You know there are many times you find yourself annoyed or obsessed with something that really shouldn't be having that much of an effect on you. You know, like the time you cried when your mother didn't make pancakes for dinner, or like the time you threw a tantrum because you thought it was "Benny & Joon" on tv that night, but it was actually "Frankie & Jonnie", or the like the time Robbie left Take That. Now only one of these happened to me (can you guess) but I have seen them all happen. How silly really? I am no where near such over the top reactions to my current irk but am indeed none the less pissed off. Writing this is my therapy? If you are here looking for earth shattering social commentary and relevancy I suggest you leave now and head on over to Google et al, pop in a search for "Paris Hilton finds God in jail" or "Queen's revised honour list includes sculptor of chocolate Jesus, Norwegian newspaper cartoonists, Mel Gibson's bartender and 'that nigger guy' from Seinfield". This is purely infantile indulgence on my part.
Ok, by now I have you intrigued, thinking "I bet it is not that trivial". I'm afraid my friend that you shall be disappointed, this entry is about my bike. Yep, I am annoyed about my bicycle. You see, on the way to school two days ago I got a puncture in my back tire. I figured that seeing as it is my method of transportation to school, it would be proper to ask them how I should fix it. They arranged for a local bike shop to pick it up to fix it. Then I was told it may cost Yen5,000! (Eur30!!) After closing my mouth, i said I thought this was a little much. Upon it's return, they had replaced my back tire & wanted Yen4,000. All I wanted was a puncture repaired but I said to myself "This is a lesson in 'never get others to do things you should do yourself' and sucked it up. Then, on my way home I realised that they had, during the course of their repairs, broken my gears. I figured that this wasn't a big deal. They must have knocked something out of place while supplying me with the superfluous tire and surely would repair it for free as a matter of course... surely..
Now they say they had nothing to do with it and want Yen3,500 to fix the gears they banjaxed. I told them in my best broken French to 'get fucked', which translates as "Hmmm...no". Now I am aware that this shouldn't be bothering me and certainly doesn't warrant this entry but it is really bloody annoying me!! I know diplomacy dictates letting it go but not taking it up the ass dicktates that I should tell them to shove their repairs where few men (lacking leathers and moustaches) are willing to venture. Small things like this add up you see. Then one moment you are a mildly self-absorbed guy wasting internet peoples time with his irrelevant musings and the next all hell breaks loose and you become a slightly red-face tinged, somewhat peeved, mildly self-absorbed guy wasting internet peoples time with his irrelevant musings.
It was the "rite of passage" among the 19-22 year olds during first and second year of my college ordeal, so what am I doing considering touring Europe for a couple of weeks by train, being as I am the wrong side of 25 candles? My time in college was a lot of fun to be sure, indeed slightly too much fun. As a wise animated man once said, 'Why is it everytime I learn something new, it pushes something old out of my head'. To this day I know how to open a beer bottle with a lighter, the proper way to imbibe an absinthe and also how to last 56 minutes into an 'hour of power' drinking contest without puking. However, what I can't tell you is how to do most of the things my degree professes I can do. Getting to the point, while I did have a good time in college, I didn't have the chance to waste my summers in the U.S or travelling turkmenistinia by train. Now however, I do have the chance to experience the latter, kind of.
To bring those of you unfamiliar to my current situation reluctantly up to date, my JET contract expires in July and I am not yet ready to return home full time. You can surmise all you want as to the deciding factors, be they women, lack of responsibilities, the personal novelty of me or indeed, as is likely, all three, but the upshot is that I should be back in Europe for a mere month, and wish to see as much of it as I can. When I return to Japan I shall be joining the second most popular industry for foreigners here; recruitment. It is a tough industry and, in comparison to my current position, I shall have to work, and work hard. It is not the exact direction I foresaw my career heading when I arrived here, but it is not too off course either. The holy grail of me owning my own casino in 10 years time is still attainable me thinks. Only a slight set-back that such things are still illegal in Japan.
Getting back to my Europe plans. All going well, I hope to spend two weeks or so on my own, travelling throughout Europe by train. I envisage a lazy time filled with sights, books and cheap cheese baguettes. Perhaps I will find stimulating companions, perhaps I will be robbed. All I know is I am hoping for more 'Before sunrise' than 'hostel'. I am not looking for love, I am not looking for friends and I am certainly not looking for myself. I am just in search of nothing, quietness, peaceful time. No students, no annoyances, no stresses, no preoccupations and no preconceptions. I will not bring a mobile phone and may choose to contact people or may not. After 19 odd years in education, overlapping with the last 9 years in employment I want out. Don't bother asking me to pick you up a souvenir, I will have forgotten you and your request before I settle in my seat. This is me time, kind of like what Paris Hilton is having without the lack of choice. However, as is quarter of a centenarian am I too old for this sort of trip. Am I going to find myself trying to read a boring fart of a book while those around me smash my 56 minute record in 'hour of power'? Getting older doesn't bother me, I no more pine for my days of youth than I long to have less money and more spots. Also, given that this trip is 'all about me', perhaps I shouldn't care, but somehow it still bothers me. Is a man who can only last 56 minutes truly a man, or will reaching that illusive 60 minutes mearly prove me to be a real boy?
Skanger = undesirable loser with no prospects in life and an all round asshole. Likely to steal your car or say "Are you lookin at me bird", even though the only reason you were staring is that you thought he was holding hands with a whale.
Banger = Jaysus bud, do I have to walk you through all the explainations? Banger is a piece of shit car that the guy who smells wierd and lives at the bus station wouldn't even drive.
In my opinion Japan is a safe place but, no where is 100% safe. A few months ago, a young British female teacher who was teaching in Japan was brutally murdered and to this day the main suspect, the man whose apartment her body was found in, is still at large.
His name is Tatsuya Ichihashi and he looks like this;
One of the most disturbing aspects of this case is the incompetence the Japanese police have displayed. According to the media, there were 9 officers literally at his door, which he answered before doing a runner out his window, and he managed to get away from them. The Japanese police have a record for displaying incompetence when dealing with high profile cases involving foreigners in Japan. One only needs to google the name Lucie Blackman and read the jaw-dropping stupidity displayed by the Japanese police to know this. Also, don't expect justice as will be evident if you read about the outcome of the case against the prime suspect in Lucie's killing. It seems the Japanese police are just hoping the furore will die down and all go away. As I write the British Prime Minister Tony Blair is being urged to put pressure on his Japanese counterpart to urge the police to do more. This succinctly displays just how sad it all is. RIP Lindsay Hawker.
Pub etiquette: The crucial thing here is the "round" system, in which each participant takes turns to shout an order. To the outsider, this may appear casual; you will not necessarily be told it's your round and other participants may appear only too happy to substitute for you. But make no mistake, your failure to "put your hand in your pocket" will be noticed. People will mention it the moment you leave the room. The reputation will follow you to the grave, whereafter it will attach to your offspring and possibly theirs as well. In some cases, it may become permanently enshrined in a family nickname.
Woolly jumpers:
Ireland produces vast quantities of woollen knitwear and, under a US/Irish trade agreement, American visitors may not return to the States without a minimum of two sweaters, of which one at least must be predominantly green. Airline staff may check that you have the required documentation before you are allowed to disembark. Note: under no circumstances will you see an Irish person wearing a woollen jumper. These jumpers are worn solely by Americans to identify them to muggers, thieves and knackers.
Irish people and the weather: It is often said that the Irish are a Mediterranean people who only come into their own when the sun shines on consecutive days (which it last did around the time of St Patrick). For this reason, Irish people dress for conditions in Palermo rather than Dublin; and it is not unusual in March to see young people sipping cool beer outside city pubs and cafes, enjoying the air and the soft caress of hailstones on their skin. The Irish attitude to weather is the ultimate triumph of optimism over experience: Every time it rains, we look up at the sky and are shocked and betrayed. Then we go out and buy a new umbrella.
Time-keeping: Ireland has two time-zones: (1) Greenwich Mean Time and (2) "local" time. Local time can be anything between ten minutes and three days behind GMT, depending on the position of the earth and the whereabouts of the man with the keys to the hall. Again, the Irish concept of time has been influenced by the thinking of 20th century physicists, who hold that it can only be measured by reference to another body and can even be affected by factors like acceleration. For instance, a policeman entering a licensed premises in rural Ireland late at night is a good example of another body from whom it can be reliably inferred that it is fact closing time. When this happens, acceleration is the advised option. Shockingly, the relativity argument is still not accepted as a valid defence in the Irish courts.
Irish Dancing: There are two main kinds of Irish dancing: (1) Riverdance, which is now simultaneously running in every major city in the world except Ulan Bator and which some economists believe is responsible for the Irish economic boom; and (2) real Irish dancing, in which men do not wear frilly blouses and you still may not express yourself, except in a written note to the adjudicators.
The wearing of the green: Strangely enough, Irish people tend to wear everything except green, which is associated with too many national tragedies, including 1798, the Famine and the current Irish soccer team. It's possible that green just doesn't suit the Irish skin colour, which is generally pale blue (see Weather).
Gaelic games: St Patrick's Day brings the climax of the club championships in Gaelic games, which combine elements of the American sports of gridiron and baseball but are played with an intensity more associated with Mafia turf wars. The two main games are "football" and "hurling", the chief difference being that in football, the fights are unarmed. There is also "camogie" which is like hurling, except that in fights the hair may be pulled as well. Hurling, "the fastest game on earth", was best described by a Cork man to an American tourist when he said "its like a cross between ice hockey and murder" - ( Brilliant! ) Schools rugby: St Patrick's Day also brings the finals in schools rugby, a game based around the skills of wrestling, kicking, gouging, ear-biting, and assaults on other vulnerable body parts. The game is much prized in Ireland's better schools, where it's seen as an ideal grounding for careers in business and the law.
Signposting: In most countries, road signs are used to help motorists get from one place to another. In Ireland, it's not so simple. Signposting here is heavily influenced by Einstein's theories (either that or the other way round) of place/time, and works on the basis that there is no fixed reference point in the universe or not west of Mullingar anyway. Instead, location and distance may be different for every observer and, frequently, for neighbouring road-signs.
Language: Ireland is officially bilingual, a fact which is reflected in the road-signs. This allows you to get lost in both Irish and English. Clothes: Visitors to Ireland in mid-March often ask: What clothes should I bring? The answer is: All of them.
Religion: Ireland remains a deeply religious country, with the two main denominations being "us" and "them". In the unlikely event you are asked which group you belong to, the correct answer is: "I'm an atheist, thank God". Then change the subject.
(All this is kindly 'borrowed' from DC's bebo page. He doesn't say who he stole it from)
Your friend comes home from holiday and tells you he has been in Japan, but has he really? Or was it a filthy week spent in Puket with the go-go girls? Well here is a simple question to sort it right out. Ask him if he knows what 'Kawaii' means. As essential words go, it isn't exactly up there at the top but if you have encountered any of the female variety of the Japanese you will have heard it. It means 'cute' and is the mantra of the 60 or so million Japanese women in this country. It is the first word that I didn't try to learn that was forced into my vocabulary when I arrived here. They say it about everything; toys, people, food, bags, clothes, but, most especially; animals. There is a ladder of accessories that an aspiring J-lady must have. Bottom rung is the Louis Vitton handbag. Without this I don't actually think you qualify as a female over here. Then, when you step up on on the ladder the essential item is; the tiny dog. In my humble opinion, the smaller the dog the more likely it will kill you and all those you hold dear at the first opportunity...however, for the the kawaii -obsessed lady the smaller it is, the cuter. Bonus if it can actually fit in your LV handbag and you can carry it around showing it off. The poor dogs suffer/lavish in an ignominious/wonderful lifestyle. Some even get to wear little booties. I've never heard of a dog committing suicide but a sly fiver bet that it will happen first in Japan might be a prudent investment.
Anyway to get to the reason I am talking about this today.... I found this posted in one of the Japanese magazines and felt it was worthy to share with my loyal readership. It is proof of my own theory that the ladies who secure these canine compadres do so as these dogs are the closest think they will get to an intellectually matched relationship in all of their vapid lives!
From Metropolis magazine: Actress Maiko Kawakami told the story of her friend, who wondered why her new poodle didn’t bark or eat dog food and was stunned to learn that her pet was actually a sheep. An internet scam reportedly fooled thousands of women into buying coiffured sheep under the ruse that the animals were actually dogs.
