsided. That's the thing. It's impossible to know what to do. It's as great a sense of apprehension as I've ever felt.
A couple of weeks ago I wrote about the meaty one that caused all the train delays in Shinjuku. In that case, real fear invaded my mind but panic did not. My heart pounded, adrenaline pumped through me and a nervousness sounded clear as a bell in my voice. I didn't panic but I don't know how much longer I would have held out, had that particular quake continued. But, imagining I had well and truly freaked, what would I have done? Flown down the stairs and out onto the street, surrounded by department stores and multi-story office blocks? Refuge? Hardly. So it seems, as with most misfortunes in life, it all comes down to sheer luck (or lack there of). You're either lying in an open field with nothing but blue sky above you when the big one hits or you're stuck in a crowded subway train. As the Japanese say, shoganai. It can't be helped. As for me, I just hope I've got my pants on.

Supermarket fodder...

The summer fruit in Japan is really great, but it comes at a pretty high price. Watermelon is usually my favorite, but peaches are fast closing in on first place. I like them because they're so easy to peel. The nectarines always look choice, but the ones in my local supermarket were about $5 each so I didn't partake. I saw some beautiful grapes yesterday, but as tempting as they were, $100 for a bunch was a little to rich for my blood. Understandable, ne?




















Like little pigs wedged in buckets with their tails cut off.




















"Dyn-o-mite!" Who used to say that? Nice watermelon anyway.




















A very popular desert type snack in Japan is "Dango." For some reason the name really gets to me. Can't quite put my finger on it, but not to worry, for it is a tasty morsel. Made from sticky pounded rice balls on a skewer and covered in a thick, sweet soy sauce it's naturally very edible.

What better place to enjoy these summer delights than in the world's most depressing play ground. This is located near Mitten's house and although I waited for a child to come along and stand here crying, none were forthcoming. With playgrounds like these, no wonder the kids stay inside all their lives. The entire arrangement consists of a worn fiber glass lion, a concrete log with two nubs which appear to be ears (one visible on its left end), and something that resembles a disused long-jump pit with no sand in it. What's the deal?















Beware of fun.

Today's funny story...

This morning, I was waiting for my student. Irish Joe was in the classroom next to me. My student didn't come but Irish Joe's turned up. I listened in. "Why're you late?" he asked in mock seriousness. She tells him her cat is sick so they had to go to the vet this morning. They discuss the cat's age for a while, which turns out to be 600 or something, so clearly it's knocking on heaven's door. I'd glanced up at some point and immediately noticed that the student was looking terribly mopey, all puffy-eyed and red faced, her recent tears barely dry. Joe had apparently not noticed these tell tale signs, as he enthusiastically embarked upon a heart warming anecdote from his youth, with the opening lines "I had a cat once. It lived for a week!" I rolled my eyes.
Now I don't know about you but where I'm from a dimpled chin and quivering lower lip means no matter what the situation, tears are imminent. Judging from I.J's persistence, in Ireland it must mean "Please continue with you dreadful story," as that's exactly what he does (much to my glee).
He recounted the ghoulish apologue of his young kitten; small, defenseless and naturally adorable. "It was a week old" he starts. "My dad says, Let's put it outside to explore it's new territory, which we did." Unfortunately, at some point, according to Joe's testimony, it was set upon and mauled to death by a bigger, stronger and uterly more terrifying feline. (I don't know for sure, but I guess they left the poor bugger out there all night, or something infinitely masculine in its wisdom like that). "After that," concluded the beaming Joe, "I got a goldfish! Much easier to look after."
I'm not sure how long it was exactly, but it seemed an eternity before the silence was finally broken by a gentle, stifled sobbing as the traumatised student wept into her hankerchief, head hung low, eyes clenched tightly shut. A second eternity passed before Irish Joe, the beam frozen on his face, asks "Are you ok?" To which she managed to blub out a breathless "Yes." I wasn't convinced. Well, after that happy little opener, there were only another 37 minutes left to kill with a lesson on cigarettes, alcohol and customs regulations. Joy!

No news is good news...

I've just spent the last couple of hours having a look at this podcasting business. Sounds like fun but so far beyond my meager computer skills. I'll continue to attempt to get my head around it so as I can start posting my own audio stuff up here...or on another blog linked to this one most probably. Aside from that, a pretty uneventful day all told. I'm currently desperately broke which is just too depressing to even think about. Payday's on Monday but it's all just going to fly and fritter away, here and there, until after, oh, perhaps a week, I'll be back in my current situation counting down the hours to payday once again. Goodness me. What an existence. And can you guess where most of my hardearned ends up?















Not that I've ever set foot in this place. It's a little izakaya near my apartment but after a three year-plus residence in the neighborhood, I haven't bothered to venture inside. However, I do like the look of all the sake bottles lined up outside the window. Pardon? Did someone ask "What's an izakaya?" Probably not, but just in case, it's basically a casual place to eat and drink. In your land, such an establishment might be dubbed a restaurant. Amazing, eh?















This is not the one in the top picture. It'd have a touch of Lewis Carroll about it, if it were. A tiny, dark old door in the dead of night leads into a great, noisy beer hall, packed with drunks and men playing accordions and hobbits. Hmmm, maybe I ought to take a second look after all (next payday naturally).

A live shout out to Pablo and Jose...

After ten years or so I finally got to talk to Jose again. I remember leaving London all that time ago, making promises that we would meet again someday. After tonight's conversation I firmly believe old friendships do not die. They just age like fine wine. And fine human beings.




















Me. Ten minutes ago.

This is the best conversation I've ever had! It's like someone you thought you'd never see again comes walking through the door, sits down and starts chatting like yesterday was the last time you had met. Awesome. So to Jose, my old friend, good luck with your acting, come to Tokyo and stay as f#$*ing crazy as ever.

Kept my promise...

Sorry about the delay. Blogspot was acting a little screwey. Anywho, Sunday was beach day. 35 degrees, blue sky and my day off. A good call if you ask me, heading beach wise. We made tracks to Enoshima (correct spelling not guaranteed), which is apparently near Kamakura.
Lobbed down with some usual suspects (Irish Joe and Nozomi, J "BBQ sauce" W, Disco Dave, Mittens, Prudence from Melbourne and Christen from Alabama). We had a good old time in the sun and I was stoked to get into the water, until I actually got into the water. Oh boy. It was like submerging myself in a warm, crowded trash and urine soup! I'm pretty sure I swallowed a band-aid, along with about six gallons of the filthy, tepid broth. I remember turning around at some point and seeing a unit in gogles standing there with a foot long string of mucus hanging off his chin, smiling happily. He certainly does not appear in the following shots...unfortunately.















A good crew. Each one as pastey as the next, excluding Mittens who's got the white towel wrapped around her head.















Not a bad view.















Is it just me or is the building getting closer?

My God, but the water was stuffed with people. Fuller than a butcher's dog it was. And as the water borne crowd floated about the place, a great cheer went up with every break, or ripple, that bore down at no more than .005 of a knott upon them. Good times were had by all! We'll probably do it again next week...

Come back tomorrow...

Sorry, no new posts for a couple of days. I'll put one up after work tonight.

A courageous album...

Anyone know where I can get my hands on this record?















Can you believe his back-up singers were the I-Threes?










After Bob Marley passed away I guess these three Princesses of reggae had a lot of free time, a love of midgets or a desire to get back in the mix with a new release. Didn't realise they were so hard up, the poor dears.

Back in the day...

I'm trying my best to put today's horrible failure at the hands of my valuation exam firmly in the past. Nothing like funny memories of friends gone by to move me along. Kerry sent me this photo a few days ago, and it's a good thing too because the big bastard on the right is my old mate Van from New York, who I've just got in touch with again. So naturally a big shout out goes out to you Van! The pic was taken on a night that seems to be firmly etched in Kerry's memory. The guy on the left is another work mate, John Kelly, who was particularly drunk that evening. From nowhere, I swear completely out of the blue, John staggers over to me and punches me in the face. You know, I didn't do anything...I recall being completely unphased by the whole event but Kerry swears the entire place froze in shock. Well, it doesn't sound too cool now, but I didn't react. Didn't do a thing. I remember feeling like it was all a joke and that I was on the receiving end of it. So what could I do? Anyways, the blurry bloke in the middle of the shot is another old friend from Aus' called Luke. Another shout out to you, Luke. So I'd like to appeal to all three of the dudes to come forward with any recollections of the night and help me set the record straight. Kerry insists I didn't do anything about it because I was so terrified. I say I didn't give a toss and it wasn't ill intentioned anyway. I'm feeling like an idiot over here, every time he brings it up. He won't let me live it down!

Failure...

It sucks. That's what comes to mind. After the world's hardest exam, or, to be fair, the hardest exam I've ever done, I'm sitting here pondering the f word and how to peel my carcass off the floor and get back up on that horse. It hurts. It's really hurts. I want to write something clever and witty and caustic to conceal my anger and disapointment at myself, but after today's effort I'm not feeling particularly clever or witty or caustic at all. So, goodnight. Wishes of peace and healthy discounted cash flow calculations to you all.

Today's odd story...

Today's tale was not recounted to me personally, but to my fine co-instructor Jin (he made a cameo appearance on Tokyo rush a while back). It was told to him firsthand this day, by the story's protagonist her very self.
Has anyone heard of hole-in-one insurance? I googled it just now and was surprised to find I'm just about the only one in the place who hadn't until today. It's probably superfluous to now mention I'm not a golfer. However, Jin's first student of the day was, and announced to him she got a hole-in-one on the weekend. Hooray he exclaimed. She didn't share his enthusiasm. To be blessed with a hole-in-one in Japan is, at the same time, to be shackled with the tiresome obligation of sharing the good fortune. It's where share the wealth really means share the freaking wealth, even though technically speaking there's no newly acquired wealth to be shared. Regardless, the handouts started with the caddy. He souths 10,000 yen, which is about $A120 because, you know, he played such a crucial role in the entire event by standing there and stuff. Then it's back to the clubhouse where she has to not just shout the bar, but throw a party for everyone in the joint. And buy them a lousy little gift in reward for simply being there. Crazy. Then there's some other expense on top of all that like tossing gold plated clubs into the crowd or ceremoniously driving a crystal golf buggy into the water trap or whatever you call it. All up it put her out of pocket some serious scratch, like well over $A2000 in total. Talk about unfair, not to mention backwards. What about the reward for the poor old golfer responsible, like a trophy or something? None mentioned. Not to worry. For all I know, they're probably too busy out the back washing the beer glasses to collect it.
So as it turns out, golfers can indeed insure themselves against the havoc shooting a hole-in-one wrecks upon their finances. I wonder if anyone's shot one, realised nobody's noticed and kept quiet about it, telling their partner their ball disapeared into the rough or the woods or thicket or the peat-bog or whatever bad bits are strategically dotted around the course. I know I would.

Wasting time and the exam blues...

I don't know why I do it to myself. I've been trying really hard to get through the material but I just can't make heads or tails of damn near 90% of it, damn it. I'm currently attempting the beginnings of a Grad Dip in Finance and Investment, by distance education no less. Wow. What a crock of shite. No wonder Lachlan Murdoch quit the old man's company. Mind you, he can do whatever he wants. He's a lot richer than me. Hell, I'm in the dumps. The doldrums. Moping around, straining under the yolk of incuriosity. Yoke, sorry. Why do I put myself in these ridiculous frames of mind involving goals setting and achievements and grandiose pictures of me getting anywhere in life. Look at me. What the hell can a head like this accomplish? It's grotesque and frightening. A student once told me I have an 'uncute face'. It was a guy so I wasn't really phased at the time, but I mean really. It's like something out of the 'police wrap' section of a newspaper.




















But plough on I must and plough on I will. Unless I decide to quit. In that case there won't be so much plowing as sitting around hating myself. But it's not like I won't have seen it coming. All I'll need to do is check my blog and read this post. Oh God. God, If you can hear me, switch of this computer, put me to bed and wake me up tomorrow confident, refreshed and newly, mysteriously endowed with the intellect of 10 Warren Buffets. It's the prayer of a servile, humble man. Who's asking, you say? That's simple. A meek, biddable, lowly and altogether manageable man who has never asked anything of you before. Neigh, who never even believed in you before. That was a joke I swear. I've listened to a lot of Martin Luther King Jnr speeches. I had them on an album and, for some odd reason, on the other side were speeches by Adolph Hitler. As you can imagine, it wasn't difficult to tell who-was-who. They spoke different languages for a start. But I digress. Please let me pass these exams. I'm tired and I don't want to study anymore. C'mon. Please? Awesome. Thanks. Amen.

Bilious as a shit-house rat...

I've got exams next week and to be honest I'm not feeling so hot. I'm going to watch a movie, drink a few beers then have a lie down. Before you throw your arms up in disgust and accuse me of grand procrastination, laziness, general apathy or jadedness, listlessness, listitude, tedium, stoicism, malaise, immunity or torpor, I'll have you know I've been studying for most of the day. Until my next post a question to ponder; what's another word for thesaurus?

Today's odd story...

We meet some funny folks in the business of English intruction. Take Masaharu for example. I really wanted to get a picture of him today, but I decided that wasn't too appropriate...maybe next time. He's an unusual cat and today he told me an interesting story about his stalker. Masaharu is 40 years old and has been living in the same apartment in Tokyo for the past 20 years, costing him just over $500 p/m in rent. Sounds cheap, I suggested. He agreed. Well, it should be. There are apparantly no windows and the room's about 4 meters square. Not big...even for a skinny fella like him.
All was fine and dandy until about five years ago when some new guy moved into the apartment above him. I'm not exactly sure how it started but bad blood soon developed between the two. As there was in place an explicit rule that the apartments were for single occupancy only, he grew incencensed that the new guy had a woman living with him, and so took it upon himself to inform the building supervisor. Only, the girl wasn't living there. She just popped over from time-to-time. The reaction of the lofty neighbour was expectedly harsh. According to Masaharu, the neighbour kicked his front door in and threatened him with violence, but did not actually follow through. Lucky for Masaharu. Here's where it gets creepy. The neighbour appartently started loitering around Masaharu's door, and the general vicinity thereof, making prolonged eye contact and generally lurking about the shadowy recesses of the building. Skip to present day.
Masaharu explained to me that the stalker is his neighbour. No surprises there. However, the wierd thing is, the stalking takes place when both of them are at home, tucked away in their respective apartments. As you may imagine, apartments on each floor of most buildings are identical, so as I sit in my room typing away I can tilt my head up and imagine the exact layout of the apartment above me. In the case of the stalker, everytime Masaharu moves from the bedroom to the kitchen, the lofty neighbour makes the same move. Everytime Masaharu takes a piss, the neighbour takes a piss. Everytime Masaharu walks back into his bedroom, the neighbour can be heard padding along the exact same steps above. Everytime he takes a shower, the neighbour takes a shower. And so it goes and has apparantly gone for the past two or three years. Again he called the building supervisor and was not so politely and not surprisingly told this was all in his head.
I asked Masaharu what he's going to do. He said "wakanai". "I don't know either" I replied. Have to say, I wasn't kidding.

It's hot in here...

A view of Shinjuku Ogardo from the 5th floor window of my workplace. A little trivia now. You see the orange train rolling across the bridge? That's the Chuo line and it's a well known tale that the highest number of suicides occur on that particular line (as in, people throw themselves infront of it). Why? The popular wisdom states that in Japan, the owner/operator of the train line bills the earthly departed's family for any costs incurred from delays and so on, arising from the suicide's action. Of all the lines, the Chuo's the cheapest.















And now with happier news...summer's here! But, unfortunately, the time is not yet right for dancing in the street. That should kick of in August sometime. Regardless, Tokyo basked in a 35 degree heat yesterday and cooled off in the 32 degree heat of today. I love summer, and despite my Mitten's protests, I think I'll take a leaf out of this unit's book.

Chicago, circa 1930's...

Funnily enough we ended up in 1930's Chicago tonight. We met a drunk Irishman who looks a little like me, a cigar smoking bootlegger, a cigarette smoking street urchin and a big nosed bookie. For fun, see if you can guess who's who.




















Hint: "Pssst...wanna wet your whistle?"




















Hint: "Let go dame. I gotta hit the track."




















Hint: "Spare a dime Mister."




















Hint: "I allus hass one at eleven."

Do you think you guessed right? Well, none of them are who you might have thought. In reality they're Kerry and his girlfriend Taco, Big Chad and fat me! Shocking eh?

Square, deep and sooooothing...

After experiencing a nasty earthquake or when in need of a simple recharge, I find it's best to bathe like the Japanese. As the modified saying goes, "When in Tokyo, do as the Tokyoites do."
The trick is to shower before getting into the bath. That's right, before getting into the bath. Scrub down well and hard with a nice course wash cloth and soap of some description, until your sore and red. Make sure you do this under excruciatingly hot water. Once scrubbed, ease yourself into the bath, conveniently prefilled with clear, fresh, steaming water and close eyes. Soak for as long as you cant stand the heat, preferably with the lights off.
Here's the funny part. Should you happen to live with family or friends, don't be selfish and let the water out. Save it for the next weary soul desiring this heavenly ritual of rejuvenating qualities. In Japan, one shares his bath water. It's true, you know.

About time I put some hot chicks on this blog...

This is my gorgeous sweetheart, Mittens. My dream come true. My world and universe. In addition, she makes a wonderful quiche. I love her.




















The following stunner is Nozomi. It's hard to believe she's actually Irish Joe's girlfriend. No wonder he's so happy in Japan. You don't meet girls like her in Belfast (I know...I've been there).




















Next is one of my favorite people in Japan, Shizu. So beautiful with a heart of gold. In the bottom photo she's showing off her engagement ring with fiance Greg, a diamond geezer himself. Last night Nozomi showed us a ring Joe gave her for a birthday (I think). It's got his name engraved inside the band...how romantic. Anyway, when she saw Shizu's engagement rock she screamed "I WANT THAT ONE" and slapped poor Irish Joe.




















Look at 'em sparkle. The rings not bad either. Greg has trouble containing his enthusiasm at times.

Not cool...

Today, after three years in Japan, I experienced my first truly frightening earthquake. For all you heroes out there being tough and saying today weren't nothing, I extend to you a rousing Fuck You. Today was fucking scary. Watching twelve story buildings swaying like branches in the wind was not fun. Enduring the spine chilling hammering of a shifting tectonic plate was not fun. Being on the sixth floor of a rickety building in the middle of Shinjuku was not fun. Anyway, as I journalist of reputable skill, I recalled my duty as recorder of epic events and quickly snapped away with my trusty mobile telephone camera. The following photos are of Shinjuku station, the busiest train station in the world, and my place within it.
PS) Earthquake struck around 4pm, photos taken around 7pm. Photos are not listed chronologically, or in order of importance.















JW, me and Irish Joe. Together we stand, shaken yet resiliant.




















The first sign of trouble...this is the east entrance to my platform.




















He earned his money tonight.















Gettin' busy.















Damn.















Lucky I brought my camera.















"Do I get more money if I cry?"















Under ground...not good.















Above ground...not much better.

I must apologise for the limited scope of these pics. To be honest, no damage was suffered in the above depicted neck of the woods. As such, I've tried to portray the extent of congestion that this city's infrastructure must cope with from time to time. This particular station is f'ing huge...it goes on and on and spreads itself far and deep underground. It's easy to forget that this requires management. It's not by accident that all of these people got home via public transport tonight. Dudes were working on it, hardcore.

And check out this last photo...















11 pm and all's well.

Some good fellas...

The guy next to Kerry is another creep named Chad. He suffers from a "tongue poking out" condition, poor kid. Went out and had a couple of beers. Not much to report. Here's Chad at Shinjuku station, saying goodnight at the end of an enchanting evening.




















Told ya.

But I guess Kerry would feel left out if I didn't post his pic too. Here pic here...

Unity...

I'd like to do a quick shout-out to my old mate in San Fran, "Scoopy". Scoop-dawg reminds me of a neighbour back home named Mick. But that's neither here-nor-there (even though Mick was a hard drinking, hot-rod driving psycho). See you back in Tokyo next winter Scoop!
I'm taking a break. I've just been speaking to my good friend "Sheng" from China who lives in Tokyo and works with me in Shinjuku. We're busy trying to sort out the woes of the world and he ran out of beer so now he's off to the shop. The internet is a wonderful thing and free internet telephony is down right sweet. Get skype on your computer and look me up...my user name is Tokyoskyper. Why just this morning I spoke to my Bro Pablo in London for over an hour, costing me nix. The world is my neighbourhood and that's pretty nice.

Creeps I know...

Here are some real scum bags I work with. Kerry, Jin and Irish Joe. Kerry likes to call me names such as dog face, hot dog bun fingers, mallard feet (because my shoes are a funny shape), hobbit feet, meaty breasts, daikon legs (a thick, white Japanese vegetable), over sized dwarf and according to him my teeth are covered in tar-tar. Jin likes making students cry but he's really a nice bloke and Irish Joe can speak Nihongo like a native. He's the one trying to ignore Kerry as he sticks his tongue in his ear. Jin's sitting next to the Texan lass, Christine. She's not a scum bag by the way.




















Says Kerry, "Guess where my left hand is."
Says Joe, "I can't. I'm pursing my lips."















Says Christine, "Even though I'm sweet, don't forget to not mess with Texas."
Says Jin, "What?"

Tonight...

Headed over to the extremely cool Ropongi Hills shopping mecca for a browse (top) and a movie. Endured War of the Worlds, to our credit. In my humble opinion, what a load of garbage. Don't bother! Followed that torment with a couple of beers in HILLS Cafe & Bar (above)...nice. The following building is cool. Home of the scandalous Livedoor company, which recently tried to take over Fuji TV, appears below. It was a real 'shake-up the establishment' kind of deal and it pissed off a lot of people. "Mori Tower" both day and evening styles! Some seriously expensive and pretentious real estate.